#i think that entire section of punishment is brilliant but this always makes me laugh.

[mars-graveyard]

this is the funniest fucking part of the oss novels.

#i think that entire section of punishment is brilliant but this always makes me laugh. #like yes you do that hänsel. you’re the man. even though i reckon i’m smarter than you. #evillious chronicles #hansel salmhofer #hansel evillious #gretel salmhofer #gretel evillious #arte.txt

[ickle-ronniekins]

breaking the rules

request from anon: Your writing is truly amazing!! I just read your fake dating with Georgie and I loved it!! I was wondering you would be up to writing a fake dating piece with Freddie?!☺️

word count: 6.9k sorry i keep getting carried away

A/N: ugh. my heart. i cannot deal. thank you all for being so kind, day after day, with each and every piece i write. and thank you, also, for being so patient. i know it’s taking me a while to sift through these requests. it means the world to me! love you all tons

tag list: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @semmelsemi @cottageoflove @laneygthememequeen @snakesonaplane-7 @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover | message me if you’d like to be added lovelies!

“Hey, Y/N! Would you mind, for the sake of the entire team, to not be so bloody brilliant during every single match? You’re making us look bad.”

You smile, clutching the quaffle to your chest as you zoom rapidly through the air, leaving dust in your wake as you fly past the Slytherin team members, leaving them baffled and confused before they can fully register just exactly what’s going on. You hoist the quaffle through the hoop and hear a loud roar from the Gryffindor section; you must be up by a hundred points by now. You see Malfoy near the goal posts on the opposite side, looking positively murderous.

You make your way around the interior of the pitch, only to reply to Fred Weasley as you pass by, “I can try, but—don’t you want to win?”

A hearty laugh escapes his lips, and he’s pummeling bludgers left and right with his twin by his side. He wonders now, watching you, if Gryffindor would be as good as they are without you on the team. You’re probably one of the most talented Chasers Gryffindor has seen in years, he reckons. He knew it the first time he saw you mount a broom in a flying lesson your first year at Hogwarts. Since then, inseparable you two had been.

There’s a light, airy feel to the match, which is, to Fred’s surprise, nothing at all what he had expected this morning, especially with Slytherin being the opponent. But you seem to be more in rhythm with the wavelengths of this match than ever before, to the point where Harry is actually taking his time to try and find the snitch—he’s making Malfoy sweat it out a bit.

But when a nasty bludger smacks the end of your broom and you’re knocked to the ground, landing painfully on your arm, Madam Hooch begins shouting out punishments at the Slytherin beaters, McGonagall is rushing to your side with Madam Pomfrey, and Fred, George, and Harry are nearly kicking Malfoy into the ground when his sickeningly irritating mock laughter floats in the air between them.

— -

“Merlin—is a side effect of drinking too much Skele-Gro that you end up a bottomless pit?” you ask nobody in particular as you continue to shovel eggs, toast, bacon and sausage into your mouth. Next to you, George laughs and pats you on the shoulder.

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” he tells you.

You peer over and smile—your bones in your arm are fully restored, but still in a sling; Madam Pomfrey had insisted. Across the table, Fred is looking rather sullen indeed.

“Brighten up, would you, Weasley?” you kick him playfully under the table and his stoic face breaks into a toothy smile. He’s feeling rather guilty, he is. Wasn’t able to stop the bludger in time. Neither was George. As if you’re reading his thoughts, you tell him, “It’s not your fault, you know.”

“Yeah,” he replies, stirring his spoon in his cup of tea. A bit too loudly, he continues, “Slimy Slytherin beaters—”

“Easy,” you say in a low voice, as the entirety of the Slytherin Quidditch team glances over at your table, and Fred’s gripping his fork tightly in his other hand. “Don’t need any more of us taken out of the next match, do we?”

Another safety measure of Madam Pomfrey’s. No Quidditch for a few weeks, at least. This means, of course, missing the next match: Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff. You’d tried to fight it, but when her mouth had formed into a thin line and she’d crossed her arms indignantly, you knew there was no changing her mind.

Why is it, Fred thinks to himself now, that Slytherins tend to get away with everything? The punishment of the two beaters was absolutely nothing like he’d expected—one detention each with Snape, who had basically grinned at the sight of your broken arm and shoulder. He’s so bloody tired of it, he wants to give them a taste of their own medicine. Perhaps, if he picks George’s brain, he can think of something—

His thoughts are interrupted when you kick him again under the table. “Hello—earth to Freddie?”

