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feralthoughtdump · 3 years

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Sign of The Times

Part One: Kiss With A Fist

Part Two: Only Angel

Part Three: Arsonist's Lullaby

Bucky and his Angel’s time in Riga is coming to an end and possibly their little fling.

CW: violence, slight angst, John Walker being rude, fluff, slight smut, nightmares, slight allusions to religion and maternal trauma, crying, Sign of The Times by Harry Styles, time jump

Word Count: 6.6k

Angel wakes up next to Bucky and her heart is filled with regret.

No, not regret over the sex, rather what happened after the sex.

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.

Why did she say that? Why did she admit to that?

She hopes that he didn’t hear her. She hopes that he’ll forget what she said to him.

Never in her life, even after the sex that she’s had, had she ever admit to something so stupid. Something so personal.

But then again, she’s never had sex with someone like Bucky until now.

He’s made her feel something. He’s made her feel full in more ways than one.

He’s made her feel good, and never in her life, has anyone made her feel good.

Bucky stirs next to her, pulling her body close to his.

He’s warm, and his embrace makes her feel warmer.

She turns around, careful not to wake him, so she can see his face.

She can’t stop thinking about him. He had managed to crack the hard shell that was ingrained into her. He had managed to reach into her and pull out someone else. Someone she was unfamiliar with.

Someone human.

Thirteen years ago, when she would study the blurry images that were put in front of her, She would have assumed that they were cut from the same cloth. But now? As he is lying right next to her, holding her in his arms, they couldn’t be more different.

Bucky killed because he didn’t have a choice. He wasn’t in control.

But her? That wasn’t the case. Violence was a part of her. It ran through her blood.

She needed it like a shark needs to swim.

As for you, you seem to have this, how do I say it, a compulsion to kill. It will always stick to you.

She thinks about Zemo’s words and a bitter taste fills her mouth.

He’s right. She was ruled by anger and compulsion.

She knows that when this is over, she would go back to killing. She wouldn’t be able to stop no matter how hard she wanted to.

Bucky’s metal hand clasps over hers, pulling her from her thoughts.

“What are you thinking about sweet Angel?”

She quickly paints on a smile and kisses him.

“Nothing, Buck. Just admiring you.”

How could she, a monster, have pulled a man as good as him, she thinks, staring into his bright, blue eyes.

“Well, I’ll lie here and admire you too.” He smiles.

His words improve her mood, practically melting her stress away. He doesn’t mention her confession at all and it fills her with relief.

She basks in his warmth and gentle gaze until a knock on the door startles them.

“Alright lovebirds, it’s half-past ten,” Sam remarks. “We’ve got some work to do.”

Angel smiles and gives Bucky one final kiss.

“I’m going to get dressed. So get out.”

She closes the bedroom door and sits in front of the mirror, quietly dabbing concealer around her under eyes. Her tongue slightly pokes out from between her teeth as she meticulously fills in her brows. She turns her head to the side and grins.

“Pretty.” She whispers to herself.

Pretty made her feel nice. It made her feel sweet. Feeling pretty made her feel slightly less monstrous.

As she twirls in front of the mirror, she grins at her appearance. Sure, the pink puff-sleeved dress was obnoxious and the volume and ruffled hem made it slightly impractical, she thought it was lovely. A cute little number she bought the second she saw it in a store window in Paris. A reward for herself. A little ‘good job’ gift after her twenty-fifth kill.

It almost made her look angelic.

She grabs her white heeled boots and opens the door, lacing them up as she hops through the entrance.

“Nice dress.” Sam notes, peering at her outfit.

“Really?” Angel grabs a Turkish Delight from the counter and pops it into her mouth. “Thanks. I got it in Paris.” She chirps.

“You’re in such a good mood today,” Sam mutters. “Does it have anything to do with your wild night with Bucky?”

Bucky chokes on his water and coughs.

“You heard us?”

“Of course I did. You two need to learn how to control your volume.”

She walks over to the couch and sits down, the dress poofing around her.

“Bucky needs a good lay anyways.” She ties the laces of her boots into a bow. “It’s good stress relief.”

The sun casts a colorful light onto the floor and Angel admires him, bathed in reds, blues, and greens.

“Well, I saw a crepe place nearby.” She stands from the couch, balancing on her boots. “I’ll be back soon.”

…

Sam and Bucky were deep in conversation when she walks through the door, a bag of crepes in tow.

“Something’s not right about Walker.” Bucky says.

“You don’t say.” Sam replies.

“Well, I know a crazy one when I see one.” Bucky looks down at his plate. “Because I am crazy.”

“Oh hush.” Angel giggles, passing him a box of crepes. “You’re a little rough around the edges but that doesn’t mean you’re crazy.”

Zemo chuckles and leans against the dresser, a glass of whiskey in his hands.

“You’re an assassin who kills with no hesitation”

“Baron, just because I kill with no hesitation doesn’t mean I’m crazy.” She laughs, placing another box in front of him. “I’m able to stay cool and calculated and need I remind you, it’s my job.”

She walks past Sam and hands him a box. He mutters a quick ‘thank you’ and shuts his laptop closed.

The four of them have a long-overdue debrief of the events that happened the day before. They go over what went wrong, and what went right.

When the conversation shifts to the serum, the mood changes.

“Hypothetically, if you were offered it,” Zemo asks Sam, “Would you have taken it?”

“No.” Sam says.

“No hesitation,” Zemo notes. “Impressive.” He turns to Angel. “What about you?”

“No.” She sets her fork down. “I don’t like the idea of becoming, you know, more of myself.”

“What do you mean by that?” Bucky questions.

Her mood is quickly soured when John Walker kicks his way through the door.

“Alright.” He commands. “That’s it. I’m ordering for you to turn him (Zemo) over.”

“Here we go again.” She mutters, standing up to pour herself a tumbler of whiskey.

“Hey,” Sam stands up. “Slow your roll. Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re running is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful yesterday. And we need all hands on deck for whatever’s coming next.”

“And what exactly has Princess Peach over there done to help?” John scoffs. “How does strutting around Latvia in her little outfits and playing with knives help?”

“Hey!” Angel snaps. “Shut your mouth. At least I have more than one outfit to wear while sauntering around Europe.”

John speeds over to her and raises his hand, but she catches his wrist.

“Ooh,” she chastises. “Hitting women, huh? Not very Captain America of you.”

Bucky stands from his seat and crosses his arms.

“Don’t you dare touch her, Walker.” He seethes.

“I can hold my own, Buck.” She narrows her eyes. “Step away John, or I’ll break your fucking wrist.”

“Listen here, John.” Sam walks over to him as John pulls his arm from Angel’s grip. “She’s been helpful this entire time, keeping an eye on Zemo, helping us track down Karli, and defending us when our lives were put at risk. Yet, you’ve been nothing but hostile to her. If you want us to work as a team, I expect you to at least show her some decency.”

She bites the inside of her cheek, trying to push away her anger. All she wanted was to punch him in the face, maybe stab him in the neck, but she knows she shouldn’t. At least not when Bucky and Sam are around.

“Thanks, Sam.” She mumbles.

“If a fight is what you want, why don’t I put down the shield huh?” John fumes. “Make this fair.”

As the shield touches the ground, a spear whizzes past Angel, the momentum fluffing the edge of her dress.

She turns around to see a woman clad in red.

The Dora Miaje. She’s heard the stories about them. The female warriors of Wakanda who had fought the titans after the blip.

Angel had always been one to prepare for any outcome, but this? She wasn’t expecting this. Not that she didn’t mind.

Her head whips around as two more walks past the doors, brandishing spears.

One speaks in Wakandan, and Bucky looks down in shame.

She may not understand her, but she knows that they were not happy with him.

“Release him to us now.” The woman demands.

“Bucky?” Angel turns to look at him. “What did you do?”

He doesn’t answer her, he only looks at the table, avoiding her eyes.

She sighs and takes a sip of whisky, scowling at the taste.

“Hi. John Walker.”

Angel quirks a brow as he walks up to the Dora Milaje, holding out a hand. He receives no handshake nor a verbal reply.

“Well, uh,” John holds out his arms. “Let’s put down the pointy sticks and we can talk this through, huh?”

“Hey, John, take it easy,” Sam says, a frustrated smile on his face. “You might want to fight Bucky before you tangle with the Dora Milaje.”

John rolls his eyes.

“The Dora Milaje don’t have jurisdiction here.”

Angel internally winces. She may not have expected this, but she knows this won’t end well.

“The Dora Milaje had jurisdiction wherever the Dora Milaje find themselves to be.”

“Okay.” John scoffs. “I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“John,” Angel warns. “You really should shut up right now.”

Her warning falls on deaf ears as he places his hand on the woman’s armor.

Within the blink of an eye, a fight ensues.

She observes from afar, deciding it was best that she doesn’t involve herself.

Her drink is placed on the counter as she walks over to Sam and Bucky.

She stands back with an amused look while John faces off with the Dora Milaje.

Sounds of clanging metal and fighting echo throughout the room.

“Do I have your permission to join them? Any excuse to fight Walker is a good excuse.”

She whispers to Bucky.

“Best you stay out of it and enjoy the show.” He whispers back.

Sam turns to them.

“We should do something.”

“Looking strong, John” Bucky yells over the fighting and Angel claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her laugh.

“Bucky.” Sam scolds.

In the corner of her eye, she spots Zemo reaching for his coat.

He’s making a run for it. And she’s not letting him get away.

Before the doors of the bathroom close, she wedges her foot in between them.

“You’re not going anywhere.” She glares at him.

Zemo sighs.

“I really liked you. So please don’t take this personally.”

He pulls her through the doors as they close and slams her head against the edge of the tub.

She tenderly touches her forehead and winces.

“You son of a bitch.”

“I need to visit my home.” He says as dark spots form in her vision. “Just one last time. I hope you understand.”

All she can do is lie there, head on the tile, as her vision fades to black.

…

She wakes up with a concerned Bucky hovering over her.

“Oh, doll,” He murmurs, brushing his fingers over the developing bruise on her forehead. “I shouldn’t have strung you along.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” She murmurs, pain rushing through her head.

“Now I’ve dragged you into this… this mess-”

“Hey, hey.” She sits up and cradles his face in her hands. “If I didn’t want to be here, I would’ve gone back to Amsterdam right after what happened in Madripoor.” He looks down, refusing to meet her eyes. “Bucky,” She lifts his chin with her finger. “Look at me. I’m here on my own accord. I want to be here. With you.”

Sam walks over to them and hands her a wrapped ice pack.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“Yeah, yeah.” She accepts it and places the cool towel against her head. “What time is it? How long was I out?”

“For a few hours,” Sam answers her. “You hit your head really hard.”

“What’s next, what else do you need me to do?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head. “You aren’t going anywhere. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine.” she stands but Bucky places an arm on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed. “Guys, I let Zemo get away, I need to-”

“Hey,” Sam crouches down next to her. “I meant what I said, about you being helpful. And Zemo getting away isn’t your fault. Stay here and rest. I just don’t want you to be putting yourself in danger.”

“He’s right.” Bucky agrees. “You need to take care of yourself, doll.”

“I can handle it.” She struggles against Bucky’s hold on her. “I promise. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Hey,” Sam places his hand gently on her forearm. “We don’t know if you had a concussion, but concussion or no concussion, we’re not letting you endanger yourself.”

She lies back down on the bed and shuts her eyes, giving in.

“Fine. Just don’t get hurt.”

…

She lies there for what feels like hours, staring at the ceiling, reading her book, drawing in her sketchbook. But when she turns to the clock, it’s only been twenty minutes

She’s bored. And nothing good comes out of being bored.

You’re the only one who’s made me feel human.

God, why did she say that?

Why was she feeling this way?

Despite their hostile reunion

An angel? Sure. But not the angel Bucky thinks she is.

She wasn’t like the beautiful angels hanging in the Louvre. Ones who brought peace and lights. She was the angel the world had painted her to be. One of death, rage, and destruction.

How could he ever see her as an angel? How could he show her this gentle, tender love that no one else has?

Does he love her?

Does she love him?

“Love.” She mutters to herself. “Such a funny word.”

She doesn’t even know what love is. How could she know what Bucky has been showing her is love? The gentle touches, calling her Angel, holding her close when they fall asleep. That was love, right?

Deciding that her thoughts have gone too far, she reaches into her bag to find an orange bottle of sleeping pills. She changes out of her dress and reaches for Bucky’s dark red henley that was bunched up on the floor.

Her nose buries into the fabric as she inhales his woodsy smell.

With a sigh, she pulls it over her head and walks to the bathroom to wash off her makeup.

Her fingers roll the pale pink pill between her fingers. Deciding whether or not sleep was worth it.

Finally, she just decides to take the pill, swallowing it dry and a grimace crosses her face at the bitter taste.

She lies down, covered in Bucky’s smell, and closes her eyes.

…

Angel doesn’t know where she is.

Well, she does. The house is still the same, only this time, it was up in flames.

Screams echo around her.

“Look at what you’ve done!” They tell her, voices distorted.

“Monster!”

“Devil!”

“Evil!”

She turns around to face a woman in a black dress, her face obscured by a matching veil.

“Oh, my dear.” She says, voice croaking and broken. “Why didn’t you save me? Why did you leave me there to die?”

“I-” Angel stammers. “I’m sorry.”

The woman sinks to the ground and Angel runs after her, crouching down to see where she went.

When she stands, she sees that she’s surrounded by broken mirrors.

No matter where she looked, she was faced with her distorted reflection.

“Look at yourself!” The voices return. “Look at what you are!”

“No!” She screams back. “No! No! No!”

A force knocks her onto her knees and she sees that the floor has turned into a mirror as well.

The fire burns her, making her skin peel.

She claws at her face, trying to peel the reddening skin away and she scrambles back when it reveals the cracked gray skin.

“This is who you are!” They scream.

“Stop!” She sobs. “Shut up!”

Angel looks down at her hands, fingernails growing into long black claws. When she looks up, she screams at her appearance.

Her soft, glowing skin and peeled away to reveal a pale, ghostly face. Her eyes, once bright, are now pools of black.

“You’re a monster!” A different voice booms throughout the room.

“Mama?” She whimpers. “Mama, is that you?”

“You were always the bad seed. You were always filled with darkness. Evil.”

“No Mama!” She cries. “Mama, please! I’m sorry!”

The mirrored floor cracks around her.

“I never wanted you! I should’ve killed you the second you came out of me!”

Angel scrambles around the mirrored room, avoidant the cracks around her feet.

"And I stood upon the sand of the sea, and saw a beast rise up out of the sea,”

“Stop!” Angel covers her ears.

But her mother’s voice is louder “having seven heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns, and upon his heads the name of blasphemy."

“Angel?”

“Please stop!” She begs her mother.

“Angel! Wake up!”

“Angel!”

She screams, batting her arms, trying to push anyone and anything out of her path.

“Get away from me!” Her voice is hoarse from screaming. “I’ll only hurt you.”

“Angel,” Bucky places his metal hand against her heated skin. “Angel, you’re okay, you’re safe. You aren’t going to hurt anyone.”

Tears stream down her face as she meets Bucky’s gentle, blue eyes.

“Bucky?” She shakily whispers.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s Bucky.” He gently rubs at her cheek with his thumb. “You were having a nightmare.”

She reaches out with a shaky hand and places it against Bucky’s cheek, rubbing at his stubble.

She needed to know he was actually there. She needed to know that he was real.

As her sleep-clouded vision clears, she sees the bruises and cuts on Bucky’s face and she starts crying again.

“Oh, Bucky,” She pulls her hand away. “Did I do this to you?”

“No, no you didn’t, doll.” He gently smiles at her and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Then who did this to you?” She whispers.

“Sam and I had to get the shield back. John decided to get a little scrappy but I’ll be okay.” He moves her sweaty hair out of her face. “I have enhanced healing, remember?”

Angel gives him a shaky nod and burrows her face into his chest.

A loud sob leaves her lips as she shakes in his arms.

“Oh doll,” he coos at her, reaching his flesh hand under her (well his) shirt and tracing his fingers up and down her back. “Shh. It’s okay, honey. You’ll be okay.”

When her sobs subside and she’s left a shaking form in his arms, Bucky presses a kiss on the top of her head.

She looks up and sees Sam peaking at them from over his shoulder.

He’s got a look of sympathy in his eyes.

“Nightmare?” He asks.

Her throat hurts too much to speak so Bucky answers for her.

“Mhm.”

Sam walks over to them and places a glass of water on the nightstand.

He takes a seat next to them and places a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Angel shakes her head. Talking wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to burden them further.

“Sam?” She quietly asks. “Can I have a hug?”

“Of course.”

Sam wraps his arm tightly around the both of them and rubs Angel’s back.

“I don’t know what you’re dealing with, and I don’t know what you’ve gone through, but I just want to let you know that it’s okay to feel weak.”

He gives Bucky a gentle look.

“I’m, uh, I’m headed back to Louisiana in a few hours. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

Sam gives Bucky a soft pat on the back and turns to Angel.

“And if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. So is Bucky.”

When Sam leaves, the crying returns. She’s much too tired to sob, but silent tears stream down her face, wetting Bucky’s soft t-shirt.

“Come on, doll. Let’s sleep.”

She vehemently shakes her head. Not wanting the nightmares to return.

“No, no.” Her breathing quickens. “I- I don’t want to. I’m scared.”

“Okay, okay.” He strokes her back. “Let’s just stay like this for a while.”

They sit in silence, holding onto each other. She feels vulnerable, weak, and tired. Oh, so tired. All the years of building up her walls, pushing people away, destroying anything good in her path, had finally caught up to her.

She wants to strip her skin away and emerge as a new person. She wants to open up her body. Take out all of the ugly, the evil, the darkness, and stitch herself back up. She wants to destroy herself.

And maybe, after she pays the price in her own blood, she can finally be good.

This world wasn’t made for her, she thinks, and though she gave up on faith a long time ago, she thinks that after all the things she’s done, she’ll never end up in heaven.

And having Bucky here? Having him hold her, and caress her, and call her his Angel?

That was the closest to heaven that she’ll ever get.

Bucky pulls her back to reality when he lifts her chin up.

“I have an idea.” He smiles. “Now, I haven’t done this since 1943, but why don’t we dance?” He helps her stand up and brushes her hair back.

Angel looks away from him bashfully.

“I- I don’t really know how to dance.”

“Here.” He hands her his phone, Spotify open on his screen. “You pick the music and I’ll show you how. It’s really easy.”

“Should it be a 40s song?” She mumbles.

“No.” He smiles and shakes his head. “It can be any song that you like. I just wanna make you feel better, doll.”

She quietly browses through his song library and then, turns to the search bar.

“Here you go,” she hands it back to him. “I think you’ll like this one.”

“Sign of the Times.” He chuckles. “Can you dance to it?”

She shrugs.

“I hope so.”

Bucky places his hands on her waist and pulls her close to him.

“Okay, Angel, so I’m just going to hold your right hand like this.” He intertwined his right hand with hers and raised it to his shoulder. “And your left hand goes on my life shoulder.”

As she places her left hand against the metal of his shoulder, Bucky keeps his left hand on her waist.

“Now what?” She quietly asks.

“Now, we just sway.”

He quickly unlinks their fingers to press play on the song.

As the sounds of a piano fill the room, Bucky starts swaying and Angel follows along.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

Welcome to the final show

Hope you're wearing your best clothes

“You were right, I do like this song.”

“You do?”

“Mhm.”

You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky

You look pretty good down here

But you ain't really good

If we never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

Angel closes her eyes and allows herself to rest her head on his chest. Even with the music playing, she can hear the quiet thumping of his heart. It calms her. She relaxes her shoulders and smiles, humming along to the song. Bucky holds her tighter as the chorus approaches.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

It'll be alright

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

Just stop your crying

Have the time of your life

Breaking through the atmosphere

And things are pretty good from here

Remember everything will be alright

We can meet again somewhere

Somewhere far away from here

Peace. She feels at peace in Bucky’s arms. He is her sanctuary and she hopes that she can be his.

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

She hopes that this won’t be temporary. She hopes that this moment can last forever, being held by him.

Just stop your crying

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away from here

Stop your crying

Baby, it'll be alright

But even though she can hope, she knows it won’t last forever. Bucky, this man, this man who is filled with good, even with all he’s been through, never let that good fade away. He will see her for who she truly is, how she was never good. He will see how she was born with darkness and he will see how the darkness overtook her.

They told me that the end is near

We gotta get away from here

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We never learn, we been here before

Why are we always stuck and running from

The bullets?

The bullets

We don't talk enough

We should open up

Before it's all too much

Will we ever learn?

We've been here before

It's just what we know

“I’m…” Her voice wobbles. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re not a monster.” He places a kiss on the top of her head. “You were never a monster.”

Stop your crying, baby

It's a sign of the times

We gotta get away

We got to get away

“I’ve killed a lot of people, Bucky.”

“So have I.”

We got to get away

“But you didn’t have a choice. I did.”

We got to, we got to, away

The music comes to an end and Angel pulls Bucky over to the bed.

“Have you ever thought about what you’ll do after you stop?” He asks her. “You know, when you retire, I guess.”

She sighs.

“I’m not sure. I have enough money to live a quiet life in Paris. That’s the closest I have to a retirement plan.”

“When will that be?”

Angel lies down.

“I’m not sure.”

Bucky braces his arms around her head.

“We’ll figure it out. Okay?”

“Okay.” She pulls him in for a heated kiss. “But first, I want to feel you.”

Her hands cradle his face and she kisses every cut and bruise on his face.

“My sweet Angel. You’re too kind to me.”

He litters kisses down her neck, onto her collarbones, down her sternum, and onto her scar.

“So beautiful. So, so beautiful.” He murmurs.

Angel cards her hands through his soft hair as he rests his head on her lower stomach.

She giggles when he nuzzles at her tummy.

“Tickles.”

“Can’t help it. You look so pretty in my shirt. I just want to make you feel pretty.”

He places his fingers along the waistband of her panties.

“Can I?”

“Mhm”

As he pulls them down her legs and kisses along her thighs, she reaches out with her free hand and links her flesh fingers with his metal ones.

He’s gentle with her this time.

She can’t speak, only gasping his name. She arches her back and pushes her hips closer to him, silently begging for more.

Instead of teasing her, he gives her what she wants. Never forced her to beg.

He handles her delicately like she’s made of glass.

He calls her sweet names, doll Angel, honey, as he licks into her. Her moans are soft and sweet.

He coaxes an orgasm after orgasm out of her and she lays back, relishing in the pleasure, in the love he gives her.

It feels like heaven.

He feels like heaven.

And when he unbuckles his belt and pushes inside of her, he is still gentle, slowly rocking himself back and forth.

Though she’s still sore from the night before, the pain never overpowers the pleasure.

She wraps her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, silently telling him that he is hers and much as she is his.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” He groans into her neck. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you too.” She pants. “You make me feel human. You’re the only one who’s made me feel human, Bucky.” This time, she wants him to hear her. She wants him to know.

The skin on skin contact, feeling his body pressed against hers, it’s all everything she’s ever wanted. It’s everything she’s ever needed.

“You’re mine.” He rocks his hips faster. “You're my Angel. Say it to me.”

“I’m yours. I’m your Angel.”

She doesn’t think she can cum one more time, but she does. Walls clenching around him, making him gasp with pleasure.

“I’m…” he murmurs against her lips. “I’m gonna cum.”

She presses her lips against his.