“Sorry,” he replies, biting into his toast, “what did you say?”

“I was saying—” you begin, and Fred notices his twin is now down a few seats talking with Ron and Ginny, leaving you two alone, “would you mind helping me pack up my bag after breakfast? It’s proving rather difficult with one arm since I have this sling across my other shoulder—”

Before you can finish, you both hear a group of Hufflepuffs from the table over discussing something animatedly. Fred catches bits and pieces of the conversation—he swears he hears ‘bludgers’ and ‘poor girl’ quite a few times. Before he knows it, they’re standing up and waltzing over to the Gryffindor table—more specifically, toward you.

“Oh bloody hell,” you mumble under your breath and look at Fred with wide eyes. You don’t need to say anything else for him to understand. Leading the pack of distraught looking Hufflepuffs is—Fred’s least favorite person in the entire world, and that’s including Malfoy—your ex boyfriend.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says awkwardly as he approaches the table at once before you and Fred are able to escape. He looks down at your shoulder and says in a tone Fred can’t decipher as sarcastic or genuine, “real sorry about your arm. Terrible thing those beaters did. Are you okay?”

With a slight eye roll from you and a laugh he tries very hard to suppress, Fred finds himself lost in his thoughts again. He’s transported almost immediately to the common room, to a very late Monday night after a very long detention with Professor McGonagall.

When he sprang through the portrait hole that evening, ready to divulge to you just exactly how he’d landed himself in detention the night you were both supposed to continue your weekly Monday traditions of exploding snap over small glasses of Butterbeer, he was a bit taken aback when he saw you crying in the corner, peering out of a window at the starry night sky. Immediately, his insides turned.

“Y/N?’ he asked when he finally reached you, nervous of how you were going to react to his very late arrival.

You sniffled a bit and wiped your tears away with your shirtsleeve. He felt surprised when you said softly, with no twinge of anger, “W-where’ve you been?”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, sitting across from you on the window ledge. He let his bag fall to his feet with a dull thump. “McGonagall caught Georgie and me right after class—I was dragged to immediate detention without being able to come back to the common room to tell you—I could use a good butterbeer right now..” but his voice trailed off when he noticed that you weren’t really listening. Your eyes were letting tears escape with no effort, and he spotted your hands trembling against your knees. You weren’t upset about the game of exploding snap. His heart sank into his chest when he realized this was something deeper. “Hey,” he said, placing a hand over yours, “are you okay?”

“H-he,” you started, and Fred could tell that you were embarrassed. You couldn’t even look him in the eye. “It’s over. He broke up with me.”

“W..what?” Fred asked, his hands suddenly felt extremely cold. He squeezed your knee and waited.

“He said he.. sees me as a friend,” you told him, and Fred shook his head in utter shock, “he doesn’t.. feel anything a-anymore. I think..” you continued, your voice slightly higher than before, “I think there’s s-someone else.”

You threw your head into your hands and began wailing. Fred had never, ever, ever seen you cry before, but he didn’t like it. He wanted to do everything in his power to make it stop, make you smile, make you happy.

“What a complete git,” he told you before pulling you into his arms. You were nearly on his lap. You rested your head on his chest and let out painful sobs for a few minutes while he thought, in a panicked state, of words to say. You’d always been tough. Independent. Happy-go-lucky. So to see you in this emotional, co-dependent, messy state—he felt strange. Off balance. It made his heart hurt.

“Hey,” he said after a few minutes once your tears seemed to slow, “how about we make you some tea, get you into some comfortable pyjamas, and then we can talk through it—how does that sound?” When he noticed you were about to argue after pointing to the butterbeer and cards on the table even though he knew you didn’t really want to play, he continued, “Nah—not really in the mood to get my arse kicked by you tonight.”

You laughed through a hiccup and squeezed his hand tightly before pulling his arms around you again. “First, can you—can you just stay here with me?”

He felt you tense up beside him and he knew that you were trying your hardest to fight back more tears rising to the surface. He pulled you closer to him and wrapped his arms tighter around you, enclosing you in the warmth from his own body.

“Okay then,” he replied and felt you relax beside him, “I can do that.”