“Come on, cum for me, my love.”

…

Bucky quickly fell asleep. Tired from the fighting and tired from the fucking.

Angel spends the rest of the night caressing his face and playing with his fingers.

They spent only a few days together but she’s been able to fall for him in this short time.

Though she doesn’t know what love feels like, she thinks she loves him.

Being with him, it’s changed her.

She knows that she’ll eventually have to leave, go back to Amsterdam. He’ll go back to New York.

They will be apart again for who knows how long.

But she doesn’t want that to happen so now, all she can do is live in the moment, and pretend that they can live in this moment forever.

“I love you.” She whispers. “I love you, James Bucky Barnes.

…

On the drive to the Sokovia memorial, they’re quiet. But it’s a comfortable silence. They listen to Bucky’s 40s music and admire the scenery.

She’s decided that she doesn’t want to kill anymore. At least not kill as much.

She’ll settle down somewhere. Somewhere on her own. In her fantasies, it would be with Bucky, but realistically, she thinks, it’s best that she’s on her own.

“I’ve been thinking, when this is over, we’ll go back to Amsterdam.” He says, breaking the silence “You can pack all of your things and you can stay with me. In Brooklyn.”

Her heart stops. He wants to go home. He wants to go home and take her with him.

“I’ve never been to New York.” She says over the sound of Dream A Little Dream of Me.

“I’ll show you around.” He turns to look at her. “We can start a new life together. I- I know someone you can talk to. Someone who can help you work through whatever you’ve been through.”

It’s too good to be true. Yet every part of her urges her to accept his offer.

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“You don’t need to give me an answer now, and you don’t have to come back with me immediately, but know that I’ll be waiting for you.”

She sighs.

“Bucky, you have so much in you. You have all this love, this kindness, this goodness. I don’t want to be the person that ruins it all for you.”

He pulls the car over.

“Sweet Angel,” he caresses her face. “You could never do that. You-“ he looks down and takes her hand. “I believe that you have the same good inside of you. You just don’t know it yet.”

She looks away at him, eyes finding the memorial in the distance. Maybe he’s right. Maybe she does have that goodness inside of her. She just needs time to find it.

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

“I am sure. Yes, you actively chose to kill, but the people you killed? They aren’t good people. They’re people who had no qualms about harming others to get their way. Do I agree with killing them? No, but you did what you thought was right.”

She shakes her head.

“It’s not the fact I kill people for money that makes me a bad person, Bucky. It’s what I did that got me that job.”

“So what did you do then?”

Angel gulps, not wanting to meet his eyes.

“I don’t remember much because I was a kid. I… I don’t really like talking about it.”

“Hey,” He tilts her head towards him. “Look at me.”

She averts her gaze, shame bubbling inside of her.

“Angel,” Bucky’s tone is more authoritative now. “I need you to look at me.” She finally allows her eyes to meet his. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s alright. There are things I’ve done that I don’t want to talk about either.”

Angel nudges her cheek deeper into his hand, wanting to feel more of the contact.

“I want to believe that I’m good, and I want to believe that I won’t hurt you.” She bites her lip, no longer wanting to discuss the subject. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I think you have some unfinished business.

…

Angel went back to Amsterdam alone.

The two had gone to the airport together, bags packed, and hand in hand, but after Bucky had gone to buy a cup of coffee, she disappeared.

She didn’t leave him empty-handed. She went to the airport toy store and bought a small brown bear. When the stomach was pressed, Bucky could hear her voice say “I’ll come back to you. I promise. Love, your Angel.”

He had found it in his duffel bag along with a small bottle of apple cinnamon body wash and a note written on a napkin.

I hope you won’t be mad that I left you, but if you are, I understand.

I need to figure things out, tie up some loose strings before I find a lasting home. Maybe a lasting home in New York.

But I promise you, I’ll see you again. And I never break my promises.

I hope you’ll wait for me.

I love you, Bucky

He felt his heart shatter, but he understood. She needed time.

So he went home, back to his Brooklyn apartment. And he waited.

When he woke up, he waited.

When he’d listen to the voice in the bear, he waited.

When he’d go get lunch with Yori, he waited.

When he went to Louisiana to help Sam with the boat, he waited.

“Did you find your Angel?” Sam had asked him, looking out into the sunset.

“Not yet.” Bucky had replied.

Even after the events in Lower Manhattan, he still waited.

For days on end, he waited. Constantly checking his phone, calling Sharon, scouring through European newspapers, looking for any sign of her.

But he found nothing.

He wanted to give up, but a small part of him knew that Angel would come back. He could feel it deep within him.

She made him a promise.

Five Months Later

Angel stares at the red water rush down the shower drain, the metallic stench of blood permeating throughout the bathroom.

There was so much of it, not even her body wash could cover the smell.

She had said ‘one last kill’ three days after she stepped foot back in Amsterdam. And then she had said it again three kills later.

And now that her body count had reached a perfect two fifty, maybe this would be her last kill.

Two fifty was a good number, she thinks as she pulls Bucky’s red henley over her head. A good number to stop at.

The buzzing of her phone turns her attention away from the soft fabric.

She picks it up, brow furrowing at the ‘unknown number’.

Cautiously, she answers.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me, Sharon.”

Angel stands.

“Sharon? How did you get my number?”

“I was a hustler in Madripoor. I have my ways. Don’t worry though, I’m using a burner phone.”

“Why are you calling me?”

There’s the sound of a refrigerator opening and closing from Sharon’s end of the line.

“I just want to let you know I’ve been pardoned.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“And I’m back in the CIA.”

“Congratulations.” Angel’s voice is tinged with sarcasm. “Now you’ve got an entire database of American government secrets at your disposal. Have fun with that.”

Sharon laughs.

“You know me too well. Which is surprising considering that we spent less than twenty-four hours together.”

“Well, knowing how to read people is a part of being an assasin.”

There’s a sigh on the other line.

“I don’t want you to panic, but there’s word that MI6 reopened your case.”

Angel closes her eyes and pulls the top of Bucky’s henley over her nose. In the beginning, when she had left him at the airport, she had taken the shirt with her. After a really bad job, or when she needed to feel okay, she'd bury her nose into the fabric and inhale, clinging onto the only piece of him she had with her.

But his smell had started to fade away and it filled her with sadness.

“So you’re telling me that they’ll come for me.”

“I doubt they’ll find you. After our talk in Madripoor, I managed to erase almost all of their progress. Still, I just wanted you to know.”

“Thanks.”

Silence fell in between them.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

Maybe it was time. Time to put her weapons down, pack her bags, and start over.

She thinks about Bucky’s offer. How he said that he would be waiting for her in Brooklyn. Maybe he’d still be waiting for her. Plus, she had made him a promise. She never broke her promises.

“I think it’s time to retire.”

...

Bucky had come home from late-night grocery shopping when he could smell the unmistakable scent of apple cinnamon body wash.

It could’ve been him. He found himself using it regularly. But this time, the smell was stronger. Sweeter.

He opens the door to his dark apartment, the only light coming from the city lights peeking through the curtains.

He quietly sets his bags down and turns on the lights. There, sitting on his kitchen counter is a cake box.

The fancy gold script indicated it was from one of the expensive bakeries in Midtown.

He hesitantly approaches it and gently opens it, revealing a fancy white cake covered in delicate piping and rosettes.

In the center, iced in simple pink script were the words ‘Miss Me?’

She’s here. She kept her promise.

The sound of his front door closing made him jump.

He whips around to see Angel. His sweet angel, wearing the same pink dress from their last day in Latvia, leaning against the door, arms crossed, and a wide smile on her face.

“Hey, Bucky.” She chuckles. “Thanks for waiting.”

...

Once again, a huge thank you to @sojournmichael for being my beta read, check out her writing, it’s amazing <3

#bucky x female reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #tfatws

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burberryfaerie · 3 years

Text

HC : If Tonks had a younger sibling Pt 3.

Fandom : Harry Potter

Warnings : Angst, Death, fluff, blood, swearing.

A/N : This is so rushed I'm so sorry.

You're in shock and denial.

The whole wizarding world believes Harry and Cedric now.

Harry's now "The Chosen One"

You bawl your eyes out in Cedric's arms.

“It's okay love, he surely is in a better place, a place where he's free with his friends.”

You're a bit comforted.

“Sirius won't want this”

Cedric is an official member of the order and a healer.

Andromeda is resting on Ted's chest, tears dry in her eyes.

Dora isn't any better, but for a completely different reason.

“Soo, he doesn't love you back?”

“No, he loves me b-but he's afraid of being with me. He says I deserve someone better.”

“You know that I love you two, no matter what, I couldn't care less if he's a werewolf or a vampire.”

OWL results.

O in transfiguration, charms and care for magical creatures, E for potions , A for astronomy and D for divination.

Celestina Warbeck's songs.

“Why are y'all so mean to Fleur, she's an angel.”

Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes

Absolutely enjoying your time there.

Testing new pranks with Fred and George.

Hermione accidentally blacks her eye.

“You look hot Granger.”

Meeting auntie Narcissa.

“You're such a disgrace to the family, you and your pathetic excuse of a mother.”

“Er- hate to break it to you auntie, but we're not even part of this family.”

Following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes.

Back to school again.

“So, you believe Draco Malfoy is a death eater now Harry?”

“Yes, I just know.”

Dora waiting for you at Hogsmead station.

“Surprise!”

Her patronus is now a wolf.

You smile to yourself.

Harry's way too late for the ceremony.

He's covered in blood. Again.

New defence against the dark arts teacher.

SNAPE??????

“I'm failing DADA this year”

Nice potions professor here.

Amortentia.

“What do you smell Miss Tonks?”

“Uhh, honey, mahogany, new laundry and uhh-” your voice trails off.

Cedric.

It's his scent.

Fuck.

“There's no need to call me sir, professor ”

“So you're snogging Lavender Brown now?”

“Who the hell is the half blood prince?”

“WHY THE HECK SOMEONE WOULD SLIP ME A LOVE POTION”

Katie Bell's curse.

Ron's poisoned.

Dumbledore and Harry's 'secret meetings'

Slug Club?

“You're mother was amazing at potions Miss Tonks.”

“Thank you professor”

Sectumsempra.

“Is he dead though?”

“No, just badly injured.”

“So, why the fuss?”

“HARRY AND GINNY ARE KISSING RIGHT NOW, FRED OWES ME 50 GALLEONS”

Astronomy tower.

You're with the marauders map with Ron, Neville and Ginny next to the room of requirement.

Facing Rowle and Greyback.

Dumbledore's dead.

Bill's attacked by Greyback.

You're bruised.

Fleur truly loves Bill.

Dora tells everyone about how she feels about Remus.

You and Cedric reunite.

“Oh god, are you okay?”

“I'm always okay Ced.”

Dumbledore's funeral.

“You're breaking up with Ginny? That's so dumb Harry.”

Harry telling the story of the cave and Dumbledore’s meetings.

R. A. B 's locket.

“So you got married and you couldn't care less to tell your family, why?”

“It all happened so fast, I'm so sorry.”

The seven Potters.

You go with Remus.

Bellatrix won't leave you alone.

Mad eye's dead.

Harry's Birthday.

“Why would the minister of magic want to see us?”

Inheriting a ring that forms a red light when danger is close, a sign to morph.

Not getting any sleep that night, you decided to go outside and stargaze.

Cedric is outside too.

You stare at the sky for a bit, but he's looking at you.

“What's wrong, do I have something on my face?”

“You look absolutely stunning love.”

“Thanks pretty boy.” you laugh

“I wanted to tell you something.”

“Duh, you just told me.”

“No, another thing.”

“You just told me another thing, go on anyways”

“I like you, so much, and I want to kiss you right now.”

“Huh?” before your lips connect.

It takes your brain a moment to comprehend this, but you kiss him back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

But there's something wrong.

He's twenty, you're still seventeen.

“We'll have to wait a bit more Ced.”

“Take your time love, I'll wait.”

Bill and Fleur's wedding!!!!

Looking absolutely ravishing this night.

You didn't tell anyone about what happened with Cedric except Ginny and Hermione.

Stolen glances from across the room.

Cedric's face heating up when he saw someone trying to dance with you.

You absolutely loving this.

“The ministry has fallen, the minister of magic is dead, they're coming.”

Not knowing what to do.

Death eaters are here.

“CEDRIC, DORA” you desperately cry out.

Hermione grabs your hand from one end, Ron grabs the other one.

You're in muggle London now.

#cedric diggory #harry potter #cedric diggory x reader #hermione granger #ron weasley #golden trio #golden trio era #marauders #ted tonks #nymphadora tonks #andromeda tonks #bellatrix lestrange #narcissa malfoy #draco malfoy

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breaniebree · 4 years

Note

Hey bree!! So I have a really silly request. I have seen many posts where tonks morphs into dumbledore and scares the shit out of other students. Also sometines dumbledore himself joins in and there are 2 dumbledores talking to a student. So could you maybe write a oneshot or something. ( Pleeeeease × infinity) The point is that whatever you write it always turns out amazing. You just write so well. So could you try please when you have time??

Hi, siriusblack15! Thank you for ask, but I’m not one to take prompts because a) it takes away from what I’m writing and b) it sets me way off track from what I’m writing.

I’m that honoured you’d make a request though and I promise to think about it. I did already write her turning her into Snape and she’s told stories of how she morphed into different professors over the years. I will never say never, but right now we’ll say not now, does that work?

Flashback Chapter 21

“Mum mentions it whenever she gets a letter from Professor Sprout,” Tonks told him honestly. “Nymphadora, you better not be following in your cousin’s footsteps — that boy was always in detention!” she mimicked in a well done impression of Andromeda.

Remus laughed, drying his hair with the towel and wringing out his wet shirt. “Are you a mischief maker, Nymphadora?”

She smiled mischievously. “Only if I get caught.” When Remus laughed she grinned widely. “At the end of the year, I morphed into Professor Sprout and told our house that even though we had lost the House Cup to Slytherin, we were still having a party to celebrate our accomplishments. Then I went to the kitchens and got food and drink and we had a grand old time.”

Remus’ eyes widened. “You morphed into one of your professors?”

Tonks nodded, grinning widely. “Only once or twice. Let me tell you, Snape does not find it amusing at all when he catches you.”

“Snape?” Remus asked in surprise, recognizing the name.

“Yeah, Professor Snape? Was he not a teacher when you were there? I guess he is pretty young actually, only finished school a few years back."

He remembered who Snape had once hung around with, and he suddenly had an image of him teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts (and it wasn’t a good one). What was Dumbledore doing even employing him at Hogwarts? Remus had suspected him to be a Death Eater before they had even left school; all of his friends had turned out to be. But he had never heard anything or seen anything on any of his missions with the Order about Snape actually working for Voldemort.

“I do know, Snape. Sirius and I went to school with him. He was a greasy-haired git back then too, but we were never very nice to him. What does he teach?” Remus asked in interest.

"He teaches Potions and he’s Head of Slytherin House too.” Tonks said, grabbing the peach juice that Remus had brought out with him earlier and passing two of the bottles to Remus and Harry.

“Hmm, well I find that very interesting,” Remus told her.

Potions had always been a special subject of Snape’s. It wasn’t the worst choice, he thought as Slughorn must have retired.

"He's crabby, but maybe that’s only to me because I sent him hair care products anonymously every week for a whole semester until he caught me packing up the basket in the Owlery one day.”

“Oh, that’s priceless!" Remus busted into laughter. He could picture Severus Snape opening a package of hair care products, a look of pure disdain upon his face and his greasy hair falling forward.

Tonks grinned widely, moving to help Harry dry his legs better and squeezed out the water from his trouser legs.

“Definitely the same git. I tripped over someone’s bag and knocked a textbook off one of the desks and he looked at me and said: ‘Ten points from Hufflepuff since Miss Tonks isn’t capable of walking into a classroom.’ Git.”

Flashback Chapter 57

(jealous Remus)

He offered her a small smile. “Where’s your boyfriend these days?”

“Jon? He’s visiting his grandparents in Paris this week. But next week I’m going to stay with him and his parents for a bit,” she told him with a smile. “I’ve missed having him around every day.”

Remus nodded; staying with her boyfriend, there was a thought he immensely didn’t like. When Harry came back downstairs, Tonks spent the next thirty minutes regaling Harry and Remus with some of the pranks she had gotten away with at Hogwarts that year; including transforming into Filch and giving a few of her classmates detentions.

Flashback Chapter 88

Remus ran his fingers through her hair. The last thing he wanted to do was touch her that way after a dream like that. The fear of hurting was still much too close to the surface. “Tell me about some of the pranks that you got up to at school.”

She smiled against his chest. “That could take hours.”

“Perfect then,” he said with a smile as he kissed the top of her head.

Tonks stretched her legs out, tossing one over his legs as she moved closer. “Well, let’s start with I did to Filch. Did I ever tell you that in my first year I kept changing my appearance to look like McGonagall and lecture Filch on proper respect towards the students?”

Remus chuckled, entwining his leg with hers. “No, I don’t believe you did.”

Flashback Chapter 122

“Now what is this map you guys have been speaking of?” Tonks asked, accepting the blank parchment from Harry.

“I’ll explain after, Tonks, try to get it to reveal itself first,” Sirius said with a grin.

Tonks rolled her eyes and tugged her wand out, tapping the parchment. “Revelio!”

Cursive writing began to fill the parchment.

“Read it aloud,” Remus instructed.

“Mr Moony congratulates you on your attempt, but thinks someone as sexy as you could do better.” She turned to grin at Remus who blushed.

“Guess it’s still connected to our magic.”

“Keep reading,” Sirius instructed.

“Mr Wormtail wonders why you bother even trying if you’re going to use ‘revelio’ to find your answer. Mr Padfoot thanks you for your attempt but insists a smart-arse like you should prank better. Mr Prongs offers you his smile and says: Neener neener neener.” Tonks smirked at them. “What is this?”

Remus tapped his wand on the parchment. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” The maroon coloured lines flowed across the parchment and Tonks’ eyes widened.

“This is Hogwarts!”

Harry grinned at her. “It’s a map of the entire school and it’s completely brilliant! They created it when they were at school.”

“See, it says so right here, Messers Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” Remus said with a smile. “Filch confiscated it in our last month of seventh year and Fred and George Weasley stumbled across it.”

Tonks grinned widely at Remus. “I wish I would have had this at school. Do you know how much fun I could have had?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “You had enough fun impersonating Snape and other professors!”

She grinned. “Did I ever tell you about the time I morphed into Snape and made out with a statue on a dare?”

Sirius busted into laughter. “No, did anyone see you?”

“Oh, yes, I made sure it was quite public. There were some interesting rumours after that.”

Harry smirked at her. “That’s brilliant!”

Remus handed the map back to Harry after closing it again. “Anyway, Snape does know it was us and he’s well aware that he’s being watched. Dumbledore and McGonagall have both spoken to him about his behaviour to the students. I’m glad to see that he’s following through.”

“If he doesn’t, Prongslet, you tell me. I want to know and I will have words with him.”

Harry nodded at his godfather. “Okay.” He smiled at Tonks as he helped himself to some more of the pot roast. “Did you ever morph into Dumbledore?”

Tonks grinned at him. “Once. Dumbledore told me I did a good job, but next time he was going to put me to work. He was chill about it.”

“Who else?”

Tonks laughed. “Professor Sprout once and I gave Hufflepuff permission to throw a massive party.”

“Did it work?”

“For a while, until Sprout showed up and shut it down and found out ‘she’ had given permission. I spent a full month in detention, but it was worth it.”

Remus smirked and squeezed her hand. “Troublemaker.”

Tonks merely looked at him. “Me? Mr I Made My Own Map of Hogwarts to Prank and Cause Mischief?”

He blushed and kissed her cheek. “I have no idea what you’re implying. So, Harry, what are having for dessert?” he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Tonks only smirked at him.

Flashback Chapter 186

Remus woke up the next morning to the soft graze of his wife’s fingertips dancing along his spine. He sighed in contentment, a big smile on his face as he rolled over to look at her and jolted in alarm, rolling off the bed and onto the floor as Tonks busted into hysterical laughter.

“Uncalled for!” he declared, glowering at her.Tonks, who had decided to alter her face and hair to resemble a certain hook-nosed, greasy-haired git, slowly changed herself back as she roared in laughter.

“Get back up here.”

Remus knelt on the floor by their bed. “Promise me that you will never do that again.”

She grinned and leaned across the bed, kissing his lips. “Admit it, you thought it was hilarious.”

Remus fisted his hand in her curls and kissed her deeply. “No,” he growled. “It sure as hell killed my morning erection.”

Tonks giggled. “But your face, Rem! Oh Merlin, it was priceless!”

“How long have you been plotting this, Dora?”

“Months… eons…” she said, still giggling. “But you always wake up first and distract me.”

Remus stood up. “First day of our marriage and you’re already giving me trust issues.”

Tonks grinned and leaned forward to kiss his limp cock, licking it softly as it trembled under her tongue. “Let me make it up to you,” she murmured as he began to harden under her ministrations.

Remus held her in place for a moment, letting her work him over and then he tugged her away and to her feet on the bed. He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her forward into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. He kissed her deeply before he headed into the kitchen, holding her in his arms and then he sat her on the barstool by the island.

“First we need sustenance. What do you want for breakfast, Mrs Lupin?”

Tonks grinned, stretching her arms up over her head. “Pancakes.”

Remus nipped at her bottom lip and grinned. “I love you, Nymphadora.”

Tonks tugged him close for a long kiss. “You’re not really mad at me, are you?”

His hand moved to cup a naked breast and he grinned. “You are a mischief maker and I love you, but please, for the love of Zeus never make yourself look like Snape again, especially in our bed!”

She grinned. “I promise, my husband.”

He grinned widely at her words. “I’m going to make my sexy wife chocolate pancakes with fresh strawberries and powdered sugar for breakfast.”

“That sounds brilliant,” she told him. “I’m going to sit right here at the counter and watch you make me breakfast.”

Remus bent his head to lick her breast. “As long as you stay naked.”

Tonks grinned as she checked out his own naked bum as he headed to the cupboard. “I just have a few last minute things to pack, but then I’m ready to go. Will you tell me where we’re going yet?”

He grinned at her from over his shoulder. “No. It’s a surprise. Our portkey leaves at one.”

Tonks brought her legs up and sat cross-legged on the counter. “But it’s our honeymoon, I want to know.”

Remus only shrugged, a soft smile on his face. “You will, at one-oh-one.”

She sighed as she watched him putter around their kitchen naked. As far as she was concerned, they could spend the next seven days right here. She didn’t care. She just wanted to spend the whole time making love with her husband in every way imaginable. Her eyes stayed on his bum, watching the sway of it, the way it clenched and moved as he bent and stretched and she licked her lips, her eyes falling to the long swaying cock between his legs. And she definitely wanted him to stay naked, she thought.

So far this being married thing definitely had its perks.

Flashback Chapter 187

The moment that he was out of earshot, Tonks grabbed Harry��s hand in hers. “I finally did the prank on him!”

“The one where you make yourself look like Snape?”

She nodded, snorting in laughter. “He jumped out of the bed so fast, it was hilarious! I’m still laughing about it and it’s been over a week.”

Harry grinned widely. “I wish I could’ve seen it!”

“Oh, Harry, he was so traumatized! It was brilliant! Worth every second!”

Harry grinned and couldn’t help but laugh as Tonks doubled over in laughter herself. The two of them were still laughing when Sirius and Remus came in almost five minutes later.

“What did we miss?” Sirius asked, wiping his greasy hands on the grease rag he had hanging from his back jean pocket. He was shirtless and glistening from the heat outside, his hair pulled back in a short stubby tail at his neck, the front pieces still dangling in his face. He drank cold water from a tall glass before looking at Harry and Tonks again.

Harry grinned. “Tonks was just telling me how she woke Uncle Moony up one morning looking like Snape and how he fell right out of bed!”

Sirius busted into laughter. “Like how much like Snape?”

“Just her face,” Remus said in annoyance. “But it sure as hell wasn’t the wakeup call I wanted from my new wife.”

Harry busted into laughter again as Tonks and Sirius joined in and Remus glared at them.

“It wasn’t funny!”

Tonks stood up, clutching her side as she moved to kiss her husband. “It was hysterical, but I love you.”

Remus flicked her in the forehead. “Minx.”

#a second chance #breanie #remadora #metamorphmagus #harry potter fanfiction

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use-a-little-patience · 5 years

Text

James Potter Imagine Part 4

Hello lovlies, I hope you’re all doing well. I noticed that all of my previous imagines were quite short, so I made this one a little longer. This is the HAPPY ENDING. I used some German here, my friend helped me (duhh), but if the translation isn’t correct, please do tell me. I will publish the sad one tomorrow. Please tell me what you think of this one and thanks again for reading.

xoxo

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Time flies pretty fast when you’re constantly doing something and not thinking about things that don’t matter. And that’s just what you’ve been trying to do for the past year.

Germany was now the place you called your home and it was nothing but wonderful here. You had a new job which was even better than the previous one. At first it was hard, because you didn’t know a word in German and had zero friends here. But people were nice and friendly and they wanted to know everything about the wizarding world in Britain.

You lived in a house, a little away from town, which you rented at first, but when you got promoted, you bought it with your own money. Surprisingly the prices here were much lover than in England. Everything was a lot different here.

You didn’t fool yourself, you missed James. And you knew he was looking for you. The only person you told where you were was your cousin Andromeda Tonks. You didn’t exactly tell her why you were leaving all of a sudden, but you made it clear that you and James were no longer together.

The first letter that you got from her left you in tears. James was allegedly looking for you all over the country and that he was desperate. The second letter was just like the first one, James was still trying to find you. The following five letters were all similar, but with each of them, Andormeda was mentioning James less and less. And eventually, there was no word about James at all.

He’s finally over me, you thought. That’s what I want, right?

The thought of James getting over you didn’t make you happy. You still loved him and you sometimes wished you would just go back and forgive him.

But it wasn’t that easy. He cheated on you. Multiple times. You couldn’t just ignore that. How could you leave that behind? Could you forgive him, if he asked?

James’ life changed aswell. After Lily told him he was going to be a father, even though he felt guilty, he felt slightly happy. He always wanted children. For sure that didn’t change how he felt about Lily or you, but she was still the mother of his child.

Eventually, as Lily’s bump was growing and growing, everyone around James just kind of got used to her being with him. Euphemia and Fleamont weren’t happy when they found out about James’ affair, but the fact that they were going to be grandparents made them forget all about you.

With Lily, Marlene and Alice were also hanging out with “the group” more. And they were acting as if it always was like that. James didn’t mind them around, it seemed as if he agreed with everything Lily said or wanted. The moment his life changed, he locked himself in his own little world and didn’t let anyone in. He talked only if someone asked him something and if it was about his son - Harry.

The only ones who didn’t just give in were Remus and Sirius. They couldn’t believe their ears when Lily happily announced that her and James were moving in together.

“Are you going to sell your house?” Remus asked James one evening, when it was just him, Sirius and James. Boxes around them were packed with the stuff he and you used to own.

James nodded. “She wanted to move in here, but...that would just be wrong.” He said ss he looked at his glass of firewhiskey. Maybe because this was your house, which was full of memories of you. He couldn’t just let Lily move in and sleep in bed where you used to lie in. So instead he let her choose a new house that he would buy her.

“Mate, I’m sorry. But I just can’t do it.” Sirius said.

Remus and James looked up at him.

“What?”

“This...I mean, you are my best friend, but whatever this is, your new life, I can’t be part of it. It’s too much.”

For Sirius, it was always you and James. He was his best friend and he was close with you too. And he never really liked Lily. Not after what she did. He knew she got pregnant on purpose, knowing James wouldn’t leave her if a baby was in the picture. That was rotten, Sirius thought. That child was not conceived with love and he would have to grow up with parents whose relationship was not healthy.

And James made him Harry’s godfather. For the love of Godric.

Not to mention what he had to go through because of Marlene, who still didn’t understand that they will never be together. She would always show up at James’ house, when he did. Sirius knew Lily would set this up. He hated her even more for that.

And now Sirius had enough.

“What do you mean Sirius? What’s wrong with my life?” James asked a little angry.

“Everything. And I know you’re trying to do what is right James, but it’s killing you. All those fake smiles and pretending to be a perfect family. Lily is telling everyone that you two are going to get married soon, but you didn’t even propose to her. Did she made that decision for you, James?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “What else should I do? I lost (y/n), so it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Yeah, you screwed it up. But why are you screwing up everything else as well? I know you don’t love Lily. And I swear James, if I see Marlene one more time, I’m done.”

James’ tired eyes looked at his best friend with sadness. There was silence between them for a while, Remus looking at James and Sirius nervously.

“You know I tried to find her.” James spoke all of a sudden. Sirius grey orbs looked from his hands to Prongs.

“I would give everything to see her again. I love her. That is the truth. But it’s not about me anymore. It seemed like it never was. (Y/n) doesn’t want me to find her, she’s done with me and I need to accept that.”

The words hurt and it was in that moment Sirius realized that they were no longer in school, they were no longer kids who could do whatever they came up with.

“And Harry’s here. I can’t just leave him.” James added. “I love him more than anything...sometimes, I wished he was (y/n)’s son, but he’s not.” He confessed.

Little did Remus know that Lily was listening to their conversation from upstairs, but he still let James talk.

“I’m sorry.” Sirius whispered, obviously in a bad mood, as he took his keys, his leather (faux ) jacket and left James’ new home.

He was angry at him, at himself and at you for leaving. Like him and Remus meant nothing to you. Just when he was about to leave, Marlene showed up. Her hair was made in one single braid and she was wearing a dress that she bought at a muggle shop last week.

“Hi Sirius! Wait, you leaving already?” She smiled, showing her white teeth. It’s not that he held anything against her, but she was really annoying.

“Yeah, gotta go, Cat’s waiting for me at home.” He replied, while zipping his jacket.

Marlene furrowed her brows. “You have a cat? Oh my god, I love cats!” She squeaked.

“No, my girlfriend’s name is Cat. I don’t have a cat. My animagus is a dog, remember?”

“Oh.” Was all she said.

Maybe now, she will get the picture, Sirius thought as he drove away.

When he arrived at Andromeda’s house he felt gulity for not visiting her earlier.

When his beautiful cousin opened the door, for a slight second, he thought it was Bellatrix, the resemblence between two sisters was remarkable. However, only visually.

“Sirius? Merlin’s beard, it is you!” Andromeda was happy to see him.

Sirius hugged her tightly, as he stepped into her house. Her husband, Ted was also there with their six year old daughter Nymphadora. Sirius greeted them both.

“‘Dora? Is that you?” He teased her.

Dora nodded proudly.

“Wow, you’re growing fast, the next time I come here, you’ll already be in Hogwarts.”

“Let’s hope it’s not going to take you that long to visit us again.” Andromeda said, as she put the tea tray on the table before them.

They started catching up on usual things they missed in each others lives. Sirius told them about a new girlfriend named Cat that he had, the one he met on a Sunday night out and completely forgot about her when he woke up the next morning.

But he met her again, this time sober.

Andromeda was happy for Sirius. He was always her closest family member, the one who understood her. While she listened to one of his wild stories in which he mentioned his best friend James Potter, she couldn’t help but think of (y/n). Her eyes traveled across the room and landed on one single picture she had of you. The photo showed Sirius, Remus, Peter, James and you at your graduation. You were standing in the middle of four boys, smiling, while James’ hand rested on your waist.

Those were the times, she thought.

She still remembered what you wrote in the letter that you sent her along with that photo, back in 1978. How happy and sad you were both at the same time, happy because you were finally getting out in the real world and moving in with James, sad because your Hogwarts years were over and you knew nothing will never be the same again.

Ironic, Andromeda thought.

“We still haven’t found where she is.” Sirius low voice woke her from her thoughts.

She suddenly looked at him, not knowing what he was talking about. He was also looking at the picture of him and his friends.

“Oh.” Andromeda mumbled in realization.

“We tried looking for her everywhere. Her parents don’t know where she is, her friends either. Not even her boss. He said that one day, she just didn’t show up anymore.”

Andromeda shook her head. She didn’t know you didn’t tell Sirius or at least Remus where you were. At first she understood, you were heartbroken, angry and sad and you needed to get away. But after more than one year, she expected for you to at least tell them you were alive.

Seeing the concern in Sirius’ eyes, she decided to tell him.

“Sirius-“ she stopped him.

“She’s in Germany.”

Sirius’ grey orbs looked at her in surprise.

“What?” Was all he managed to blir out.

“She’s been there for quite a long time. Well, since she found out about James and...that woman.” Andromeda refused to say Lily’s name.

Sirius’ eyes blinked a few times.

“(Y/n) is working at the Ministry. That is all I know. She hasn’t sent me a letter for a while now.” She added

Sirius grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the house and heading back to James’ place.

____

Your life was finally falling into it’s place. You had new friends, a job you loved and nothing was stressing you out. Finally you woke up every morning feeling healthy and positive. Sure there were some worries here and there, but you were doing much better than a year ago.

There was also a guy. A new guy. Named Marcus. He also worked at the German Ministry for Magic and he was the one who helped you to learn German when you got here. At first you didn’t want to start a new relationship after your previous one ended as such a disaster. But eventually, you two got closer and one thing led to another and now you two were living together. Marcus was a great guy. Sure he had his flaws jusy like everyone else, but he loved and supported you and made you very happy.

It was Friday afternoon in Frankfurt, everyone was leaving from work and meeting with their friends and families at local wizarding pubs and restaurants and you were no exception.

You were already late for your lunch with Marcus, so you quickened your pace down the street.

That is when you bumped in a middle aged lady, accidentally.

“Ah, entschuldigung, ich haben sie nicht gesehen-“ you spoke, as you turned around to see if she was okay.

In that moment, unknown to you, from across the street, James heard your voice. He thought he was dreaming, when he finally saw your pretty face. That is when it hurt him the most. Seeing you there, after all this time, happy. And you looked as beautiful as ever. For a split second he couldn’t move.

He rushed to the other side of the street, running practicaly, leaving Remus and Sirius behind.

He called after you. But you didn’t hear him, you continued walking fastly to the nearby restaurant.

“(Yn)!!” He called again, this time louder, so a few other people turned around also.

You stopped. You heard James’ voice. It couldn’t be. How?

That is when you turned around.

And there he was. James Potter. The first thing that you noticed was his big, bright smile. And then his eyes, also smiling. He hasn’t really changed, you thought.

He started coming towards you, but you didn’t move.

“(Y/n)..it really is you.” He said, once he was close enough.

You studied his face, unitentionally. His handsome features were still gracing his face, brown curls falling on his eyes, as he went through them with his hand.

“I missed you. So much.” He said.

You looked at him straight in his eyes. You knew he was being honest, you knew he missed you. Because you missed him too.

“I-I’m sorry (y/n). I really am. I never meant to hurt you.” He spoke slowly.

He still didn’t understand why you didn’t say anything, why you kept looking at him like he was a stranger.

“Say something..please.” He begged.

People were rushing past you and you knew you should get going as well, to meet with Marcus. But something kept you here.

“I don’t have anything to say to you, James.”

He looked for something in your eyes. A glince of hope, a sign that you still loved him, like he loved you.

That is when he put his hands on your arms and squeezed them tightly. He was so close that you could see the tears in his eyes, small dark circles under them and that is when you realized that he’s been a mess.

“Don’t do this to me, (y/n). I know I fucked up. I know that! But..did you really have to run away and hide?”

Hide? You pushed his hands off yourself.

“I didn’t run away James. I didn’t hide. This was me starting a new life. Without you!”

James shook his head, disagreeing.

“No.” He said more to himself, but you heard it.

Then Sirius and Remus showed up, behind him.

Your eyes widned, you haven’t seen your friends for so long. Remus had to keep himself from squeezing you in a tight hug and Sirius couldn’t be happier to see you.

“Remus, Sirius.” You said coldy.

“I guess you two knew about James’ doings.” You added.

Sirius’ smile was quickly brushed off, as Remus shook his head in a no.

“Of course we didn’t.” Sirius urged.

“Doesn’t matter now, does it?” You fought back.

“Is there a problem (y/n)?” A voice behind you said. You felt two hands touching your shoulders protectively. You turned around and it was Marcus, who was eyeing three boys you were speaking with.

“Everything’s fine, Marcus, thanks.” You said softly to him.

James noticed that and immediately knew what was going on.

“These are my...” you began, but stopped, when you didn’t know what to call them.

“Friends.” Sirius finished instead of you.

Judging by the look on his face, he wasn’g exactly happy either, that Marcus was here.

“Yes. Right.” You said. “We should get going now, Marcus.”

You put your hand in his and turned in another direction.

“It was nice seeing you.” You said quickly and walked away with Marcus.

All three boys still stood there, watching you and your new boyfriend leave. James’ stomach turned when Marcus put his arm around your shoulders and kissed your lips slowly.

It was Sirius who put a hand on his back. “Come on guys, lets go.”

Remus took one more glance at you, at least you seemed happy, he thought.

James in that moment couldn’t feel anything but jealousy, as tears kept forming in his eyes.

It was only Sirius who knew, that you didn’t truly love this guy. At least not like you did James.

When you and Marcus arrived at the restaurant and ordered your food, he noticed that something was keeping your mind elsewhere.

“Love,” he called you, “what’s wrong?”

You gave him a small smile. “Nothing.” You assured him.

“Come on, tell me. Is it about your friends from earlier?”

You looked at him. He was sweet. A great guy. But, could you be with him for the rest of your life? You weren’t sure.

“It’s just that..I haven’t seen them for a long time. Seeing them..brings me a lot of memories.” You

admitted.

Just seeing James, changed everything. You didn’t want him here. Why couldn’t he just leave you alone?

“Well, then invite them over. I’m sure you have a lot to catch up.”

“No, no, no. We..we aren’t that close. We only went to school together, that’s all.” You lied.

Marcus only nodded and changed the subject. Little did he knew that wasn’t the truth.

James, Sirius and Remus returned to their hotel. There was a certain redhead there with a one year old in her arms. It was Lily with Harry

When James saw her in the lobby, he quickly pulled her to the side.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her.

“I don’t know. What are you doing here?” She asked him, while little Harry reached for his father’s face.

James’ expression softened as he looked at his son. He was so dear to him.

“Just..meeting with a friend.” James lied.

“What friend?”

“Good Godric, do you have to know everything?” James rolled his eyes.

“How’d you even find me?”

“Your mom told me.” She replied. She was suspicious. James was hiding something.

When Lily heard (y/n) left James, she couldn’t be happier. Even though it took a long time for him to finally move on and be with her, she felt that there was always a third person present in their relationship. Someone from the past. When she would try and talk to him, he seemed to drift away in his own thoughts. He was a great dad, but Lily knew he didn’t love her. But with time maybe he would, she thought. She was surprised when he refused to throw away (y/n)s things that she left in the wardrobe. He folded them in a box and took them to a new house. Lily didn’t know where he put the box, but she saw that he was wearing a bracelet on his wrist. He would sometimes stare at it like it was something special. When she asked him about it, he didn’t reply.So when James’ mother told her he left with his friends to Germany, she wasted no time. Something inside kept saying that he was trying to find (y/n) there. And she felt threatned. Deep down she knew James was with her only because of Harry.

“Listen, go home with Harry. Don’t-“

“No.” She said firmly. James could see that she was worried. Maybe she knew.

He just shook his head and left her standing there.

“Remus,” Lily called after James’ friend, the one she knew would tell her what was going on, if she pressed the right buttons.

Remus gave her a small, sincere smile, as he squeezed Harry’s small hand gently.

“What friend is James meeting here with?” she began, “I’m worried about him. And Harry’s not feeling well here. Do you know anything Remus? I don’t like it here.” She rambled.

Remus didn’t move his gaze from Harry. He couldn’t. If he looked at Lily, then he would tell her more than he should.

“He’s here for her, isn’t he?” Her sweet voice was suddenly gone. “For (y/n)?” she continued. “Merlin, I can’t believe him. It’s been more than a year. Can’t he forget about her?! He has a son now, that I gave birth to, he doesn’t need her, she-“

“Calm down Lily.” Remus said.

She looked at him with her big blue eyes, as Harry giggled, unaware what was going on.

“He just wants to make sure she’s okay. He cares for her and he’s been worried for her.”

“Well he wasn’t exactly worried when he cheated on her with me.” She replied.

“That...was a mistake.” Remus said quietly as he left.

Lily sighed as she took Harry to her room. The hotel they were staying in was of course a wizarding one. The wizarding community in Germany was hidden from the muggles and that was it was easier to live in it. Wizards didn’t live in muggle streets or towns, they prefered living peacefully in one place where with people like them. Lily didn’t speak the language and found the place horrible.

She tried to remember what you looked like when she last saw you. And it was then that she realized that you must have known about her and James, when she applied for a job at the Ministry. She never liked you. Not even when you were at Hogwarts. She envied your abillity to make friends easily. Sirius and Remus were both close to you and treated you as the fifth Marauder and even Peter who seemed rather strange, grew to love you. When she heard that you and James were engaged it broke her heart. She cried for days in her room, unknown to her friends Marlene and Alice. She still tried to get in touch with James, first through Frank and Alice, then by visiting the town he lived in. And her plan succeded.

But whatever happened, James never stopped loving you. This time, his hopes were higher than ever, he had a feeling he could get you back. He knocked on the door of the house that was presumably yours. He asked your neighbours in which house you live and when he found out that you lived alone, he rushed to your front door.

When you heard a knock on your door, you assumed it was Marcus, or maybe one of your friends, so you opened the door with a big smile on your face.

But as soon as you saw him, the smile on your lips was gone.

“Hi.” He said, smiling at you.

“What are you doing here? Please..just leave me alone.” You tried to close the door, but his leg was quicker and stopped you.

“(Y/n) just listen to me. I beg you, just hear me out.”

That is when you stared at him for a few seconds, thinking, then gave up and let him in. When James got in, he noticed that your taste didn’t change. It was cozy and it made James feel like home. A lot of natural light was provided, while on the wall there were frame pictures and articles from Daily Prophet that included your friends from Britain. There was also a picture of Andromeda, Ted and Dora when she was just a baby.

He sat down on a divan that was placed in front of a fireplace.

You sat down on an armchair on the other side.

He wasted no time and began telling you how sorry he is, that he never meant to hurt you and so on and on.

“It was a mistake.” He admitted.

“I can’t apologize enough and I understand if you can’t forgive me, but...(y/n) I love you.”

Tears filled your eyes, you couldn’t look at him, it hurt too much. And then he said that he loved you.

“I still love you, I never stopped.” He said out of breath.

After all this time, seeing James wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be. It was rather joyful. Even though you felt all kinds of things when you saw him in the street, now you felt as a kid that has seen snow for the first time.

Your heart was beating fast and you didn’t try to fool yourself, you still loved James.

Suddenly you saw him kneeling in front of you, his finger lifting your chin to look at him. Tears rolled down your cheeks as soon as your eyes met his. You realized he was crying too.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, as he pulled you in his arms and repeated himself again; “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

At first you didn’t respond to him, then you put your hands on his arms and you were home again.

You stayed like that for a few more minutes, before you pulled away.

“Go James.” You said, wiping your teary cheeks with the back of your hand.

He furrowed his brows a little, before a smal “what” came od out of his mouth.

“Go back to Lily. And your son.” You barely said the last part.

You knew. How could you knew?

He looked away from you, obviously uncomfortable. The smile on his face disappeared and he didn’t reply.

There was silence for a few minutes, before you chose to speak.

“Andromeda told me.” You said. “Good she did. You wouldn’t, would you?”

James looked at you, hand covering his mouth as he sighed. He was still kneeling in front of you. Now that he has a son, maybe you’d never want him back. How will you look at him now? What a jerk he is.

“I wouldn’t know how.” He admitted.

“James...” you shook your head.

“I’m not blaming you for having a child. I know you’re a loving father. I’m happy for you.” You went on.

A child shouldn’t be a victim here. Little Harry needed his dad and you knew James loved him.

“Sometimes..I wish you’d be Harry’s mother-“

“Don’t say that.”

You closed your eyes. What could have been is a closed story. It is what it is now.

“We can’t change the past James. We have to deal with the present.”

James smirked a little. “Maybe if we had a time turner..” he said.

You rolled your eyes, fightning back a laugh. He was still old, funny James. Oh how you’ve missed him.

“I’m being honest (y/n). I haven’t stopped loving you. When Sirius told me you’re in Germany, I had to come here. I can’t live without you.”

You looked at him. You took your hands in his and smiled. He smiled back.

“I forgive you James. But..I’m not sure I can-“

“You can. We can. Please. I’ll do anything.”

James squeezed your hands gently. You were still young. The world was still yours. And you felt like there is still plenty for you to accomplish. You had dreams and plans and if you were brave enough, just maybe, you could make place for James in your plan. But could you trust him again?

“I don’t trust you.” You said and his face dropped.

“I’m sorry, but this is the truth. I really don’t know how this could work out and I don’t want history to repeat.”

James stood up. “I understand.”

“But..if I give you a chance,”

His face lightened up, last glance of hope in his eyes, shining like the sun.

“If you give me a chance, I promise I will make it better. I will love you and care for you. I need you in my life (y/n).”

You smiled. James took your hand and pulled you close to him. He slowly lowered his head, as his lips brushed hers lightly.

“I can take care of myself. I just want you to be loyal.” You said slowly. “I’ll kill you, if you won’t.”

James chuckled and nodded smilingly.

“Of course.” He said before he pressed his lips to yours.

___

@percyjacksonlover2109

@evyiione

@fuckmeandmylifeughhh

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sauntered-vaguely-downward · 6 years

Text

Last Names. Chapter One

Okay so... I used to write fanfiction all the time and took a break from it a while ago. Ive decided to start it up again and I have decided that I’m going to do so by writing a series of George Weasley x Reader. So Here it is... Chapter one.

Warnings: Some violence, a few swear words, and a lot of poor English.

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Plot: Not everyone is born to a family with a name to be proud of. As the daughter of two infamous serial killers, Y/N is happy just to be herself, and defend herself and anyone else. Her mysterious and general badass behaviour doesn’t go unnoticed by one of the Weasley twins.

Some people suited their last names. Malfoy and Potter were brilliant examples. Malfoy was just like his family: stuck up, wealthy, racist and a coward. Draco used his last name to his advantage. His name alone made people fear him, knowing the power his father had. Malfoy was perfectly suited to his last name. The story is the same for Harry Potter. While until he was 11 Harry had no idea how important his name was, he lived up to it every day of his life. He was braver than any Malfoy could ever be, smart like his mother, fierce like his father. Potter was every bit a Potter, no doubt about that.

Not everyone matched their last names. Percy Weasley. His family was forever a bundle of laughs, jokes and giggles. His family were not full of themselves, or overly proud, his family were a humble family. Percy was not that. Yes he was just as lovely and as good as a person as his family, but Percy Weasley was not a barrel of laughs and believed himself to be far too important when promoted to position of Prefect. Far too serious for a Weasley.

Y/N was another one who didn’t match her family name. If Y/N had matched her last name she’d be similar to Malfoy. She’d be proud of being a pureblood, believe herself superior. Her idea of a good time would be inflicting pain on the likes of people like Hermione Granger, just because she could. If Y/N was like her last name and the others who bore it, she’d not use her level of intellect to assist others but much rather use it to take over the world and spread nothing but hate. Y/N was not like this.

Y/N like her family name suggested was confident, sure of herself and cunning to the core. With a quick tongue and a sharpened wit, Y/N was similar to her family, but that was where the similarities ended quickly. Y/N was a model student. She spent her Saturdays tutoring the younger students on all subjects from Potions to Arithmancy. On Friday’s she was often seen with Madam Pince in the Library, quietly working away at reorganising the books left in disarray by students studying. Tuesdays and Thursdays were her own revision days where, weather permitted, after her classes were done she’d quietly sit by herself by the lake or in the courtyard, books around her, quill in hand and notes messily written across parchment. It was fair to say Y/N was not much like her family name would suggest, perhaps being raised by her aunt and uncle, the Tonks, had something to do with it. Maybe Y/N was just simply not like her family.

However, no matter how nice of a person she was, some people failed to see past her last name, failed to see past the damage that her mother and father had done to innocent people. In her third year it became more apparent that not everyone saw her as the nice person she was, when both had reportedly broken free from their prison, much like Sirius Black. While many had simply not cared about who she was, some of her fellow students, many within her own house, held her personally accountable for any damage that her family had done. Those in her own house of Slytherin often called her a traitor, saying not only was she a blood traitor but a traitor to her own family. Y/N by this point in her life was over it, listening to the wise words of her cousin and adopted sister, Nymphadora (or Dora to her), she had decided long ago that as long as she was happy and a good person everyone else's opinions were meaningless to her. Which is why what happened to her did not phase her much.

“Oi, Lestrange!” A voice shouted from behind her as she walked towards the great hall. “Your gonna be just like your parents one day! Wait and see! You’ll be killin’ people left, right and centre.” The young boy laughed among his friends, failing to notice the girl who he had tried to engage with stop quickly in front of them, hand her bag to the girl who had been walking with her and turn sharply on her heel. The laughter continued until before anyone had realised what had happened, the boy was pushed to the nearest wall pinned down by her leg and arm as it pressed against his neck. Without missing a beat, her heart racing in her chest, she spat,

“If you really believe I’m going to turn out like them I’d keep your thoughts to yourself.” She edged her knee further into his groin, got in closer to his ear and said, “pissing off a potential serial killer is not a smart move. You’re now top of my list.” Without even a second glance she released him from her vice like grip, letting him fall to the floor as she spun back around, smiled at her friend and continued onto the great hall.

While she had been careful to make sure no teachers were present to witness her sudden outburst, she had not been paying attention to the students who were around her. To her, the students who saw just received their warning. Do not fuck with me. However one of the students who had seen the scene unfold as he as his brother walked towards their dinner, had not taken the hint. Much rather he took it as a challenge.

Y/N was well known around the school. People were either talking about her good deeds or the last student who had crossed her path and how they had been flawed and utterly humiliated, often left crying on the ground. It was hard not to know who she was, but damn near impossible to get to know her. Although that hadn’t yet stopped George Weasley from trying.

In his third year, George and his brother had watched as the then first year Y/N had taken a fellow Slytherin student, Pansy Parkinson, by the hair for calling her a blood traitor. Later that same week he’d seen her comfort a weeping Neville Longbottom after the loss of his toad once again. In years to come the infamous Weasley twins had watched Y/N as she defended herself and those around her, incapable of doing so themselves. George alone had watched as she studied by herself in the courtyard, telling his brother he just wanted some alone time so he could watch the mysterious girl silently or without judgement. Y/N intrigued George, she seemed to be the sweetest girl when she was helping teachers or helping first years with Transfiguration homework, but suddenly became a vengeful warrior when the time called for it.

George on many occasions, sometimes with Fred, sometimes alone, had tried to talk to Y/N. It never ended in a conversation longer than five minutes. Often Y/N had places to be or felt as though the pair were up to something, so politely left the conversations. Since the first time he had seen her he had simply wanted to get to know her, but had yet to have the pleasure.

“George mate, close your mouth, you’re starting to catch flies,” his brother chuckled as he began to walk towards the great hall much like he had originally intended before stopping to see what was going on. “You’ve got to stop staring at her all the time, you’re gonna freak the poor girl out.”

“Oh shut up, I was not staring at her. Well not in that way anyway,” George hit his brother on the shoulder as he caught up, “I was simply shocked by what happened. It’s not like its every day you see a kid get shown up like that. I was impressed.”

“Georgie, you’re impressed every time you see that Lestrange girl. Don’t think I don’t know that your purposely go to the library on a Friday to see her packing away books,” Fred may not have said anything until know but that didn’t mean he didn’t realise what was going on with his brother. He had a crush. A crush on a girl two years younger than him. A crush on a girl who could bring him to the floor with one well planned kick. A crush on a Lestrange. “Do you really think I’m stupid enough to believe that the reason you wanted us to talk to her all those times was simply because she’d be ‘good to have onside.’ What kind of fool do you think I am?” Fred laughed as they sat down at the Gryffindor table, opposite of their friend Lee.

“Hey,” Lee beamed at the twins, “Quidditch season starts soon. You two excited?”

“Of course,” smiled back Fred through a mouthful of chicken. George on the other hand was not really thinking about the conversation at the table he was sat at, much rather the one on the furthest side of the hall. Y/N was sat there, not really with anyone, but not really alone. Rather than joining in the chit chat occurring around her she simply ate her meal, listening to the chatter of others instead of being a part of it. George wondered why she decided not talk, her friends clearly wanted her to be involved in the conversation.

George continued to watch Y/N until she got up to leave, not the first in the hall, but certainly the first from her end of the table. With only a nod to her friends, she got up, flattened out her robe and skirt and made her way out of the hall. George watched as she left, right up until the point he could no longer see her around the corner. He wanted to know where she had gone.

“Erm… I’m just gonna go to the toilet. I’ll meet you back in the common room … yeah,” he spoke quickly to his brother as he got up to leave, not really waiting for a response from his twin. Fred and Lee watched as Georges pace picked up towards the door, watching until the last flash of red hair had disappeared from sight.

“He’s smitten and he’s only ever said three words to her,” Fred laughed as he ate another slice of cake from the stand in front of him, a stand that never seemed to empty.

“Clearly. Does he know how pathetic he looks? And trying to say he’s going to the toilet just so he can follow her, does he think we're stupid? I can’t believe he’s gone and fallen for a Lestrange too. Can you believe it?” Lee mocked a offeded voice, as he fanned himself with his hand. Fred chuckled,

“I can actually. Trust my brother to fall for a girl who has no interest in him and whose parents would kill him in a heartbeat.”

Outside the great hall, George tried to follow her path, or at least the path he had imagined she would have taken. For a fourth year girl she was unpredictable, hard to find because of her random approach to life. His pace picked up, his heart hammered in his chest, his lungs began to work harder take shallow breaths, as his walk became a jog, and the jog became a run. George began to forget even where he was, just trying to imagine a path in which she may have taken. For one moment George forgot to look where he was running, only quickly glancing into open rooms and down smaller passageways. It was in this moment he found himself very quickly bumping into something. No, someone.

His body has ran full speed into someone considerably smaller than himself as he went to turn a corner, knocking not only himself onto the floor with a thud, but who ever the innocent victim was.

“Fuck,” he said as he landed awkwardly on his leg. After dislodging himself from the human pretzel shape he had landed in he began to get up, brushing off the dust as he went. “Ugh I’m so sorry, I was looking for someone but clearly was not looking where I was actually going. I am so sorry. Here let me give you a hand,” George, still brushing himself off said, still without knowing who it was he had just ran into. As he looked away from his now crinkled robes, he looked down to see who it was that was also on the floor, starting to dust themselves off.

“No its okay I’ve got this,” the girl giggled. George said nothing as the girl slowly stood brushing herself off in a similar fashion that he had done himself. “Accidents happen, I’ve often ran full speed into other people before, normally knocking them down on the way. No big deal,” Georges heart raced as he looked down at the now smiling Y/N, still brushing herself clean.

“Oh my … Y/N right?” George stammered, his heart throbbing in his chest.

“Thats me,” Y/N smiled up at him. George was inwardly kicking himself. In an attempt to catch up to this mysterious girl, play it cool and maybe get her to actually talk to him, he had managed to nearly knock her out on a wall. “You’re one of the Weasley twins right? Fred and George isn’t it?”

“You know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you two are,” she laughed. “I’m sorry I have to admit I’m not sure which one you are though.”

“George. I’m George Weasley, the better twin,” George smiled back at her. Slowly George regained his composure, heart still beating in his chest, he was able to gain a little bit more of that Weasley charm he had been known for. “The much better looking twin.”

“The clumsier twin too clearly. Who were you looking for that was important enough to make you run that quickly?”

“My brother.” He lied.

“Which one? Aren’t you like one of 7? That’s a very big family,” she smiled up as him as she collected her bag from the floor. “I bet family dinners are fun at yours.”

“Yeah there's a few of us,” George replied. “Bill and Charlie don’t live at home anymore though so it’s currently just the five of kids, and mum and dad. It’s certainly never quiet in our house.” Y/N laughed with him, that soft kind of laugh, one one where the subject matter is not really funny but a small laugh makes it sound like you understand.

“Thats nice. My family is kinda small, so its relatively quiet at ours. I bet you have lots of fun stories about your family to tell,” she smiled, her eyes looking right into his. George had calmed down somewhat not, and while his heart was still beating awfully heavily, he had regained enough composer and confidence to simply smile down to her and say,

“I do. So many. Maybe I could tell you about them sometime, over a butterbeer? Maybe this weekend?” For a moment everything stopped slightly, as he waited impatiently for her response. He knew his idea for a day together had been rather sudden, probably worryingly sudden for her, but he couldn't not ask. If there was a chance that she would say yes to spending a day with him then he’d take the risk of being rejected. “My treat.”

“You’re in luck Mr Weasley. Usually I tutor on Saturday’s, but they wanted to go to a Muggles study extra class to watch a film so I’m free. I would like very much to hear more about your family over a butterbeer this weekend,” Y/N said with a beautiful smile, a smile George would love to see again and again. George couldn’t have been more pleased than he was in that moment.

“Perfect.”

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thejonzone · 3 years

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Jon Writes a Year-End List

My favorite songs of 2020, alphabetically by artist

Bedouine (Margo Guryan cover)- The Hum

The original Guryan version is good but Bedouine’s take is cleaner, all the better to emphasize Guryan’s blissful songwriting. I could listen to the chords in the chorus forever.

Bob Dylan- I’ve Made Up My Mind to Give My Heart to You

It’s nice to hear Bob sing a yearning and clear-eyed love song. And the way he stretches out his words gives the whole thing a confidence that’s easy to get lost in.

Boldy James- Giant Slide

Boldy had a great year, and it’s The Price of Tea in China with Alchemist producing that stood out to me.

Empty Country- Becca

I don’t go to music festivals anymore, but listening to this album makes me dream of hearing it live, while being dehydrated, sweaty, feet hurting, holding in a p*op, a late afternoon sunburn loading. I want the whole thing!!

fawning, Rui Gabriel ft. Jack Riley- God

Toss it on the cloudy day walking playlist!

Frances Quinlan- Went to LA

Great cathartic yell in this one. Quinlan builds up a palpable tension here. It rocks.

Judy ft. Jack Dolan, jommis- Say What U Mean

You’ve got to imagine these fellas knew they had put a few catchy melodies down while trying to out-croon each other.

Kurt Vile ft. John Prine (John Prine cover)- How Lucky

A Prine acolyte with a feature from the man himself. RIP.

Lala Lala, Grapetooth- Valentine

Kind of like a slow-dance song at nightmare prom. I love the percussion and Frankel’s villainously-low voice.

Lil Durk- Street Affection

The range of emotions Durk can access and scroll through is impressive.

Miranda Winters- Little Baby Dead Bird

Scuzzy guitar and violin create a hypnotic effect in this evocative dirge. Miranda Winters is such a good singer. Check out her main band, Melkbelly-- they put out a great album this year!

Nap Eyes- Mark Zuckerberg

Two guitars: one is pointy, the other is chugging. That is the correct way to do two guitars.

Noname- Song 33

This song is 70 seconds. 70! Noname casually negates J. Cole and the song isn’t even about him. She’s so great.

Ratboys- I Go Out at Night

Julia Steiner is on her The Hours shit in this melancholic fantasy of leaving and not returning.

Rio da Yung OG, Lil Yachty- 1v1

I like how Yachty comes in on his verse! It’s been fun to see him back in action with his new Michigan friends. Rio is the star here, though. And Enrgy too.

Soccer Mommy- yellow is the color of her eyes

Sophia Allison’s delivery of “The tiny lie I told to myself is making me hollow” might be my line of the year.

Swamp Dogg- Memories

The whole of Sorry You Couldn’t Make It is great, but for Swamp Dogg, who has covered John Prine, to work with the man before he died is a special accomplishment, and we’re better off that it’s recorded.

Tall Juan- Irene

One of my favorite 2020 releases. And I’ll be a bit vulnerable here folks….when I am walking outside and this song comes on, I push my butt out a little bit and walk like I have rhythm and purpose.

Tierra Whack- Dora

I’m so excited to see what Tierra Whack does, from her beat selection to how she jumps between flow and cadence. She understands herself so well.

Non-2020-specific Music I Enjoyed, in Superlative Form

Group Vocal Performance Most Likely to Pierce Your Heartless Facade

Yesu Ka Mkwebaze

Best Song to Listen to if You are an 1850’s-era whaler in Your Feels

Mary Ann

Favorite Duet (Not Blood-Related)

Emmylou Harris and Herb Pedersen (but mostly Emmylou) create such an intricate and gorgeous melody on “If I Could Only Win Your Love”. Pedal steel heads and mandolin freaks, eat up.

Favorite Duet (Blood-related)

The Louvin Brothers- When I Stop Dreaming

Any longtime friends of the show know I’m a big fan of the singing duo The Louvin Brothers. They’ve got that golden country tone but it’s the blood harmony that turns these guys into something else entirely.

And here’s the kicker, folks. Emmylou covered When I Stop Dreaming! How coincidental for all of us reading this End of Year list…. The Louvins are my preferred version, but Emmylou, that you could help me make this connection is enough, dayenu!

Most Surprising Use of a Song in a Network TV Show

"Yama Yama" by the Yamasuki Singers, Fargo Season 2

When I was a dishwasher at St. James Cheese Co., late 2016ish, this CD was in our back of house music rotation. It is a magical album-- a Japanese children's choir with French pop production (think a bunch of bells and shit). I never learned the name of the album while working there and it fell out of my mind until years later when, after remembering how much I loved it, realized I had no idea how to find it. The pain of typing different spellings of “japanese children’s choir” into google for days on end.....I literally yelled when Fargo used this in its Season 2 big boy shootout. *chef’s kiss*

Best Album by a Spiritually Hungry Musical Genius, Lapping Her Contemporaries in Arrangement, Theme, and Songwriting, Gone Before Her Time

Judee Sill’s self-titled debut.

Best Use of a Second Keyboard in A Keyboard Solo

Fountains of Wayne’s Red Dragon Tattoo

Do I mean to say synthesizer? Not sure. RIP Adam Schlesinger and long live FoW. What a loss.

Best Vibes/ Song I’d Most Want to Show Ezra Koenig so That We’d Bond & Become Friends

Zibote

Best Lyrics Written by a Jew in 1920’s NYC Being Sung by Willie Nelson

Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea / to the open arms of the sea

Favorite TV Shows

Ramy

-Second season shook its focus on the titular character and oh am I thankful. Not that Ramy himself isn’t great, he is, but the entire cast here deserves attention. The Uncle Naseem episode. The Uncle Naseem episode. Ahem. The Uncle Naseem episode.

Joe Pera Talks with You

Lovecraft Country

-Small gripes and complicated plotlines aside, this anthology connecting gothic horror, racism, and American history is phenomenal.

Small Axe

-The second installment in this series, Lovers Rock, which takes place at a party, is the vicarious shot in the arm you deserve, you little extroverted thing you.

I May Destroy You

Betty

The Last Dance

-The first Bulls game I ever went to was the first game *without* Michael Jordan, at the beginning of the ‘98-’99 season. Bad timing.

The Chi

Schitt’s Creek

-This show was never about the plot. Am I allowed to say that? I’ve never cared less for a plot and more for a cast. Catherine O’Hara is in her own league above us all.

Jon Writes a Year-End List

In 2019, my roommate June and I took a road trip through the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I was out of a relationship, happily or unhappily I wasn’t sure yet, but along the way I downloaded Tinder hoping to meet a local who’d be excited to make out with me. There wasn’t much bite on my line, but by the time we reached Marquette, largely due to my good looks and charisma I’d orchestrated some type of group date with June, me, a girl from Tinder, and her friend.

We met at a dingy karaoke bar and drank for cheap. Nobody wanted to hear me sing, but I got on stage anyway and gave “Willin” by Little Feat a go. Some guy at the bar in a maroon work shirt looked at me, scoffed, and left to smoke outside. The four of us weren’t hitting it off, even with alcohol. I and the friend made a plan to sing “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow up to Be Cowboys'', but she quickly abandoned the duet after we had begun, citing a lack of vibes.

But we kept singing and drinking and hours later I was leaning against the bar, waiting to order, standing next to maroon-shirt guy who had so easily shrugged off my existence earlier. What caught my eye as I stood next to him was a Star of David tattoo on his forearm. And sure enough, the name tag stitched onto his shirt identified him as “Isaac”. Well I’ll goddamn be-- this guy was frickin Jewish! I was shocked-- I assumed he was goy in the same way I assumed everyone I ran into up there would be.

For just one unconscious assumption (I’m the only Jewish person in this Marquette karaoke bar) to be wrong felt great. My assumptions are really awful. I assumed maroon-shirt hated my guts. I assumed these two girls we were drinking with thought I was a loser too. I assume people don’t like me or respect me or have any interest in getting to know me. I tell awful stories about myself to myself, and my assumptions about the world are limiting and boring! With patience, “guy at bar who kinda scowled at me” had all of a sudden turned into “my new friend Isaac” who, after a few minutes of conversation, I “asked to bum a cigarette from.”

One of my favorite shows of 2020 was Joe Pera Talks With You. I still remember watching Joe Pera’s stand-up for the first time, and then rewatching and rewatching, savoring his cadence. He dressed and spoke like a grandpa, replete with pitch-perfect, kinda-gross mouth sounds, stutters, and low-but-driving energy. It’s a good bit, and Joe has morphed it into probably the funniest, sweetest, and least-pandering show of 2020. What I love about this show is its foundational belief that anyone can surprise you, you just need to give yourself time to notice.

I didn’t end up making out with anyone but I did wake up the next morning with the worst hangover of my life. Wake up, barf, whimper. As June drove us out of Marquette, I could barely keep my eyes open. I did notice, however, a massive, wooden structure jutting out into Lake Superior.

It is this same Lake Superior structure that Joe Pera Talks With You fixates on for its first shot of Season 2. Yes, this is an Adult Swim show that takes place in none other than Marquette, Michigan! Which is weird. Think about other movies, shows, or books that take place in the U.P. You can’t! Even zooming out to include the larger Upper-Great Lakes region leaves us with an almost-empty net: The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald by Gordon Lightfoot and titular Gatsby’s origin story on Lake Superior. These are stories of hard living and life and death on the dangerous Great Lakes. But neither of those are specific to the Upper Peninsula.

Regions are an easy if reductive lens with which to attempt to view and understand people. In 2020, broad and sweeping generalizations about large swaths of people continued to gain power. There was the movie adaptation of JD Vance’s ahistorical Hillbilly Elegy. Woolly-eyed liberals trotted out fake maps of a preferred America that holds only the “good” blue states, not at all engaging in the history of racism and voter suppression that got us here. Besides the fact that Georgia went blue. And Democratic strongholds like California, New York, and Chicago betray any notion of a “better” America. The sins of this nation are not cordoned off into one section or time zone, no region is monolithic, and most importantly, no person can be explained away with a quick sentence.

There is no regional monolith more widely misunderstood than the Midwestern gestalt. Fargo (the show) does a great job of serializing this one type of Midwestern character-- they say “oh sure, happy to help” and they’re murderers. So for Joe Pera to settle his show in the U.P. is a fun choice. Most Americans are probably hard-pressed to conjure an accurate mental picture of who the U.P. is, so Pera creates his own flavor of a seemingly-recognizable small Midwestern town.

In the first episode, Joe walks us through the bean arch he’s growing. Why grow snap beans? “Beans are straightforward.” Straightforwardness, or the appearance of, is central to Pera’s charm. Pera’s shtick is walking the audience through a basic task that can serve as a metaphor for a larger existential question. This conceit isn’t new to Pera, but it has been en vogue recently, with shows like Andy Daly’s Review and the new HBO show How To with John Wilson. These shows present a simple stated goal that obfuscates a larger, more complex grapple.

Joe Pera Talks With You is incredible and endearing because of the genuine tone Pera gives his tight-knit Marquette. We’re getting deranged lunatics like Conner O’Malley and Dan Licata to write jokes for 70-year old Michigan grandmas at a salon. The show trades in the perceived Midwestern folksiness for a punchline, yet doesn’t lose itself in irony or resentment.

Every character in the Joe Pera universe has the opportunity to be profound. Pera gives every character the patience they deserve; even O’Malley’s berserk Joe Rogan listening-caricature Mike Melsky gets incredible moments of vulnerability. It’s a rare comedy: self-aware but not self-obsessed, sweet but not gross, and uniquely funny.

Nowhere else on TV are you going to see such consistently great acting. Some of the best working comedians are in this season. Conner O’Malley has found a way to tap into his unsettling grotesque that is a pleasure to watch, playing characters at the ends of their ropes, shrieking. Jo Firestone is hilarious and essential as Joe’s doom-prepper girlfriend Sarah. We get guest stars like genius Carmen Christopher. Even one-line role players like Joe’s teacher-coworker, who says Joe and Sarah go together “like desk and chair,” knock it out of the park.

The questions at the heart of Talks With You feel more pronounced in a year of death and isolation. How do we connect with people? How can we really be there for our loved ones? How can we feel comfortable in our own skin? The show came out pre-pandemic but Pera’s touch and pacing is universal.

It’s difficult not to compare Talks With You to How to with John Wilson. The two shows have a lot in common. Both protagonists are soft-spoken, and speak at an arrhythmic clip. John Wilson’s voice is affected just like Pera’s; both vocal deliveries are meant to engender trust by signaling to us that they’re lacking some social confidence. But I don’t buy Wilson’s shtick as much as Pera’s.

John Wilson’s show is not straightforward in the same way Pera’s is, and the show suffers under the added weight of pretense. Wilson’s tangents lead us to places that barely fit under the established thematic umbrella and feel forced. On memory, Wilson’s adventure with the Mandela Effect turns from fascinating to boring as the truthers devolve into sketch characters, viewing simple spelling errors with magnifying glasses. “How to Cover Your Furniture” spends an upsettingly long amount of time with an anti-circumcision advocate as Wilson works through the question of how much we are allowed to change parts of other people. Meant to appear as if they effortlessly fell into place, these characters feel shoe-horned in.

Both characters and shows are performative authenticity, and Joe Pera and John Wilson’s whole deal is their status as observer. This year, many of us have become observers. I know I have: unemployed, unable to see people, watching death counts climb, sending money to various bail funds and rent relief to people and organizations near and far. There is a responsibility to being an observer. It is not some callous task. Being an effective observer means allowing your subject the space they need to be as they are and not foisting your own nonsense onto them.

In Joe Pera’s America, it’s understood that everyone is weird. By virtue of being human, we are all weird, off, we do confusing things, and say dumb stuff that doesn’t make sense. Even you’re a weird freak. John Wilson’s subjects seem like circus animals, squeezed in front of the camera for their fucked-up little flip. I can’t shake the feeling that John Wilson is making fun of the people he’s observing. Pera’s observations are rooted in the fairness that comes from seeing humanity in people-- every person has an equal chance of surprising you with how weird they are if you just make them comfortable and let them talk. We owe that to each other.

To be fair, these shows are also very different. Wilson’s found-footage, documentary style is ingenious, hilarious, and completely not the vibe that Pera and Co. are going for at all. And region here is everything. Wacky stuff happening in NYC? Eh, isn’t that par for the course over there? Wait, a show set in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula? Ok...now that I’ve never seen.

Obviously I was wrong about Isaac in Marquette, just as any broad assumption about a region and its people will be. I actually learned that Jews have a significant relationship to the U.P. And I found similarities between my own Jewish history, covering a similarly nebulous area of the Rust Belt/Midwest, and my U.P. cousins. Yes, home was closer than I thought, even across the length of Lake Michigan. Yes, people don’t just hate my guts. Yes, we can overcome lazy assumptions and we can even connect with people. We can make a better world. It just requires patience and listening.

Now, on to my thoughts regarding Fiona Apple’s landmark album Fetch the Bolt Cutters...

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cityofaangels · 7 years

Text

All Would Be Well (WinterIron)

I have this... thing I began to write in a plane and finished to write totally jet-lagged and with a brain not fully online.

As life kinda sucks these last days with all these awful people, I thought that a bit of fluff, although very badly written, would maybe help some people feel better. Or maybe juste one, but that’s already great.

Anyway. There are Harry Potter spoils in there, so if you haven’t read the books or watched the movies, maybe avoid reading this?

Take care of yourself :)

Everything began when Bucky, shyly and kinda awkwardly, came to see him in his workshop on a sunny afternoon – well, at least he guessed it was sunny, he hadn't actually seen the sun in… a while – and asked:

‘You said I could come and see you if I had any question, right?’

Eyebrows raised, Tony shut down the experiment he was currently working on and turned his whole attention to Bucky, looking at him curiously.

‘Sure. What's up? Problem with the arm?’

‘Uh, no. The arm's fine. Great, actually. It's just that, well, it's kinda stupid, but I wanted to ask you if maybe… Do you have any book recommendation?’ he finally asked all in a rush, making it near incomprehensible.

With an encouraging smile, Tony clapped a hand on his shoulder.

‘Come on Bucky, you should know I'm not one to judge. Say that again?’

‘I like reading,’ the supersoldier mumbled. ‘Well, I liked reading, at least. Haven't had time to open a book for a while. And uh, I know you've got tons of them on your StarkPads, and there's probably a library in here somewhere, but it's just that I have absolutely no idea of where to begin. And I asked Steve to help me, but we don't exactly have the same kind of tastes, and I asked Barton but he likes these stupid romantic books and…’

‘Got it. Say no more, I'm pretty sure I have what you need. Come on, I have it in my room.’

‘No library in here, then?’

‘Oh yeah, there's one – use it whenever you want, by the way, Jarvis'll be happy to help you if you need it. I think there's even a bookshop somewhere on the public levels. But what I'm going to show you is special. You'll see.’

Curious, Bucky followed him to his room, looking around once they arrived. He hadn't actually set a foot in Tony's quarters yet, rather staying in the communal area or his own room, but he liked what he saw. Modern designs and different grays with the odd touch of color. He couldn't help a smile when he entered Tony's room and saw the huge bed, the dozen of pillows on it, and… He took a step closer, frowning and getting a better look at the drawings framed and hung right above the bed. One of them was obviously one of Steve's, light and dark grays showing Iron Man in the middle of a fight, so realistic it almost felt to Bucky as if he could feel cold metal under his fingers if he were to touch it. The other one was of Dora the Explorer, colors not exactly right where they should be, even if the whole thing looked as if it had been made with love; it was signed in pink in big letters, smaller letters stating 'thanks for the watch and for everything, Tony!'.

‘This one makes for a crazy midnight story,’ the engineer said softly, looking at the drawing, smile audible in his voice. ‘Remind me to tell you.’

‘Is it one of these stories where you almost die?’

‘Uh… Well, yeah. But this particular part is funny, I swear. Here, that's the book.’

Bucky turned around and looked at the slim, red book Tony was holding in his hands, almost solemnly. The title – Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone – vaguely reminded him of something. He took it carefully and looked at the picture of a young boy with round glasses standing in front of a train. When he opened it, he discovered a carefully crafted signature inside, of what looked to be the author herself.

‘She sold it a few years back to collect money for her charity. It's one of the first books that were edited, about twenty years back. It's got a typo somewhere, maybe you'll see it. I've got a cheaper version of it in the library, the American one, but this way you can have, you know… the whole experience, I guess.’

‘Are you sure, Tony? That looks more like it should be kept in a museum somewhere.’

‘You're not totally wrong,’ Tony admitted. ‘But you'll take care of it. I trust you,’ he added in a soft voice.

A few silent seconds passed, both of them determinedly looking at everything but each other, until Bucky awkwardly cleared his throat.

‘No offense, 'cause I can definitely see that you care about this book, but isn't it like a… book for children, maybe? I mean, I kinda remember seeing it before, and hearing about it, but was mostly, well, children, who read it.’

‘Oh, but it is. This one is probably the less adult-y one, but wait till you see the six others and-’

‘There are seven of them?’

‘Yeah. Far from enough, sadly,’ he sighed. ‘I tried bribing the author so she'd write more, but it didn't't work. Figure. Anyway, let's make a deal, okay? Trust me on this one book and try to read it. No pressure, take your time, but read it. You don't like it, no worries, lots of other books to read. But I think you'll like it. Deal?’

‘Well, it is pretty short, so I sure can try. Deal. I'll tell you about it in a few days.’

Instead of a few days later, it was actually a few hours later, in the middle of the night, when someone knocked at Tony's door, making it startle lightly. He closed the book he was currently reading – Stephen King, a classic – and stood up quickly, walking to the door. Bucky was waiting on the other side, sheepish smile on his face and book tucked safely under his arm.

‘I asked Jarvis if you were sleeping, but he told me I could come and see you. God, Tony, that was amazing! Are the other six as good as this one?’

Tony grinned at Bucky's sparkling eyes and opened the door, gesturing for him to come inside; he nodded and gently pushed him forward when the supersoldier hesitated slightly, looking at him.

‘Come on, that's a conversation that asks for comfortable armchairs and hot chocolate. Sit down, I'll be back in a sec.’

Slightly flabbergasted, Bucky obeyed and chose one of the two armchairs, sinking into it with a smile; Tony had a talent for choosing comfortable furniture to sit on and read, or watch television for hours. He listened to the reassuring silence for a while, enjoying the simple fact that he was safe, before Tony returned, holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate in each hand and a pack of marshmallows between his teeth. He put everything on the small table and settled on the other armchair, cradling the cup between his hands and looking at Bucky with a crooked smile.

‘To answer your question, yes, the other are as good as this one. I have a slight preference for the third and last one, but that's just me; everybody has a favorite one. Come on, I need to know more. Who did you like, who did you hate?’

‘This Snape guy is a prick,’ Bucky mumbled. ‘You know, he makes me think of Howard in his worst days.’

He stood up, worried, when Tony coughed suddenly, something between a laugh and a gasp escaping him, but the engineer hold a hand up reassuringly, taking a few deep breaths.

‘Sorry. You surprised me, that's all. I actually think the same thing, you know, but I thought you and Steve were… pals with him? I mean, the way he talked about you-’

‘He helped us, yeah, but I always thought he was a prick, and an arrogant one with that. Anyway,’ he added rather hurriedly when he noticed the way Tony had tensed up, ‘I love Hermione. So smart – she's kinda like you actually, you know. You trust her with your life and you know you don't risk a thing.’

Tony blushed beautifully in front of him, taking a sip of chocolate to try and hide it, and Bucky smiled inwardly; he kept talking before Tony could even think of denying it.

‘Ron's funny, seems like the kinda guy you want to have as a friend. Harry's great too, of course. And Quidditch! My god, Quidditch. Any way we can play Quidditch with your tech?’

‘Well, I can tell you a secret if you swear never to repeat it…’

‘I swear. Come on Tony, out with it. Quidditch?’

‘My mind tends to, uh, create funny things when I'm not totally, one hundred percent sober,’ he winced. ‘So there might be a Quidditch simulator somewhere in the lab. I'll have to work on it for a while if you really wanna try it out but, yeah. It's a thing.’

‘Oh my god. Tony, you are the best.’

The following afternoon – Bucky had finally got back to his room late in the night (or early in the morning) with the promise that Tony would give him the second book if he caught some sleep – Clint almost got killed by the whole Avengers team. They were all lounging in the communal room, television playing a movie in the background even if most of them were reading or talking between themselves. Bucky was fully focused on his book – this one was signed specially for Tony, a birthday gift from himself to himself – when he absentmindedly mumbled.

‘God, I love Dobby. So funny.’

The team turned in his direction and Clint's eyes widened dramatically; he opened and closed his mouth a few times before stating:

‘Oh man, are you in for a surprise.’

After a second of silence, two very loud cracks – not totally unlike the noise an house elf made, actually – resounded, followed by a groan.

‘Aw, Nat, Tony!’

Hands still raised, they both glared at him, joined by all the other members of the team, except for Bucky, who was watching them with confusion.

‘What did he say?’ he asked with an eyebrow raised.

‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing,’ answered Tony, crossing his arms. ‘Barton, I will remind you that we live in a spoiler-free house. One more remark like this one and you sleep on the roof for a week.’

Casting a quick look outside and seeing the rain falling, Clint nodded easily enough.

‘Sure. Got it. Enjoy your read, Bucky. I'll be in my bedroom, making no noise and pretending I don't exist. Bye.’

No matter the time of day or night, when Bucky finished one of the books, he came to Tony and they discussed it for hours.

That was how they discussed the very probable homosexuality or bisexuality of most of the Marauders. And how they both learned that the Marauders were not the only not-straight ones.

That was how they discussed at length why Dobby was one of the coolest characters of the books – alongside with Neville, who strongly reminded them both of Steve pre-serum, and Luna. And that was the reason behind a Roomba called Dobby who roamed the Tower, always with one (or more) sock behind him.

That was how they had a heated argument about shitty teachers and bullies… And how Tony finally explained the extent of Howard's disgust for his son and the psychological scars he left behind.

That was how Tony found himself with an armful of a sobbing Bucky who moaned about the unfairness of loosing family members and the guilt of dealing with it.

That was how they talked about PTSD, hot chocolates in hand, sharing soft looks and shy smiles despite the hard topics.

That was how some of the guilt and nightmares slowly disappeared.

Ironically enough, Dobby's death – cute, funny, brave Dobby – was the reason behind their first kiss. Because what could Tony do with an angry, hurt and teary-eyed Bucky but kiss him?

It was soft and hesitant, kinda awkward at the beginning, but so good, Bucky's metal hand fitting perfectly on his back, his flesh hand stroking his hair, his warmth and smile only making it better. So so much better.

And even if Tony knew that Bucky would probably cry at every death that followed, would probably be as devastated at turning the last page as Tony had been a few years back, he knew.

He knew that he would be able to make it better by kissing him, by cuddling him, by teasing them. And he knew that in the end… All would be well.

#winteriron #tony stark #Iron Man #Bucky Barnes #Winter Soldier #Avengers #Harry Potter x Marvel #Steve Rogers #Clint Barton #Natasha Romanov #Captain America

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speakinginstupidity · 4 years

Note

8, 9, 10, 45, 72, 96, 108, 120, 124, 139, 142, 147, 168, 173, 177, 184, 197, 203, 211, 218, 238, 245, 249, 254, 259, 268!! Since u aksed for more hehe :)

wow sorry it took me forever to reply to this I just wanted to put some time between the two and also there are so many questions but anyways here we go again:

8. What did you do on your last birthday?

Went out for dinner with my mom to the Olive Garden lol

9. What one thing would you like to accomplish before your next birthday?

Well my birthday is actually coming up pretty soon so I’d say looking through scholarship applications!

10. What is your hair colour?

It’s naturally a dark brown but I bleached it a while ago so like the bottom ¾ is blonde

45. Is your life anything like it was two years ago?

No, it really wasn’t. I had an entire different set of friends except for a couple, and I was happier lol, I really was having a good time for a while

72. What’s your favourite band or singer?

Charlie XCX is my favourite artist right now, but I also LOVE Harry Styles right now.

96. What’s your relationship like with your family?

It’s pretty average, we get along for the most part, but it’s really different from person to person

108. Who is someone you never tire of?

Hmmm. I don’t think I have anyone like this, but one of my new friends I’ve made is probable;y close

120. You have a preference for boys or girls?

It fluctuates, right now it’s girls but like last night it was boys lol

124. Do you believe in soulmates?

Not anymore!

139. Do you think anyone’s thinking about you right now?

Who’s to say? But it sure would be nice haha

142. Anyone you’re giving up on?

Not right now, I’m good with my people rn

147. Is there a boy/girl you’d do anything for?

yes harry styles. or my grandparents

168. The last time you felt jealous, why?

Oh god, today, but it was towards an imaginary situation that I created in my head. talk about self sabotage, jesus christ lmao

173. Why did your last relationship fail?

I’d rather not get into the details, but overall a lack of trust and honesty was prominent. Just a lot of anger came forward.

177. How many boyfriends/girlfriends have you had?

Just one

184. What was the first concert/show you attended?

Well I think one of my first shows was like Dora Live or Disney on Ice lol, but my first concert ever was R5

197. If you had to go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?

I would have taken drama in grade nine rather than art. I would have loved to be in my school musicals and plays, but it’s too late now :(

203. What the last party you went to was… and when the next will be…

I went to a NYE party at my friends house, and I think the next one will be my own birthday party!

211. Current;y wanting to see anyone?

Like… romantically or just for some company? because maybe for romantically and yes for the second. I love company

218. What do you wish for on 11:11?

I don’t pay attention to that usually

238. What was something you used to enjoy, but was ruined for you? What’s story behind that?

I used to love listening to Mother Mother, but my ex bf introduced me to them and we went to 4 concerts together seeing them, now when I hear a song from them, I’ve had to turn it off. I’m slowly getting over that, and it sounds silly, but that’s probably the only thing I can think of right now.

245. What’s something you want to do that you’d be embarrassed to tell other people about?

Well I would love to work with kids and youth in the LGBTQ+ community, but I don’t think my family would take a great liking to that. i also really wanna go to more parties and clubs and be social and meet new people, but that makes me sound like a loser lmao so I’d never say it out loud.

249. Have you done something you regret very much?

Aside from taking art in grade nine, yes. but I digress.

254. Are you good at hiding your feelings?

absolutely not.

259. Do you care if people talk badly about you?

uhhh well as much as i want to say no, i think i do. but i care about some opinions more than others, and also who’s saying the bad talk will affect how i feel about it.

268. Make a confession:

uhhhhhh I don’t know how to play checkers

#long post #asks #z talks

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beardcore-blog · 5 years

Text

A Princess Diary

"What’s Wrong With Cinderella?"

I finally came unhinged in the dentist’s office — one of those ritzy pediatric practices tricked out with comic books, DVDs and arcade games — where I’d taken my 3-year-old daughter for her first exam. Until then, I’d held my tongue. I’d smiled politely every time the supermarket-checkout clerk greeted her with ”Hi, Princess”; ignored the waitress at our local breakfast joint who called the funny-face pancakes she ordered her ”princess meal”; made no comment when the lady at Longs Drugs said, ”I bet I know your favorite color” and handed her a pink balloon rather than letting her choose for herself. Maybe it was the dentist’s Betty Boop inflection that got to me, but when she pointed to the exam chair and said, ”Would you like to sit in my special princess throne so I can sparkle your teeth?” I lost it.

”Oh, for God’s sake,” I snapped. ”Do you have a princess drill, too?”

She stared at me as if I were an evil stepmother.

”Come on!” I continued, my voice rising. ”It’s 2006, not 1950. This is Berkeley, Calif. Does every little girl really have to be a princess?”

My daughter, who was reaching for a Cinderella sticker, looked back and forth between us. ”Why are you so mad, Mama?” she asked. ”What’s wrong with princesses?”

Diana may be dead and Masako disgraced, but here in America, we are in the midst of a royal moment. To call princesses a ”trend” among girls is like calling Harry Potter a book. Sales at Disney Consumer Products, which started the craze six years ago by packaging nine of its female characters under one royal rubric, have shot up to $3 billion, globally, this year, from $300 million in 2001. There are now more than 25,000 Disney Princess items. ”Princess,” as some Disney execs call it, is not only the fastest-growing brand the company has ever created; they say it is on its way to becoming the largest girls’ franchise on the planet.

Meanwhile in 2001, Mattel brought out its own ”world of girl” line of princess Barbie dolls, DVDs, toys, clothing, home décor and myriad other products. At a time when Barbie sales were declining domestically, they became instant best sellers. Shortly before that, Mary Drolet, a Chicago-area mother and former Claire’s and Montgomery Ward executive, opened Club Libby Lu, now a chain of mall stores based largely in the suburbs in which girls ages 4 to 12 can shop for ”Princess Phones” covered in faux fur and attend ”Princess-Makeover Birthday Parties.” Saks bought Club Libby Lu in 2003 for $12 million and has since expanded it to 87 outlets; by 2005, with only scant local advertising, revenues hovered around the $46 million mark, a 53 percent jump from the previous year. Pink, it seems, is the new gold.

Even Dora the Explorer, the intrepid, dirty-kneed adventurer, has ascended to the throne: in 2004, after a two-part episode in which she turns into a ”true princess,” the Nickelodeon and Viacom consumer-products division released a satin-gowned ”Magic Hair Fairytale Dora,” with hair that grows or shortens when her crown is touched. Among other phrases the bilingual doll utters: ”Vámonos! Let’s go to fairy-tale land!” and ”Will you brush my hair?”

As a feminist mother — not to mention a nostalgic product of the Grranimals era — I have been taken by surprise by the princess craze and the girlie-girl culture that has risen around it. What happened to William wanting a doll and not dressing your cat in an apron? Whither Marlo Thomas? I watch my fellow mothers, women who once swore they’d never be dependent on a man, smile indulgently at daughters who warble ”So This Is Love” or insist on being called Snow White. I wonder if they’d concede so readily to sons who begged for combat fatigues and mock AK-47s.

More to the point, when my own girl makes her daily beeline for the dress-up corner of her preschool classroom — something I’m convinced she does largely to torture me — I worry about what playing Little Mermaid is teaching her. I’ve spent much of my career writing about experiences that undermine girls’ well-being, warning parents that a preoccupation with body and beauty (encouraged by films, TV, magazines and, yes, toys) is perilous to their daughters’ mental and physical health. Am I now supposed to shrug and forget all that? If trafficking in stereotypes doesn’t matter at 3, when does it matter? At 6? Eight? Thirteen?

On the other hand, maybe I’m still surfing a washed-out second wave of feminism in a third-wave world. Maybe princesses are in fact a sign of progress, an indication that girls can embrace their predilection for pink without compromising strength or ambition; that, at long last, they can ”have it all.” Or maybe it is even less complex than that: to mangle Freud, maybe a princess is sometimes just a princess. And, as my daughter wants to know, what’s wrong with that?

The rise of the Disney princesses reads like a fairy tale itself, with Andy Mooney, a former Nike executive, playing the part of prince, riding into the company on a metaphoric white horse in January 2000 to save a consumer-products division whose sales were dropping by as much as 30 percent a year. Both overstretched and underfocused, the division had triggered price wars by granting multiple licenses for core products (say, Winnie-the-Pooh undies) while ignoring the potential of new media. What’s more, Disney films like ”A Bug’s Life” in 1998 had yielded few merchandising opportunities — what child wants to snuggle up with an ant?

It was about a month after Mooney’s arrival that the magic struck. That’s when he flew to Phoenix to check out his first ”Disney on Ice” show. ”Standing in line in the arena, I was surrounded by little girls dressed head to toe as princesses,” he told me last summer in his palatial office, then located in Burbank, and speaking in a rolling Scottish burr. ”They weren’t even Disney products. They were generic princess products they’d appended to a Halloween costume. And the light bulb went off. Clearly there was latent demand here. So the next morning I said to my team, ‘O.K., let’s establish standards and a color palette and talk to licensees and get as much product out there as we possibly can that allows these girls to do what they’re doing anyway: projecting themselves into the characters from the classic movies.’ ”

Mooney picked a mix of old and new heroines to wear the Pantone pink No. 241 corona: Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Ariel, Belle, Jasmine, Mulan and Pocahontas. It was the first time Disney marketed characters separately from a film’s release, let alone lumped together those from different stories. To ensure the sanctity of what Mooney called their individual ”mythologies,” the princesses never make eye contact when they’re grouped: each stares off in a slightly different direction as if unaware of the others’ presence.

It is also worth noting that not all of the ladies are of royal extraction. Part of the genius of ”Princess” is that its meaning is so broadly constructed that it actually has no meaning. Even Tinker Bell was originally a Princess, though her reign didn’t last. ”We’d always debate over whether she was really a part of the Princess mythology,” Mooney recalled. ”She really wasn’t.” Likewise, Mulan and Pocahontas, arguably the most resourceful of the bunch, are rarely depicted on Princess merchandise, though for a different reason. Their rustic garb has less bling potential than that of old-school heroines like Sleeping Beauty. (When Mulan does appear, she is typically in the kimonolike hanfu, which makes her miserable in the movie, rather than her liberated warrior’s gear.)

The first Princess items, released with no marketing plan, no focus groups, no advertising, sold as if blessed by a fairy godmother. To this day, Disney conducts little market research on the Princess line, relying instead on the power of its legacy among mothers as well as the instant-read sales barometer of the theme parks and Disney Stores. ”We simply gave girls what they wanted,” Mooney said of the line’s success, ”although I don’t think any of us grasped how much they wanted this. I wish I could sit here and take credit for having some grand scheme to develop this, but all we did was envision a little girl’s room and think about how she could live out the princess fantasy. The counsel we gave to licensees was: What type of bedding would a princess want to sleep in? What kind of alarm clock would a princess want to wake up to? What type of television would a princess like to see? It’s a rare case where you find a girl who has every aspect of her room bedecked in Princess, but if she ends up with three or four of these items, well, then you have a very healthy business.”

Every reporter Mooney talks to asks some version of my next question: Aren’t the Princesses, who are interested only in clothes, jewelry and cadging the handsome prince, somewhat retrograde role models?

”Look,” he said, ”I have friends whose son went through the Power Rangers phase who castigated themselves over what they must’ve done wrong. Then they talked to other parents whose kids had gone through it. The boy passes through. The girl passes through. I see girls expanding their imagination through visualizing themselves as princesses, and then they pass through that phase and end up becoming lawyers, doctors, mothers or princesses, whatever the case may be.”

Mooney has a point: There are no studies proving that playing princess directly damages girls’ self-esteem or dampens other aspirations. On the other hand, there is evidence that young women who hold the most conventionally feminine beliefs — who avoid conflict and think they should be perpetually nice and pretty — are more likely to be depressed than others and less likely to use contraception. What’s more, the 23 percent decline in girls’ participation in sports and other vigorous activity between middle and high school has been linked to their sense that athletics is unfeminine. And in a survey released last October by Girls Inc., school-age girls overwhelmingly reported a paralyzing pressure to be ”perfect”: not only to get straight A’s and be the student-body president, editor of the newspaper and captain of the swim team but also to be ”kind and caring,” ”please everyone, be very thin and dress right.” Give those girls a pumpkin and a glass slipper and they’d be in business.

At the grocery store one day, my daughter noticed a little girl sporting a Cinderella backpack. ”There’s that princess you don’t like, Mama!” she shouted.

”Um, yeah,” I said, trying not to meet the other mother’s hostile gaze.

”Don’t you like her blue dress, Mama?”

I had to admit, I did.

She thought about this. ”Then don’t you like her face?”

”Her face is all right,” I said, noncommittally, though I’m not thrilled to have my Japanese-Jewish child in thrall to those Aryan features. (And what the heck are those blue things covering her ears?) ”It’s just, honey, Cinderella doesn’t really do anything.”

Over the next 45 minutes, we ran through that conversation, verbatim, approximately 37 million times, as my daughter pointed out Disney Princess Band-Aids, Disney Princess paper cups, Disney Princess lip balm, Disney Princess pens, Disney Princess crayons and Disney Princess notebooks — all cleverly displayed at the eye level of a 3-year-old trapped in a shopping cart — as well as a bouquet of Disney Princess balloons bobbing over the checkout line. The repetition was excessive, even for a preschooler. What was it about my answers that confounded her? What if, instead of realizing: Aha! Cinderella is a symbol of the patriarchal oppression of all women, another example of corporate mind control and power-to-the-people! my 3-year-old was thinking, Mommy doesn’t want me to be a girl?

According to theories of gender constancy, until they’re about 6 or 7, children don’t realize that the sex they were born with is immutable. They believe that they have a choice: they can grow up to be either a mommy or a daddy. Some psychologists say that until permanency sets in kids embrace whatever stereotypes our culture presents, whether it’s piling on the most spangles or attacking one another with light sabers. What better way to assure that they’ll always remain themselves? If that’s the case, score one for Mooney. By not buying the Princess Pull-Ups, I may be inadvertently communicating that being female (to the extent that my daughter is able to understand it) is a bad thing.

Anyway, you have to give girls some credit. It’s true that, according to Mattel, one of the most popular games young girls play is ”bride,” but Disney found that a groom or prince is incidental to that fantasy, a regrettable necessity at best. Although they keep him around for the climactic kiss, he is otherwise relegated to the bottom of the toy box, which is why you don’t see him prominently displayed in stores.

What’s more, just because they wear the tulle doesn’t mean they’ve drunk the Kool-Aid. Plenty of girls stray from the script, say, by playing basketball in their finery, or casting themselves as the powerful evil stepsister bossing around the sniveling Cinderella. I recall a headline-grabbing 2005 British study that revealed that girls enjoy torturing, decapitating and microwaving their Barbies nearly as much as they like to dress them up for dates. There is spice along with that sugar after all, though why this was news is beyond me: anyone who ever played with the doll knows there’s nothing more satisfying than hacking off all her hair and holding her underwater in the bathtub. Princesses can even be a boon to exasperated parents: in our house, for instance, royalty never whines and uses the potty every single time.

”Playing princess is not the issue,” argues Lyn Mikel Brown, an author, with Sharon Lamb, of ”Packaging Girlhood: Rescuing Our Daughters From Marketers’ Schemes.” ”The issue is 25,000 Princess products,” says Brown, a professor of education and human development at Colby College. ”When one thing is so dominant, then it’s no longer a choice: it’s a mandate, cannibalizing all other forms of play. There’s the illusion of more choices out there for girls, but if you look around, you’ll see their choices are steadily narrowing.”

It’s hard to imagine that girls’ options could truly be shrinking when they dominate the honor roll and outnumber boys in college. Then again, have you taken a stroll through a children’s store lately? A year ago, when we shopped for ”big girl” bedding at Pottery Barn Kids, we found the ”girls” side awash in flowers, hearts and hula dancers; not a soccer player or sailboat in sight. Across the no-fly zone, the ”boys” territory was all about sports, trains, planes and automobiles. Meanwhile, Baby GAP’s boys’ onesies were emblazoned with ”Big Man on Campus” and the girls’ with ”Social Butterfly”; guess whose matching shoes were decorated on the soles with hearts and whose sported a ”No. 1” logo? And at Toys ”R” Us, aisles of pink baby dolls, kitchens, shopping carts and princesses unfurl a safe distance from the ”Star Wars” figures, GeoTrax and tool chests. The relentless resegregation of childhood appears to have sneaked up without any further discussion about sex roles, about what it now means to be a boy or to be a girl. Or maybe it has happened in lieu of such discussion because it’s easier this way.

Easier, that is, unless you want to buy your daughter something that isn’t pink. Girls’ obsession with that color may seem like something they’re born with, like the ability to breathe or talk on the phone for hours on end. But according to Jo Paoletti, an associate professor of American studies at the University of Maryland, it ain’t so. When colors were first introduced to the nursery in the early part of the 20th century, pink was considered the more masculine hue, a pastel version of red. Blue, with its intimations of the Virgin Mary, constancy and faithfulness, was thought to be dainty. Why or when that switched is not clear, but as late as the 1930s a significant percentage of adults in one national survey held to that split. Perhaps that’s why so many early Disney heroines — Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Wendy, Alice-in-Wonderland — are swathed in varying shades of azure. (Purple, incidentally, may be the next color to swap teams: once the realm of kings and N.F.L. players, it is fast becoming the bolder girl’s version of pink.)

It wasn’t until the mid-1980s, when amplifying age and sex differences became a key strategy of children’s marketing (recall the emergence of ” ‘tween”), that pink became seemingly innate to girls, part of what defined them as female, at least for the first few years. That was also the time that the first of the generation raised during the unisex phase of feminism — ah, hither Marlo! — became parents. ”The kids who grew up in the 1970s wanted sharp definitions for their own kids,” Paoletti told me. ”I can understand that, because the unisex thing denied everything — you couldn’t be this, you couldn’t be that, you had to be a neutral nothing.”

The infatuation with the girlie girl certainly could, at least in part, be a reaction against the so-called second wave of the women’s movement of the 1960s and ’70s (the first wave was the fight for suffrage), which fought for reproductive rights and economic, social and legal equality. If nothing else, pink and Princess have resuscitated the fantasy of romance that that era of feminism threatened, the privileges that traditional femininity conferred on women despite its costs — doors magically opened, dinner checks picked up, Manolo Blahniks. Frippery. Fun. Why should we give up the perks of our sex until we’re sure of what we’ll get in exchange? Why should we give them up at all? Or maybe it’s deeper than that: the freedoms feminism bestowed came with an undercurrent of fear among women themselves — flowing through ”Ally McBeal,” ”Bridget Jones’s Diary,” ”Sex and the City” — of losing male love, of never marrying, of not having children, of being deprived of something that felt essentially and exclusively female.

I mulled that over while flipping through ”The Paper Bag Princess,” a 1980 picture book hailed as an antidote to Disney. The heroine outwits a dragon who has kidnapped her prince, but not before the beast’s fiery breath frizzles her hair and destroys her dress, forcing her to don a paper bag. The ungrateful prince rejects her, telling her to come back when she is ”dressed like a real princess.” She dumps him and skips off into the sunset, happily ever after, alone.

There you have it, ”Thelma and Louise” all over again. Step out of line, and you end up solo or, worse, sailing crazily over a cliff to your doom. Alternatives like those might send you skittering right back to the castle. And I get that: the fact is, though I want my daughter to do and be whatever she wants as an adult, I still hope she’ll find her Prince Charming and have babies, just as I have. I don’t want her to be a fish without a bicycle; I want her to be a fish with another fish. Preferably, one who loves and respects her and also does the dishes and half the child care.

There had to be a middle ground between compliant and defiant, between petticoats and paper bags. I remembered a video on YouTube, an ad for a Nintendo game called Super Princess Peach. It showed a pack of girls in tiaras, gowns and elbow-length white gloves sliding down a zip line on parasols, navigating an obstacle course of tires in their stilettos, slithering on their bellies under barbed wire, then using their telekinetic powers to make a climbing wall burst into flames. ”If you can stand up to really mean people,” an announcer intoned, ”maybe you have what it takes to be a princess.”

Now here were some girls who had grit as well as grace. I loved Princess Peach even as I recognized that there was no way she could run in those heels, that her peachiness did nothing to upset the apple cart of expectation: she may have been athletic, smart and strong, but she was also adorable. Maybe she’s what those once-unisex, postfeminist parents are shooting for: the melding of old and new standards. And perhaps that’s a good thing, the ideal solution. But what to make, then, of the young women in the Girls Inc. survey? It doesn’t seem to be ”having it all” that’s getting to them; it’s the pressure to be it all. In telling our girls they can be anything, we have inadvertently demanded that they be everything. To everyone. All the time. No wonder the report was titled ”The Supergirl Dilemma.”

The princess as superhero is not irrelevant. Some scholars I spoke with say that given its post-9/11 timing, princess mania is a response to a newly dangerous world. ”Historically, princess worship has emerged during periods of uncertainty and profound social change,” observes Miriam Forman-Brunell, a historian at the University of Missouri-Kansas City. Francis Hodgson Burnett’s original”Little Princess” was published at a time of rapid urbanization, immigration and poverty; Shirley Temple’s film version was a hit during the Great Depression. ”The original folk tales themselves,” Forman-Brunell says, ”spring from medieval and early modern European culture that faced all kinds of economic and demographic and social upheaval — famine, war, disease, terror of wolves. Girls play savior during times of economic crisis and instability.” That’s a heavy burden for little shoulders. Perhaps that’s why the magic wand has become an essential part of the princess get-up. In the original stories — even the Disney versions of them — it’s not the girl herself who’s magic; it’s the fairy godmother. Now if Forman-Brunell is right, we adults have become the cursed creatures whom girls have the thaumaturgic power to transform.

In the 1990s, third-wave feminists rebelled against their dour big sisters, ”reclaiming” sexual objectification as a woman’s right — provided, of course, that it was on her own terms, that she was the one choosing to strip or wear a shirt that said ”Porn Star” or make out with her best friend at a frat-house bash. They embraced words like ”bitch” and ”slut” as terms of affection and empowerment. That is, when used by the right people, with the right dash of playful irony. But how can you assure that? As Madonna gave way to Britney, whatever self-determination that message contained was watered down and commodified until all that was left was a gaggle of 6-year-old girls in belly-baring T-shirts (which I’m guessing they don’t wear as cultural critique). It is no wonder that parents, faced with thongs for 8-year-olds and Bratz dolls’ ”passion for fashion,” fill their daughters’ closets with pink sateen; the innocence of Princess feels like a reprieve.

”But what does that mean?” asks Sharon Lamb, a psychology professor at Saint Michael’s College. ”There are other ways to express ‘innocence’ — girls could play ladybug or caterpillar. What you’re really talking about is sexual purity. And there’s a trap at the end of that rainbow, because the natural progression from pale, innocent pink is not to other colors. It’s to hot, sexy pink — exactly the kind of sexualization parents are trying to avoid.”

Lamb suggested that to see for myself how ”Someday My Prince Will Come” morphs into ”Oops! I Did It Again,” I visit Club Libby Lu, the mall shop dedicated to the ”Very Important Princess.”

Walking into one of the newest links in the store’s chain, in Natick, Mass., last summer, I had to tip my tiara to the founder, Mary Drolet: Libby Lu’s design was flawless. Unlike Disney, Drolet depended on focus groups to choose the logo (a crown-topped heart) and the colors (pink, pink, purple and more pink). The displays were scaled to the size of a 10-year-old, though most of the shoppers I saw were several years younger than that. The decals on the walls and dressing rooms — ”I Love Your Hair,” ”Hip Chick,” ”Spoiled” — were written in ”girlfriend language.” The young sales clerks at this ”special secret club for superfabulous girls” are called ”club counselors” and come off like your coolest baby sitter, the one who used to let you brush her hair. The malls themselves are chosen based on a company formula called the G.P.I., or ”Girl Power Index,” which predicts potential sales revenues. Talk about newspeak: ”Girl Power” has gone from a riot grrrrl anthem to ”I Am Woman, Watch Me Shop.”

Inside, the store was divided into several glittery ”shopping zones” called ”experiences”: Libby’s Laboratory, now called Sparkle Spa, where girls concoct their own cosmetics and bath products; Libby’s Room; Ear Piercing; Pooch Parlor (where divas in training can pamper stuffed poodles, pugs and Chihuahuas); and the Style Studio, offering ”Libby Du” makeover choices, including ‘Tween Idol, Rock Star, Pop Star and, of course, Priceless Princess. Each look includes hairstyle, makeup, nail polish and sparkly tattoos.

As I browsed, I noticed a mother standing in the center of the store holding a price list for makeover birthday parties — $22.50 to $35 per child. Her name was Anne McAuliffe; her daughters — Stephanie, 4, and 7-year-old twins Rory and Sarah — were dashing giddily up and down the aisles.

”They’ve been begging to come to this store for three weeks,” McAuliffe said. ”I’d never heard of it. So I said they could, but they’d have to spend their own money if they bought anything.” She looked around. ”Some of this stuff is innocuous,” she observed, then leaned toward me, eyes wide and stage-whispered: ”But … a lot of it is horrible. It makes them look like little prostitutes. It’s crazy. They’re babies!”

As we debated the line between frivolous fun and JonBenét, McAuliffe’s daughter Rory came dashing up, pigtails haphazard, glasses askew. ”They have the best pocketbooks here,” she said breathlessly, brandishing a clutch with the words ”Girlie Girl” stamped on it. ”Please, can I have one? It has sequins!”

”You see that?” McAuliffe asked, gesturing at the bag. ”What am I supposed to say?”

On my way out of the mall, I popped into the ” ‘tween” mecca Hot Topic, where a display of Tinker Bell items caught my eye. Tinker Bell, whose image racks up an annual $400 million in retail sales with no particular effort on Disney’s part, is poised to wreak vengeance on the Princess line that once expelled her. Last winter, the first chapter book designed to introduce girls to Tink and her Pixie Hollow pals spent 18 weeks on The New York Times children’s best-seller list. In a direct-to-DVD now under production, she will speak for the first time, voiced by the actress Brittany Murphy. Next year, Disney Fairies will be rolled out in earnest. Aimed at 6- to 9-year-old girls, the line will catch them just as they outgrow Princess. Their colors will be lavender, green, turquoise — anything but the Princess’s soon-to-be-babyish pink.

To appeal to that older child, Disney executives said, the Fairies will have more ”attitude” and ”sass” than the Princesses. What, I wondered, did that entail? I’d seen some of the Tinker Bell merchandise that Disney sells at its theme parks: T-shirts reading, ”Spoiled to Perfection,” ”Mood Subject to Change Without Notice” and ”Tinker Bell: Prettier Than a Princess.” At Hot Topic, that edge was even sharper: magnets, clocks, light-switch plates and panties featured ”Dark Tink,” described as ”the bad girl side of Miss Bell that Walt never saw.”

Girl power, indeed.

A few days later, I picked my daughter up from preschool. She came tearing over in a full-skirted frock with a gold bodice, a beaded crown perched sideways on her head. ”Look, Mommy, I’m Ariel!” she crowed. referring to Disney’s Little Mermaid. Then she stopped and furrowed her brow. ”Mommy, do you like Ariel?”

I considered her for a moment. Maybe Princess is the first salvo in what will become a lifelong struggle over her body image, a Hundred Years’ War of dieting, plucking, painting and perpetual dissatisfaction with the results. Or maybe it isn’t. I’ll never really know. In the end, it’s not the Princesses that really bother me anyway. They’re just a trigger for the bigger question of how, over the years, I can help my daughter with the contradictions she will inevitably face as a girl, the dissonance that is as endemic as ever to growing up female. Maybe the best I can hope for is that her generation will get a little further with the solutions than we did.

For now, I kneeled down on the floor and gave my daughter a hug.

She smiled happily. ”But, Mommy?” she added. ”When I grow up, I’m still going to be a fireman.”

– by Peggy Orenstein, for the New York Times Magazine (December 2006)

Posted by lukewho on 2007-01-01 19:50:52

Tagged: , fremont , christmas , 2006 , jacinto , princess , disney

The post A Princess Diary appeared first on Good Info.

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illuminating-dragons · 7 years

Text

Fading Scars (6/?): The Sortings

Time: 2009 and beyond

Summary: The various sortings of the Next Generation, and what happened next.

Teddy Lupin

Harry and Ginny invited Andromeda to breakfast with them the first morning. Lily was fussy with teething, but between James chattering about the book he was reading with Ginny and Albus’ incessant questions, Harry hoped the woman was distracted from missing Teddy. Her grandson. His godson.

Harry had been so caught up in Teddy’s own excitement about going to Hogwarts that he hadn’t quite thought through what it would be like when he’d be away. He’s so young. What if he’s homesick? What if he hates it? What if he has no friends?

Lily whined in his lap, and Harry cuddled her close. Thank goodness his other children were still years away from Hogwarts.

A large barn owl swooped into the breakfast room and dropped two letters—one in Andromeda’s hand, one in Harry’s.

“Moo!” Lily shouted. Harry couldn’t help smiling. Poor Teddy had been trying to be nice when he let Lily pick her name. Trouble was, he’d forgotten that Lily knew a limited amount of words at one, but a great deal of sounds.

The owl let Lily pet him as Harry passed the letter to Ginny—his hands were a bit full. Ginny opened it eagerly, then beamed. “He loved the feast!”

Andromeda nodded, her eyes solemn. “He says the Sorting Hat sang about friendship this year. He’s been sorted into Hufflepuff.”

“Brilliant,” Harry said. “He’s always loved yellow.”

Andromeda peered at him. “You’re not…”

“Not what?” Then it hit him. “Do you think I’d be disappointed?”

“No, of course not. Perhaps surprised. It’s just in some ways he takes after his father more than Dora.”

“I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was in Gryffindor,” Ginny said, “but I think he’ll fit in well in Hufflepuff. And anyways, that’s where his mum was, right?” She read on, and she drew in a sharp breath.

“Ginny?”

Ginny reached out for Lily, and Harry passed her over, taking the letter in exchange. He read it aloud, his voice getting tighter as he went on.

And you two won’t believe it, but one of the prefects, Gemma, she took me and a couple of others with Hufflepuff family over to the Hole. It’s a little hole in the floor, right near the fire, and everyone who graduates puts in a stone with their names scratched on them for any of their family who are Sorted here. She gave me Mummy’s. It’s all colourful. Gemma said she thought there might be jewels in it, or something precious, and my Mummy loved it. It’s for me now to keep. I think when I graduate I might put it back in with my name on it too. I’ll ask Gemma in the morning.

Heaps of love,

Teddy the Badger

P.S. I miss you, but Hogwarts is brilliant, so don’t worry about me.

Victoire Weasley

It took a long time to decide whether or not to send Victoire to Hogwarts at all.

Fleur and Bill went back and forth. Beauxbatons was a wonderful school too, and Fleur’s family was there, and there were traditions there that were just as important. Fleur had loved school dearly, and actually cried the day she left for England, not just for her family but the lovely long halls and high windows of Beauxbatons.

On the other hand, the idea of having Victoire so far away made her heart ache (and made her write her mother more often). Bill was willing to do either, but he pointed out that Victoire wasn’t quite fluent in French, and she adored her cousins, all of whom were going to Hogwarts. That wasn’t even a point of discussion in the other Weasley homes.

Eventually Victoire was asked her opinion. She thought about it quite seriously for three days, and then told them that she wanted to go to Hogwarts right now.

“Can I change my mind when I’m older?” she asked. “When I’m ready to leave home?”

Fleur hugged her daughter close. “Bien sur,” she promised.

(It would later turn out that Victoire would never go very far from home. She wasn’t an adventurer like either of her parents. She stayed home, first with them and then with Teddy, writing music. She only ever sang for her children, but her songs travelled the globe).

But Fleur didn’t know it that day. All she knew was that suddenly Hogwarts was too far away, and the train was dangerous, and perhaps they could teach her? But no, her daughter had a brilliant mind, and needed to be nurtured by people who weren’t family.

And when Victoire came home for Christmas wearing Ravenclaw blue and bubbling over about how many things she wanted to learn, Fleur knew they’d made the right decision.

Dominique Weasley

Dominique’s red hair had always run wild. Unlike her sister, who kept her blonde hair tucked into braids, Dominique let her hair fly free, just like Aunt Gabrielle’s. She was the first up in the morning, the last to sleep, and could never sit still long enough to read a book. Fearless and tough, she roamed each day looking for adventure.

Dominque cried fiercely the night before she went to Hogwarts, begging to stay home. Bill promised her the same deal as Victoire—when she was thirteen, she could change her mind about school. He would teach her himself if she wanted, and take her on voyages. “My adventuring partner,” he always called her. He was sure she would find her home in Gryffindor.

She found her home, but it wasn’t in the house of chivalry and nerve. Instead, it was in the house of creativity, of inquiring minds who thirsted for knowledge. And when Dominique opened the trunk her family had packed for her, she found a bronze eagle set with sapphires from Aunt Luna, who’d recognized the need for answers.

Dominique—Nicki when she got older— would eventually join her dad on his expeditions, but only sometimes. She was searching for curses, and Dad was good at breaking them. Sometimes he was too slow, though, and she would barge on ahead, using spells she designed to bring them down, tame them, catalogue and comprehend them.

There were people to help, after all—people who’d been hurt by these curses. And Nicki was going to find out how to help them, no matter what got in her way.

Fred Weasley II

After Bill’s daughters both being sorted into Ravenclaw, everyone started getting used to the idea that not all the Weasleys would be in Gryffindor. No one was upset, of course—it just felt a bit odd.

So when George and Angelina broke the news that their son hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor either, people were calm.

They stopped being calm when they found out Freddie Weasley was in Slytherin.

George nearly shouted himself hoarse arguing with Angelina that day. She was panicking, terribly worried that they’d done something wrong. Her family was Gryffindor through and through. The statistics for Death Eaters was overwhelmingly Slytherin. She loved her son—loved him deep and strong—but would he survive Slytherin? Would he be the same? And even if he belonged in Slytherin…what if the others, offspring of old pureblood families, didn’t agree?

“Damn it, woman,” George finally raged, “Fred and I should probably have been in Slytherin!”

And Angelina knew, in her heart of hearts, that he was right. They’d both grown up knowing red was their colour. Who knew? Perhaps if they’d had a chance to be different, to choose their own way, maybe she would have worn yellow, her husband green. Maybe their son was growing up in a world where he could choose that without worrying. Where he could be where he belonged, and never think that maybe their House was good and they loved their housemates, but it never quite felt like home.

And that’s what she and George told everyone who looked shocked or worried, everyone who might have wondered what they thought. They thought that they loved their son, and he was perfectly fine as he was, thank you very much. And soon everyone calmed down.

Freddie always looked well in green.

Roxanne Weasley

Roxanne loved Quidditch. But she didn’t love it for the game itself. She played, of course, because she was damn good at it and she loved competing against her brother, but it was the minds behind it that were so interesting. What drove people to play? Why did some give up after being injured? What made certain games so exciting?

It was a lot of numbers, a lot of sifting through stories. But Roxy was patient, and quiet, and knew how to listen. It was useful in a family like hers. All those redheads—but then again, was that true? Did people with red hair really have worse tempers?

When the Sorting Hat called out Ravenclaw no one was more surprised than Roxy. It wasn’t just that it was Ravenclaw, but that it was so fast. She was sure she was going to be a Hatstall. She had no idea where she belonged.

But the Hat somehow did. It understood that knowledge seekers aren’t always passionate about learning. Sometimes they’re patient and calm as they work away at an answer. They can stop work, do something else; the question doesn’t have to consume their life.

And sometimes those knowledge seekers become passionate about the questions of others. They love helping people solve puzzles, they love watching people learn.

Roxanne was one of those, and Madam Pince knew it. At last she could retire, knowing her beloved library was in good hands.

James Sirius Potter

James Sirius Potter was the descendant of Marauders and nephew to the founders and owners of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. He was the eldest Potter child, and he had red hair.

Apparently this meant he had to be the biggest prankster running.

There was only one problem with this theory, and it wasn’t that Albus was playing jokes on him at the age of three, or that Lily invented a product for the joke shop before she could talk properly.

No, it was that he simply didn’t want to.

Oh he retaliated when his siblings pulled pranks, and he and Albus had magnificent wars, but he never instigated. He just had other things to do. His book pile wasn’t getting any shorter, there was Quidditch to play with Mum and Dad, and he loved watching the stars.

When James was sorted, it took a while. The Hat discussed his options with him—he would find some friends in Ravenclaw, but they were quite intense about it. James had never understood people with only one passion. He’d much prefer being in a group of people that let people be what they wanted.

The Hat agreed that was best, and put him in Gryffindor.

When James lay down that night, he did some counting and realized he was in his dad’s room, and quite possibly in his dad’s bed. That was nice—it made him feel closer to home. He hugged his pillow. He didn’t feel very brave.

It would take him years to realize that being quiet in a noisy family, being funny at no one’s expense, loving the way he wanted to, and being steadfast and polite about it, was its own kind of bravery.

Louis Weasley

When Louis was little, their favourite cousin was Fred, because Fred understood that they were, well, they. Not a little boy, not a little girl, just they.

It was Fred who gave Lou their first camera, and Fred who was their first model. Posed on the beach at high noon, dressed in clothes exactly the colour of his skin, he stood with his head thrown back and arms held high.

(Years later, Lou would pose another man that way but pose them nude.)

Going to school worried Lou, worried their parents. Mum and Dad had always been good about using the right words, about letting them wear what they wanted. But Hogwarts had rules, and Hogwarts had dorms by gender. There were already students who had crossed the dorms, girls born boys who could walk up the staircase, boys born girls who made it a slide. The dorms amended for that, but what would they do for someone who was neither?

However, Lou had a plan. They didn’t want to make a big deal about what they were. It was bad enough that everyone knew they had inherited the Veela gene full force.

You throw a tantrum in Diagon Alley and turn into a monster one time…

So Lou forbade their parents from interfering, pretended to be always male around Professor McGonagall and Professor Longbottom, and packed their bags. They sat with their sisters and Fred in a compartment, twisting their hands and trying to pretend that people weren’t staring in.

When they got to the Sorting Hat, Lou informed the hat that they didn’t give a toss where they were, but if the Hat told anyone that they were…well, a they, the Sorting Hat would become the Sorting Pincushion.

“Slytherin!”

When Lou got to the Slytherin dorm, there was a girl’s dorm and a boy’s dorm, but there was also a third room.

“Oh,” the Prefect said when they asked. “It’s for people who aren’t comfortable in either. Haven’t all the Houses got one?”

Lou shook their head.

“Do you want to sleep in there?”

Lou nodded.

“Alright then. Go on.”

So Lou met Kit, who was still transitioning into a male; Elys, whose Mer blood made human concepts of gender confusing; and Aly, who was mostly feminine but sometimes very, very male.

By the time Lou graduated, each House had a room like that. Sometimes people only stayed a year, some stayed for their whole career, but it was always by choice, and anyone was welcome.

And Lou stopped minding if people stared. They got used to the idea that they were beautiful. And despite a couple more Veela episodes, people kept flirting.

And Lou let them, because flirting was fine, and they learned to be careful about keeping it from crossing the line into love, which they had no interest in (it took an unfortunate episode with Kit for that lesson to come across). And when they grew up and became a photographer everyone knew that you wanted Lou Delacour to take your picture and sleep with you, because it would be the best picture and fuck of your life. But crossing them was a bad idea—they could throw fire, after all.

Sometimes being a Veela was good for business.

Freddie was very proud.

Molly Weasley II

Molly was afraid of spiders. Molly was also afraid of the dark, and alligators, and sharks, and lots of other things, but spiders topped the list. She couldn’t listen to Hagrid’s stories about Aragog at all. Uncle George teased her about it, but Uncle Ron always made him stop. He was scared too.

When she was eight, Molly tried to make a list of her fears. She gave up when she filled two rolls of parchment. Clearly, being afraid of so many things was impractical. But how was she going to conquer so many fears?

She started with the simple ones. She went outside at night without a flashlight six nights in a row, trembling and scared in the backyard. Her dad stayed near the door, ready to come and get her right away if she called, but by the last night she actually fell asleep under a moonless, nearly starless sky.

Then she tried to conquer claustrophobia. This one served to terrify her mother; she kept finding Molly in cupboards. She suggested that Molly try going under a bed, at least when Uncle Harry was visiting. It took much longer, but soon she found it was actually kind of cozy under her bed, and she often went under there to read.

Three years goes by quickly when you’re trying to fit in phobia-fighting along with being a kid, and soon Molly was packing her trunk for Hogwarts.

“I’m not ready,” she sobbed.

“You will be,” Dad promised. “Work on your list when you have a chance, but give yourself some credit. You’ll be okay.”

Molly barely made it on the train, even clutching Victoire’s hand. Victoire and Nicki were very kind and let her sit with them, but Molly couldn’t concentrate on any conversation. She stared out the window miserably. She didn’t deserve any house. She was cowardly, stupid, couldn’t keep a secret to save her life, and clearly she wasn’t working hard enough to solve these idiotic fears. She was going to be sent home.

The Hat thought for a long time when Molly put it on, and she shrank into herself.

“Tell me, Molly Grace,” the Hat whispered to her finally, “why do you insist on believing you are worthless?”

“I can’t stop being scared,” she thought.

“Have you tried letting yourself be scared?” the Hat asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Embrace your fear. Don’t just face it, understand it. Breathe in the world that holds your fears, and love it anyways.”

“Will that help me stop being a coward?”

“You were never a coward, Molly Grace. And you will never be.” The Hat cleared its throat, and then, loud enough that the entire Hall could hear, yelled “Gryffindor!”

Five years later, when Molly was a Prefect, she gave tiny, scared first years the same speech. They were stunned. How could Molly Grace Weasley, famous for her Quidditch stunts and cool head when exploring the Forbidden Forest, ever have been frightened?

Albus Potter, Rose Granger-Weasley and Scorpius Malfoy

Harry sank into a chair. The house was really quiet now. They’d spent the afternoon at the British Museum with Lily (a special treat for her), but it felt strange to have both their boys gone.

Ginny perched next to him, and Harry took her hand. She’d been remarkably strong at the station and all afternoon, but now she looked very sad.

“He’ll be home for Christmas, love,” Harry whispered.

“I know. It’s just,” Ginny sniffed, “my babies are all growing up.”

Harry pulled her onto his lap. “It’ll be okay, Ginny. We still have Lily.”

There was a crash from upstairs.

Ginny groaned. “Maybe that’s not a comfort. Lily!”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Ginny went upstairs, and Harry stared into the fire.

Then Ron’s head popped up. “Mate! How are you?”

“Alright. How are you and ’Mione holding up?”

Ron’s face fell. “It’s not easy. I feel sort of bad for wanting to go back to Hogwarts so badly when I was a kid. Must have broken Mum and Dad’s hearts.”

“Do you want to come over?”

“Sure! Hugo’s over at Ricky’s tonight and his dad’s away so Hermione will be alright. Give us a few minutes, yeah?”

“Sure.”

Ron’s head vanished.

Ginny came back. “Was that Ron?”

“Yeah. He and Hermione want to come over. Sorry, I should have asked.”

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll be nice to see them. Lily’s going out to see Teddy tonight, right?”

Harry nodded. Lily and Teddy were working on a project together. He was fairly certain that it involved explosions, but completely certain that Teddy would take very good care of Lily.

Lily came bouncing in. “Bye Daddy!” she kissed his cheek.

“Is Teddy—”

The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get them going,” Ginny told him. “You get drinks set up for Ron and Hermione.”

Harry got up and went to the drinks cupboard. He’d put sherry, Firewhiskey, white wine and a Butterbeer on a tray by the time Ron and Hermione stepped through.

Hermione looked fairly calm, but Ron was clearly upset.

“Did something happen?” Harry asked. Nothing could have happened in ten minutes, could it?

“Rose hasn’t called yet,” Hermione explained. “She said she would right after the Feast.”

Harry checked his watch. “It’s barely eight!”

“Which is precisely what I told Ronald,” Hermione said exasperatedly. “They’re likely still eating.”

“I’m sure she’s okay, Ron,” Ginny said gently.

“What if she didn’t get sorted into Gryffindor and she’s worried I’m angry?” Ron said, still fretting. “I was joking, honestly!”

“She knows that,” Hermione said firmly. “She knows you love her. Don’t be thick.”

Ron took the Firewhiskey and poured it into a glass. “I hope so,” he muttered.

Harry clinked his Butterbeer against his glass. “They’ll be okay,” he promised. “It’s okay to miss them though.”

Ron nodded and took a huge swallow. “Thought I was ready.”

Hermione put an arm around his waist. “I don’t think any of us are.”

A shower of sparks caught Harry’s eye. To his surprise, Draco’s head was in the fire.

“Hello, Harry,” he said politely. His eyes widened when he saw Ron and Hermione. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

“It’s alright, Draco,” Ron answered. He held up the Firewhiskey bottle. “Care to join us?”

Draco looked grateful. “I would like to, yes. Astoria’s had an emergency with her mum.”

“Is she alright?” Hermione asked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Emergencies with my mother-in-law are a dime a dozen. I believe this time it has to do with the sale of some paintings. Still, Tori wanted to go.”

Harry went to the fire. “Come on through,” he said, reaching out a hand.

Draco took hold of Harry’s hand and came through. He didn’t even wobble when he landed on the carpet. Harry wished he had that kind of style.

They stood together for a few minutes, talking quietly. Harry kept drinking his Butterbeer to make sure that he wasn’t expected to speak much. He was missing his sons badly now, and he wished that Hogwarts wasn’t quite so far away. They could see James in a month in Hogsmeade, but that was only if James wanted them to come…

“Dad?”

Startled, Harry looked around.

“Dad!”

Harry reached into his pocket for the mirror. Albus’ beaming face was looking up.

“Hi Dad!” he called.

“Hello lad,” Harry said. Despite all the Butterbeer, he could still feel the lump in his throat. “How are you?”

“I’m doing well. Are Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron there?”

“Yes.” Harry waved the others over.

“Good!”

Rose’s face came in too. “Hi Mum, hi Dad!”

“Hello Rosie!” Ron looked a little astonished. Harry knew how he felt. As good friends as Rose and Albus were, they’d honestly not expected them to be in the same house.

Albus held up Mad-Eye, the ferret wrapped in a scarf and Rose held up a tie. They were striped blue and bronze.

“We’re in Ravenclaw!” Rosie cheered. “Together, isn’t it grand?”

“That’s lovely, sweet,” Hermione said.

“Well done, Al,” Ginny added.

“I wanted to be here,” Albus said, sharing a look with Harry.

“Then I’m glad you’re there, son,” Harry said firmly.

“Our whole compartment got into Ravenclaw,” Albus said. “Me and Rosie and Ellie…and—” he broke off when he noticed Draco. “Draco?”

“Hello, Albus.”

To Harry’s shock, Albus pulled away. Then—“Scorp, c’mere! Your dad’s here!”

Draco’s eyes went wide. Scorpius’ face came into view, wearing Ravenclaw pyjamas and looking a bit worried. “Hello, Da.”

Draco put his hand over his mouth. “Hello, son. You’re in with your friends, then? That’s…that’s wonderful.”

Scorpius’ face lit up, and he leaned his head against Rose’s shoulder. She patted his head. “Told you he wouldn’t be cross, Scorp.”

“Rosie!”

“It’s alright, Scorpius.” Draco cleared his throat. “I know you think my expectations for you are high, and I want you to do your best, but I want you to do that your way.”

Scorpius touched the mirror, as if he was trying to reach through. “Love you, Da.”

“And I love you. Your mother and I are so proud.” Draco stepped away for a minute. He wiped his eyes, and Ron put a supportive hand on his arm.

Albus hugged Scorpius from the other side. “We should go to bed. We want to get up early and watch the sunrise from the top of the tower.”

“Be careful,” Hermione admonished.

“We will, Mum, honestly!”

“Hang on,” Ginny said with a frown. “Where are you?”

Something in Rose’s face shifted. “The Ravenclaw tower.”

Draco stepped back into view. “And Scorpius is wearing pyjamas…in the common room.”

That was odd, now that Harry thought about it. Scorpius was rarely seen without being fully dressed. Even during sleepovers he was found wearing a dressing gown.

Rose ducked her head. “That’s why we’re a bit late. We had to figure out how I could get into their room.”

“Aren’t there rules about that?”

“Maybe,” Rose said, tossing her head. “I didn’t ask.”

Ron laughed. “That’s my girl.”

“Try not to get into trouble in the first day,” Ginny said.

“Wait a week,” Hermione said with a smirk.

“Mum?!” Rose looked shocked, but Albus laughed.

“We’ll let you go to bed,” Harry said. “Mind you share what James has, Albus.”

“I will,” Albus said. “I got one from him at the Feast. We’re going to take turns with each one.”

“What are you talking about?” Scorpius asked, interested.

Albus looked quickly at Harry, and after a second’s hesitation, he nodded. “Go ahead and tell them, Al. Just use them well.”

“Promise. Goodnight Mum and Dad! Say hi to Lily. I’ll write to her tomorrow.”

“Goodnight sweetheart,” Ginny said.

Rose and Scorpius called their goodnights too, and then the mirror went blank. For a second Harry was quiet. Albus in Ravenclaw. It really did make sense.

Hermione touched his hand. “Harry, do you think—”

He met her eyes, and remembered six years of insane plans, of nights in the Common Room and days in Hagrid’s hut, of friendship and fights and family.

Then he looked at Draco, and Draco smiled thinly. “I do believe we’ve seen the founding of a new trio.”

“So…are we saying no Howlers?” Ginny quipped.

“Are you barking mad?” Ron asked. “Of course we’ll send Howlers. Some of the time.”

Harry laughed. He was sure Ron wouldn’t send a single one.

In the end, it was Astoria Malfoy who sent the first Howler near the end of first year when Scorpius dragged/led/was dragged (depending on the account) into the Restricted Section after hours.

Madam Prince had no idea how they’d snuck into the library.

The Marauder’s secrets were still safe.

Lucy Weasley

Lucy worshipped her big sister.

It was easy to do. Molly was kind and clever and she let Lucy join her on all her adventures. Molly said it was because she was scared, but Lucy didn’t believe that. How could Molly be scared of anything?

Then Molly left for school, and Lucy was all alone. She didn’t really know what to do with herself. Her other cousins—the Potters and the Granger-Weasleys—liked playing with each other, and Lucy always felt a bit out of place with them.

So Lucy decided she would find a new friend.

She wandered around the little village where they lived until she found a boy her age. The boy’s name was Jacob. He was clever, far more clever than Lucy was, but he was just as lonely. No one wanted to play with him because he liked to read big books about computers and physics.

He had to explain what they were to Lucy, and they read the books together. Lucy was fascinated. Grandad always said that Muggles were clever, but this was amazing! Could they really do all of these things? How did they know how the world worked so well?

Jacob didn’t understand how Lucy had missed all of these things. Lucy told him she was homeschooled. She desperately wanted to tell him about magic, but it was too risky. Her parents would be cross, and she’d never get to go to Hogwarts with her sister…

But it wasn’t fair, Lucy realized. It wasn’t fair for Jacob to be sharing all of this with her. He was risking his parents being angry for wasting time on something other than school. He was risking the other kids in his class never being friends with him because he was always with ‘that Weasley girl’.

So one day when they were out in the woods, Lucy told Jacob about magic.

And he believed her.

Delighted, the two of them read through every magic book in her parent’s collection. Dad was glad that Lucy was taking such an interest in magical theory, and bought her new books when she asked. It took him a few months to realize that she was sharing them with the kid down the road with too-big glasses and fidgety hands.

Lucy and Jacob were having a wonderful time. They looked through the books and argued about how they intersected and whether you could possibly start building machines that worked with magic—not just pulleys, but things like phones, computers…their minds whirled with possibility.

Then Dad confronted Lucy about what she was doing.

It was quite a big fight, and Lucy cried. So did Dad. He was terrified that his daughter was going to be in prison before she’d even gotten to school. It was Mum who finally calmed them both down.

“It’s done already,” she said quietly. “We need to talk about what we’re going to do next.”

Lucy felt sick. Was Mum going to Obliviate Jacob?

But no, because Mum was a lawyer, and Mum knew what she was doing. She called in every favour she had and looked up Jacob’s heritage, hoping to find any crossing with a wizarding family. If there was even a chance, the boy wouldn’t count as a Muggle, and Lucy wouldn’t have to lose her friend.

And there was. He was the great-grandson of a Squib.

And that was when Lucy lost her temper.

Not because she hated that Jacob didn’t get to be magic, but that Squibs had no legal standing. They weren’t wizards, but they didn’t get to have wands, and they couldn’t tell their children about magic. But they weren’t Muggles either, so if they did find out, no harm done.

When Lucy got to school, she spent most of her time in the library. People remarked that it was odd for a Gryffindor to spend so much time there (until Professor Longbottom set them straight about Hermione Granger), but Lucy was determined. She was going to find a way for Jacob and any other descendants of Squibs to find their place in magic. And for wizards to find their place in the Muggle world, because Merlin, people just sort of got by knowing nothing about the outside world.

(She got into several fights with the Muggle Studies teacher).

When she graduated, she took off for a year with Jacob and his boyfriend, a Hufflepuff Muggleborn named Dev. The three of them studied like crazy and managed to get into the University of Manchester for physics and computer science. Lucy got into fights with teachers there, but she also found Squibs and descendants of magical families without any magic at all. She recruited them for her cause.

It took years; it took decades. But by the time Lucy watched her sister’s children go to Hogwarts, they went with magical ‘computers’ and learned about maths and Muggle history, and even Squibs went to Hogwarts if they chose, learning how to use magic not with wands but with science.

In the end, perhaps it was good that Lucy worshipped her sister. It gave her a chance to feel lonely, to feel like she didn’t belong. She was determined to never let anyone feel like that.

And her strangest legacy? Lucy Weasley was the only student Argus Filch ever liked.

Lily Potter

Lily loved cooking with her Daddy. From the time she was three, she stood on her own little stool and helped crack eggs, stir milk and (of course) taste everything. Daddy always asked if she was bored, or if she wanted a break, and never let her touch the oven without him watching carefully.

He cried when she burned herself by accident when she was seven. Lily was so frightened by his tears she started crying too, and Mummy found them sitting by the oven, sobbing together with a pan of cold cookies on the floor.

When he calmed down, Daddy explained why he didn’t want Lily to get hurt in the kitchen, or think of it as work. It was three years later when Lily met Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley, but she never forgot, and she kicked their shins before Daddy could stop her.

Lily loved watching games with Mummy. It started when she was only a baby, and the noise she always associated with her mother was the roar of a crowd and the ‘whoosh!’ of brooms. Mummy brought her and her brothers to games when she could, and when she couldn’t they could watch them on the small sets[1], and listened intently as Mummy explained how things were playing out. She had two whole years when it was just her, Mum and Dad during the year, and Mummy brought her to almost every game. Lily became quite good at knowing when calls were good, and she cheered for both teams. Everyone was always surprised that the tiny, bubbly girl could shout as loud as Uncle Dean.

Lily felt guilty when she realized that Mummy had stopped playing because she had kids, and she asked if she felt bad. Mummy admitted that she missed playing, but she liked her new job too, and she loved being a Mum.

“I can always go back to playing, darling. I’d never go back to not having you and your brothers.”

Lily loved playing with shadows with her brothers. Sometimes they teased her (and she teased them right back, and her pranks were better than theirs), but mostly they were wonderful brothers. Whenever Mum and Dad were having an adult dinner she and Albus would go in James’ room, and James would use the tiny lights Dad gave them and make shadows on the wall. Sometimes James would build little puppets, and sometimes Albus would just use his hands, but all three of them would tell a story together. When they came back to Hogwarts for vacation, it was the first thing they did together.

Lily loved her cousins, loved her godbrother and her uncles and aunts and grandparents. She loved the ones who were gone, too, and asked for as many stories as the living could bear. She gave her love freely, because it was wonderful to love someone, to spend time doing things together and defend them against anyone who didn’t think they were the best people in the world.

Sometimes she felt like she had too much love to give, that no matter how many people were in her heart she wasn’t loving enough.

When she went to Hogwarts, the Hat saw that.

“You belong with the other loyal hearts,” it said. “The ones who love and work through the bad parts no matter what. HUFFLEPUFF!”

Hugo Granger-Weasley

Hugo did not start drawing the moment he was born, but it was a near thing.

Hermione had all his drawings saved. They were hung around the house until the walls were full, and then they went into por-lios, as Hugo called them until he was seven. He drew everything he ever saw: family, friends, sunsets, animals…everything.

He wasn’t very quick at it, though. Thankfully, he had a photographic memory, which served him well over the years. He was patient, drawing each line delicately, erasing again and again until it was right before moving on. The deep attention to detail startled his viewers; they saw things in his work they’ would never have noticed themselves.

Hugo bought all his own art supplies. His parents would have bought anything he needed or wanted, but Hugo insisted from the age of six that he could pay himself. So he got an allowance from tugging weeds in the garden with Daddy and helping Mummy organize the bookshelf a new way every month. Then he would look up the best possible supplies he could get for his money, and Mummy would Apparate with him to London after work and he would carefully pick out every last piece.

Hugo got in trouble a few times at school for not turning in his work on time, but his teachers learned that it might be late but it was brilliant work, nearly as brilliant as his art. They gave him extra time to work, and he rewarded them with diligence, spending hours in the sunny Hufflepuff common room. His grades earned him his choice of careers, and he decided to make a choice that was new, and created his own profession.

There’d never been an artistic consulting detective before, but Hugo’s carefully drawn crime scenes and suspect profiles helped many a family recover their lost property or to bring a murderer to justice. He still found time to draw for himself and for his husband, and one of his strangest eccentricities was that he still spent hours choosing the perfect supplies, the perfect lines.

Lives were at stake, after all, and the more attention to detail he paid, the more good he could do.

Lorcan Scamander

Lorcan was always the big brother.

It took him a long time to understand that his brother was ‘supposed’ to be nearer the same size as him, even longer to understand that people thought that the difference was a bad thing. There seemed to be two theories; either something was wrong with Mum and Dad, or something was wrong with Lysander. Neither option was correct, as far as Lorcan could see.

He learned to slow down for Lys, to help him up when he asked, to glare on just this side of politeness at “well-meaning” adults. He took care of Lys, because that’s what he was supposed to do. They did everything together. Lys chose the games, and Lor played along; Lys had grand ideas. He couldn’t imagine being apart from Lys.

Which was why it broke Lorcan’s heart when he was sorted into Ravenclaw…and two minutes later Lysander was sorted into Hufflepuff.

Lorcan wanted to protest, but Lysander tracked him down the next morning. “You don’t need to protect me anymore, Lor,” he promised. “We’re in different houses, and that’s okay. We’ll still hang out all the time, okay?”

Lysander kept his promise, and the first few years the twins were nearly inseparable. They couldn’t, unfortunately, switch places (people would catch on), but they pretty well only slept in their houses. They even ate at each other’s tables.

Eventually they started making friends outside each other, and suddenly there were days that they didn’t spend together. It was okay, though, it was really okay. What wasn’t okay, Lorcan was starting to realize, was the fact that people didn’t understand that Lysander was fine and happy despite his size, and did not need help unless he asked for it.

That realization led him down the path to being a Healer; an unusual kind, perhaps. Lorcan Scamander moved through homes for the elderly, hospitals for wizard orphans and places for people who had physical and mental disabilities. He let the patients lead their care, let them choose the games and the conversation, and listened as hard as he could. When people wanted cures, he looked for them. He and Nicky Weasley ended up working together for those who’d survived terrible curses: she provided a breakdown of the curse’s elements, he worked on the cure.

His greatest reward came the day, two weeks before they died, when Alice and Frank Longbottom opened their eyes and recognized their son.

Lysander Scamander

The moment he heard the Hat say “Ravenclaw!”, Lysander knew he was going to be a Hufflepuff.

It was really all the same to him. There were no family expectations—Ravenclaw Mum, Uagadou Dad[2], Gryffindor godparents—and he knew that the House system was at least a little bit rubbish. There was no way that any one person belonged in only one place. Look at him. He enjoyed puzzles and learning, he worked hard (had to with his size) and now, as he approached the Hat, he realized he had a little bit of Slytherin in him.

Lorcan had to have a chance to grow without him, and he needed to find his place without Lorcan. It was going to hurt; he loved his brother, and would have been happy to stay with him at home and have Mum and Dad teach them. But they were two different people, two hearts, two bodies, two futures. That was important.

The Hat argued with him for a moment, but Lysander held firm. “I want to be somewhere other than Ravenclaw. I know I fit at least one other place.”

“Very well,” the Hat sighed. “HUFFLEPUFF!”

The first day of class, Lysander walked shyly into Charms. He’d never met someone his size before.

Professor Flitwick was getting very old, but his eyes were as sharp as ever. He examined Lysander’s wand after he made a quill fly the very first day of class. “Very good for Charm work,” he mused. “I think your wand’s trying to tell you something.”

At first Lysander resisted. He wanted to work with fantastic beasts, like Mum and Dad and Uncle Hagrid. But Charms was fun, and Professor Flitwick took him under his wing, letting him sign books out of the Restricted Section, talking to him about being a little person and even making him a teaching assistant in his sixth year, helping first years. He also told him about his former position as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and as a dueler. “You can always change an open mind, lad,” he said.

Lysander would study fantastic beasts, but not right away. First he would take a year and travel for fun, seeing beautiful wizarding places. The next year, when Professor Flitwick retired, Lysander took his place. A few people made jokes about the Charms department always being taught by ‘midgets’, and for the first time in several years Lysander let his brother punch some people for him.

He was busy. He had students to teach, and he wasn’t about to let his mentor down.

[1][1] Credit goes to annegirlblythe and her awesome headcanon blog (harryjamesheadcanons) for the idea of small Quidditch sets to mimic games going on in the world.

[2] Uagadou is the Wizarding school in Egypt, which serves all of Africa (see Pottermore for a few more details). I’ll expand on this in a later oneshot with Luna and Lysander, but Rolf’s mother is Egyptian, and he was raised there.

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mrmichaelchadler · 6 years

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Thumbnails 5/22/18

Thumbnails is a roundup of brief excerpts to introduce you to articles from other websites that we found interesting and exciting. We provide links to the original sources for you to read in their entirety.—Chaz Ebert

"Elisha Christian on 'Columbus' and 'Everything Sucks!'": The Spirit Award-nominated cinematographer chats with me about his acclaimed work on Kogonada's 2017 film and this year's acclaimed Netflix series.

“[Indie Outlook:] How did you and Kogonada develop the extraordinary shot of Jin (John Cho) and Eleanor (Parker Posey), framing them in a mirror in a way that gives us a sense of their history. We feel as if we are peering into a reflection of their past.’ [Christian:] ‘That scene took place in the same inn where Jin was staying. There were only four or five guest rooms in the whole inn, and we had our pick of which room we wanted to shoot in. That location is so visually interesting — you could shoot a whole movie there. When we saw the mirrors, we knew where we wanted to place the camera, though my AC couldn’t even stand next to it to pull focus. She had to sit underneath the camera while reaching up above her head to pull focus because the space was so slim. We even had to pull everything off the sides of the camera in order to fit in that tiny area without catching it in a reflection. We saw that if John walks out and stops at a certain point after Eleanor basically kicks him out, he could turn back to her and we’d be able to frame them both in an interesting way. It was definitely a dance. I remember that we were running behind that night. It took a while to set up the shot and get it ready, and we probably shot about 7 or 8 takes of it. We had two other shots planned in the scene, but when we got the take that Kogonada wanted, he said, ‘We don’t need the other shots.’ That’s a ballsy decision, considering the length of the scene. It’s decisions like these that made the movie better.’”

"Peak superhero? Not even close: How one movie genre became the guiding myth of neoliberalism": Brilliant commentary from Salon's Keith A. Spencer.

“Obversely, this is precisely how politics functions in neoliberalism: Both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump were presented as branded superheroes, who believed they knew what was best for us, and sought to install their elite wonks to enact their benevolent (to them) policies. There’s a relatively two-dimensional view of the world at work: there are good and bad people; they are generally born that way and seldom change. The state in neoliberalism and superhero movies is almost entirely devoted to oppression and surveillance. If the state overreaches, heroes must fix its excesses; if it fails to protect its citizenry, heroes must make up for its shortcomings. In either case, its social welfare function is invisible: because people are innately good or evil, there are no social workers or teachers or other welfare-state employees whose duties might prevent villainy (or supervillainy) through social work. Superheroes are, by definition, more powerful and more important than the state. More importantly, the superheroes’ work may save lives, but it never inherently changes the relationships of production: If the people are poor, they’re likely to stay poor. They don’t participate in redistributive politics except to attack the sort of universally detested social relationships about which there is broad consensus — for instance, slavery. Superheroes can’t and won’t save the middle class; many of them are rich anyway and stand to benefit from the kinds of inherent economic injustices that, say, Bernie Sanders or Jeremy Corbyn fight against.”

"Turkey's Government Is Censoring the Movies, But the Istanbul Film Festival Is Soldiering On": According to Indiewire's Amy Nicholson.

“No one is sure what the moral rules are. The Ministry of Culture won’t write them down. At least the Hays Code in classic Hollywood had 11 clear don’ts. Specific rules can be subverted. But Turkey’s veto power is capricious and vague. Filmmakers, especially documentary filmmakers telling unflattering stories about modern Turkey, could spend years on a movie that can’t be shown. Unpredictability pressures artists to play it safe. Some hire lawyers to help them guess whether their work might be rejected, and if so, hunt for foreign producers willing to take a controlling stake as international films don’t require a certificate yet. But as Saudi Arabia opens its first movie theater in 30 years with a screening of ‘Black Panther’—imagine women who finally got the right to drive this year beholding the Dora Milaje—Turkish people are alarmed that their government, which just disrupted the last major dissenting newspaper chain, threatened people over their footage of Taksim Square, intermittently shut off YouTube and Twitter, and is poised to ban teaching evolution in schools, is making it hard to share their stories with the outside world. Over a bottle of wine, a director sighed as she pointed toward the west, ‘News comes one way.’ The impact was everywhere. ‘I can say that there are less political movies than before,’ said current festival director Kerem Ayan on a group boat trip circling the Bosporus River. ‘But cinema is very creative. Everybody finds a different way to express what they want.’”

"The Résumé: The Winding, Everlasting Career of William H. Macy": Another essential interview conducted by Sam Fragoso for The Ringer.

“I had never done anything that graphic or that sexual before ‘The Cooler.’ I’d taken my clothes off, but that’s different. And it was my adorable wife who finally said, ‘When you talk about it, it sounds like you’re planning to fail. If you don’t want to do these sex scenes, you should call the director and tell him you don’t want to do them. If you do want to do them, you better start thinking about how to make them great.’ It was a fabulous wake-up call. I married well. So I started to look at the sex scenes like any other scene—as an acting exercise. What’s different at the end of the scene than at the beginning? What happened? What’s the objective? What transpired? Where’s the moment where something changed the plot even though we’re just rolling around in bed? And to Wayne’s credit, I said, ‘I can’t understand the scene. I’m having trouble here. What happens here?’ And we talked about one or two scenes and he said, “You know what, you’re right. I can’t find it either.” And he cut them. He cut the scenes. Which is sort of the essence of art, I think: If you can cut it and still tell your story, then you have to cut it. I was shy but Maria didn’t care. She said, ‘I’m an old hippie. This is nothing.’”

"50 Years Ago, a White Woman Touching a Black Man on TV Caused a National Commotion": Petula Clark and Harry Belafonte chat with Vanity Fair's Donald Liebenson about the moment that erupted into an inadvertent scandal.

“For his part, Belafonte thought there had just been a technical glitch. He did not think the touch was problematic: ‘Quite the contrary,’ he says. ‘I was quite pleased. That song, if I remember, was the last thing we shot. There was an enormous sense of release that we had pulled this off without a hitch. It was one guy—Doyle Lott—who said we had to re-shoot what we had just done. We were nonplussed as to what was the problem.’ NBC, alerted to the controversy, called Binder to say the network would back him (‘That was a great phone call to get,’ he says). With that, Binder and Wolff rushed to the studio basement to confront the editor and order him to keep the take where Clark touched Belafonte’s arm—and to erase the others so they could not be used in the broadcast. Somehow—Binder doesn’t recall what did it—word of the controversy got out early, resulting in breathless pre-broadcast news coverage. ‘Incident at TV Taping Irks Belafonte,’ said a March 7 headline in ‘The New York Times.’ The article quoted a statement from White: ‘If there was any incident . . . it resulted solely from the reaction of a single individual and by no means reflects the Plymouth Division’s attitude or policy on such matters.’ Lott’s Detroit office also issued a statement: ‘I was tired. I over-reacted to the staging, not to any feeling of discrimination.’ Binder remembers hearing that Belafonte was about to tell America to boycott Plymouth on ‘The Tonight Show’; he called the singer to tell him it wasn’t the car company’s fault, and reminded Belafonte of his conversation with White. On March 10, the ‘Times’ reported that Lott had been ‘relieved of his responsibilities.’”

Image of the Day

Parallax View's Richard T. Jameson lists his favorite "moments out of time" from films he saw in 2017, including Bertrand Bonello's "Nocturama."

Video of the Day

vimeo

Alexander Jeffrey's short film, "An Aria for Albrights," stars Laura Bretan, the astonishing young opera singer who became a 2016 finalist on "America's Got Talent." Click here to read my interview with her at Indie Outlook.

from All Content https://ift.tt/2s3Uwbp

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blancheludis · 7 years

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How To Be A Hero - Ch. 6

Harry Potter Fanfiction Pairing: Remus Lupin / Nymphadora Tonks AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/8672524/chapters/19881244

Loyalty

„Where is he?“ Dora burst through the door to his living quarters without bothering to knock. Her hair was pure black for once and her Auror uniform was wrinkled as if she had thrown it on in a hurry. Which she probably had before storming to Hogwarts at three in the morning

Remus looked up at her heavily breathing form, at a loss for words. He had not even tried to go to bed, even though he had not slept in two days. His mind was in utter chaos, tired from the full moon that had just passed and even more so from the all but impossible things that had taken course beneath it.

“Where. Is. He,” she asked again, pressing the words out between clenched teeth. He did not know whether she was upset or worried or – something else.

“Who?” he finally questioned tonelessly, not even trying to act innocent. It was more that he did not know the answer himself. Who was that man, indeed, who had escaped from Hogwarts and the dementor’s Kiss last night?

Dora deflated at his tired demeanour and let herself fall into a chair next to him. “So he’s not a traitor after all?”

At his asking glance, she elaborated. “I read the report back in the Auror office. Someone told that Harry insists that Sirius is innocent.”

When she got only a noncommittal shrug in response, she asked impatiently, “And? Is he?”

“I don’t know.” There was a distinct kind of helplessness in Remus’ voice. “Yes. Maybe.” Their eyes met and his were so desperate they made her flinch as if burned. “I want him to be. But then – He was twelve years in Azkaban. I let him rot there.” Panic crept into his words. “I hated him.”

“You didn’t,” Dora interrupted him almost softly, laying a hand on his forearm. Ignoring his shocked ‘What?’, she continued. “You never hated him. You hated what he did and what he had become, but never what he was before. You couldn’t have.”

They stayed silent for a moment, Remus avoiding her gaze, staring out the window as if the night sky held all the answers he was searching for. Finally, he nodded.

“Because that would have meant that all the years before, all my life really, were a lie. Because then we never could have been the brothers we claimed to be.” It was a painful confession.

Dora cocked her head, “What happened?”

Remus took his time. “Peter is alive,” he then said and fell silent again as if that explained everything.

Somehow it did. Then again, it brought up a hundred, a thousand more questions. None of which they could answer – or even wanted to, in some cases.

“So it was him.” It was not a question. Still her voice was laced with wonder and something akin to disgust. “So he took his queen and his son and told only his best friend where they were going to hide. But he was not the only one afraid, so this friend doubted and wavered and fell.”

Remus looked up in surprise, a faint smile playing on his lips. “You still remember that?”

“Of course. It was the first story you ever told me. When we promised we’d stay friends.”

That made him wince. He knew what happened to promises such like this. They would be torn apart by time and fears.

“They thought it was me.” A simple confession, opening up abysses and long-forgotten wounds.

“Then they were stupid.” Dora bristled, her narrowed eyes making clear that she would not apologize for talking ill of his dead friends. “You’re the most loyal person I’ve ever met.”

It amazed him time and again how utterly convinced she seemed of his goodness, how highly she spoke of him. And it was funny, really, how much he depended on her approval, how much this young woman’s friendship meant to him.

Before he knew what he was doing, he told her everything about that night mere hours – maybe an eternity – ago, somehow trusting that she would not turn away when she heard what he had almost done. What his carelessness could have done to Harry and his friends. Or that he had been willing to take a life so easily, no matter how serious Peter’s crimes might have been.

“So he escaped.” And the growl in her voice was meant for the rat, not her cousin. “It’s a shame I’m still in training and cannot be assigned to the team searching for Sirius. I could help him. I hope he’s smart enough to leave Britain.”

“You never know with Sirius.” Somehow Remus found it in himself to chuckle, despite being dead tired and in emotional turmoil. “I might follow him,” he then offered, not really knowing himself where that thought came from.

She was not happy about that, but not surprised either. “The school year’s not yet over –”

He waved her argument away. “Snape will without doubt leak my condition to the school. I’d rather leave than be thrown out.” Despite being used to losing his jobs regularly there was bitterness in his tone. Hogwarts had been his home all those years ago. Leaving yet again, and in shame at that, was painful.

“With Peter and Sirius alive, I might have a purpose again, other than trying to earn enough to get through another month. A life on the run doesn’t sound so bad when you’re not alone.”

Dora stayed silent at that. She knew her parents had offered him a home and money and a job more than once, but he had always been adamant on managing on his own. I don’t want charity, he had declared with that quiet determination of his that made it so hard to argue with him.

So instead of fighting, she simply stated, “You know you are keyed into my wards. So if the two of you need a safe place to catch your breath every once in a while, you know where to find me.”

Gratefulness shone in his eyes, causing her to shrug. “You are always welcome in my home,” she muttered.

They launched into a companionable silence, only interrupted by Remus’ “It’s pretty late. Maybe you should go to bed?” and her noncommittal humming, after which they stayed right where they were, comfortable in each other’s presence.

The night was almost over anyway and come morning they would have to fill the roles recent events had loaded onto them. Better to enjoy the peace while it lasted. Their storm was coming up fast.

Only after the sun had risen and the castle was slowly starting to wake did they get up, still tired, but calmer than before, like it was so often the case when they spent time together.

Dora opened her arms and held him close, transferring her invitation once more with something far more honest than words.

“Tell the mutt I want to meet him. I need to see for myself if he lives up to your stories.”

Remus laughed. “Don’t worry. He will even surpass them.”

Their first meeting began rather awkward.

Despite knowing how much time had passed, Sirius somehow expected to see his baby cousin as she had been before, painfully young and throwing a temper tantrum because she did not want to wear some dress her mother had laid out for her or fighting mock-duels with him and the boys.

Instead she was all grown up and training to be an Auror, ready to go out and leave her mark on the world, eyeing him not with hero-worship but sceptical calculation.

At the same time, Dora struggled to recognize her jovial, handsome and always careless cousin in this haggard man with a gaunt face and haunted eyes, whose mouth had not laughed in years and whose hands could not stop fidgeting nervously.

“Sirius,” she said slowly, probing how the name felt on her lips, how its bearer reacted to it.

“Tonks.” The ghost of a smile flickered over both their faces.

“You remember that, huh?”

“You made sure that no one could forget.” His toothy grin caused her to sigh dramatically, all the while trying to ignore how that gesture made his face look like a skull.

“I was a real terror, right?”

“My dear Dora.” Remus’ chuckle interrupted them from the doorway. “Don’t act all innocent, you still are a terror.”

The young woman cried out indignantly, making the two men laugh out loud. Remus stepped fully into the room, put a tea tray onto the table and sat down next to Dora.

“You let him call you Dora?” Sirius asked, still smiling.

“It’s still Tonks to you,” she replied snootily. “I dare you.”

None of them would have admitted it aloud, but they were all glad that the almost choking tension that had settled around them the moment Sirius had knocked on Dora’s door, had disappeared.

And while it would still take a long time until Sirius would be able to relax again, he at least stopped looking over his shoulder every couple of seconds as if expecting Aurors or dementors to jump up from behind the couch.

“How did Remus here convinced you that I’m innocent?” That last word seemed odd coming out of the escapee’s mouth.

He had cleaned up since Azkaban and his clothes were mostly whole, but he still had that starved, half-mad look of a caged man.

As if reading her thoughts, he chuckled hoarsely. “I know I don’t look the part.”

Dora shrugged, trying to look casual, but it was obvious she was uncomfortable. “He believed in you.” Then, after glancing at her friend, she added, “Even though he had the most reasons not to. And I have come to trust him.”

Sirius watched them curiously, seemingly reading them, seeing beyond what they knew themselves. Then he leaned back, apparently satisfied, and smirked. “And why is that,” he asked like the cat watching the canary, getting ready for the kill.

Dora seemed oblivious to his smug demeanour, or at least she pretended to be. “We’ve been friends ever since –” Stopping herself abruptly, she changed course, although not before the reappeared light in her cousin’s eyes dimmed a bit. “He told me stories, and visited whenever he was in Britain. We exchanged letters when he was not. I –”

Smirk growing even wider, Sirius cut her rambling off. “And when are you going to tell your parents that you’re in love with your childhood friend? And he with you?”

Stunned silence settled around them as Dora turned a bright shade of red and Remus did his best to murder his friend with a withering glare. But none of them, Sirius noted with growing satisfaction, denied it.

“That will really be a –”

“What do you plan on doing next?” Dora stumbled over the words, voice slightly raised to drown him out.

She threw a glance towards Remus who was sitting stiffly, but took it as a good sign that he had not moved away from her. How could that mutt possibly know?

Looking back at Sirius, she realized with a strange mixture of victory and regret, that her question had brought out the shadows in his eyes again.

“Dumbledore,” he began reluctantly, his velvety voice disappearing back into whatever abyss he had found it in. “He wants me to reopen Grimmauld Place.”

The darkness in his tone as well as Remus’ grim nod – which had thankfully dispersed the sudden awkwardness between them – surprised her. She knew that the ancestral London Estate of the Blacks was at Grimmauld Place and, according to her mother’s stories, it was not the most cheerful of places, but this air of hostility spoke of something worse.

When it was obvious that her cousin would not continue, she turned towards Remus, waiting impatiently for an explanation.

“After our fifth year,” he said slowly, giving their friend the chance to interrupt him. “Sirius was expected to do something he didn’t want, so he ran away and vowed never to return.”

“What was it?”

A look passed between the two men. “My dear mother demanded that I remember my roots and join the Death Eaters.” Sirius chuckled humourlessly. “Naturally, I refused. But she was never one to accept a ‘no’. I left before she decided to use the Imperius.”

With his eyes seeing long-gone, far-away things, he added absentmindedly, “She always had a hand for the Unforgivables. Bella herself could have learned something from her Cruciatus.”

Dora did not know what shocked her more: that Walburga Black would use the Torture Curse on her own son – which should not surprise her, really, her family was known for insanity – or how casual Sirius spoke about it.

It made her heart roar inside her chest, reminding her once again why she had been sorted into Hufflepuff. But when she saw Remus clenching his hands next to her, she pushed away the need to jump up and crash something or, even better, find someone of her blood relatives and give them a good tongue-lashing and a taste of why the other Auror trainees were afraid of her temper.

Instead she laid her own hand on his, knowing that she had always been able to calm him down and spend some comfort.

“And Dumbledore expects you to go back there why exactly?”

“The greater good, of course.” Sirius smiled darkly, with hardly concealed bitterness. “He is reinstating the Order of the Phoenix. And could there be a better symbol than having its headquarters in the home of one of our darkest families? But don’t worry, I should be used to being a prisoner in hell by now.”

Dora looked at him intensely. It was kind of true. He would be a prisoner, but she would be damned if she let him rot there and not do something to help him heal.

“You’re not alone,” she said.

His gaze trailed down to where her hand was still laying on Remus’. “No,” he nodded, and his smile seemed to be more honest than before. “I am not.”

#my work #writing #fanfiction #harry potter #remus lupin #nymphadora tonks #remus/tonks #sirius black #year three #grimmauld place #sirius notices what's up #how to be a hero

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