“Maybe we can—we can talk it over.” Fred’s brought back to the present when he feels yet another light blow to his shin from you under the table. He blinks and looks into your eyes, which are wide, and he feels himself go weirdly alert.

“I don’t think so,” you say to your ex now, almost laughing a bit; he’s looking rather annoyed and stunned at being turned down. You swallow over a lump in your throat, “Besides, I’m—I’m seeing someone else, so, I think you’d better leave.”

“What?” he says breathlessly, almost looking heartbroken. Is he trying to mend his ways after watching you hit the ground with a loud splat! a few days ago? Fred’s insides turn. “Since when?”

“Since..a few weeks ago.” Fred can sense the panic in your voice as he watches your eyes shift from your ex to your breakfast plate and to him, a cherry red color flooding your cheeks and the tips of your ears. And without a second thought, you say, “Right, Fred?”

And Fred’s agreeing before he can fully digest your words, he’s nodding without breaking your gaze, he’s smirking at you without remembering there are other people around him. Finally, he looks up into the very baffled face of your ex boyfriend. “Yeah, we are—so—I’d bugger off if I were you, mate.”

“You two?” he asks, looking at Fred with what can only be described as pure anguish. “Together?”

“It’s time to go,” whispers another Hufflepuff, pulling the very distraught looking boy in front of you both back to their table before he can say anything else to you. Fred watches as he slumps in his seat and rubs his head, as if confused. Then, he turns back to you and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, Freddie, I’m sorry!” you shake your head rather quickly and bring a hand to your mouth in shock. “I panicked, I just—he kept trying to ask me to grab lunch with him, I didn’t know what to say to get him to leave me alone, ‘m so mortified. We can just—pretend it never happened, you don’t have to do anything, I can just deal with whatever it is he has planned, it’s fine—”

“Hey.. take a breath,” he laughs and teases you before reaching across the table and squeezing your hand. “It’s fine, I get it. Besides,” he takes a quick bite of an apple and smirks at you, “I’m honored you chose me to be your fake boyfriend.”

“Well, you’re the only one here, silly.”

He pauses to consider this, and then says, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and tell you again how honored I am.” You laugh at this, and he grins cheekily at you as he continues, “I mean, imagine if you’d done that to George, he would’ve stumbled over his words—you know how he gets under pressure sometimes—gets flabbergasted, he does. You’re lucky ‘m quick on my feet.”

“Well then,” you reply, sipping your tea as Fred watches your nerves subside, “glad to have you along for the ride, Weasley.”

— -

It’s difficult watching the team’s practice. Fred had told you to maybe stay in, not watch, he’d fill you in later on your replacement. You’d insisted on coming anyway. But he was right.

They’re not completely out of sync—the third year Chaser they snatched up is pretty good for never having really played before. But if Fred’s being completely honest, he misses you on the pitch more than anything else. It’s just not the same without you.

You enter the Great Hall for dinner, and you’re so annoyed at doing everything one-armed that you nearly rip the sling right off of your shoulder, even though Madam Pomfrey had insisted on wearing it for two more days. Okay, maybe you did it a little too fast. “Ow,” you say, rotating your shoulder back and forth to stretch the muscles, as if they’d been asleep for months and months. You furrow your brow in pain.

Fred snorts before sipping his pumpkin juice. “How’d that feel?”

“Not the greatest,” you admit, taking a seat next to him.

Just then, he slings an arm around your shoulder and places a light kiss to your forehead, taking you by surprise. You turn to him with a raised eyebrow. He places his cup gingerly on the table. “Git sighting, on your right.”

You stealthily look on the other end of the Great Hall, your ex trying his best to look distracted, but there’s no chance in hell he didn’t see this exchange between you and Fred. Solemnly, he follows his fellow Hufflepuffs from the hall.

You both hadn’t even noticed George, Ron, and Harry take their places beside you at the table, eyes wide and faces flushed.

“When the bloody hell did this happen?” Ron nods at the two of you, shoving pork into his mouth.

“I’d like to think if my two best friends got together, they would’ve at least mentioned it to me—how long have you two been sneaking around?” George teases you with a wink.

Both you and Fred let hearty laughs escape your lips, as if to say, Sneaking around? You’re out of your mind, but instead, you both say, “We’re just faking.”

“Come again?” Ron and Harry chorus together.

“Faking—you know, Ronniekins, pretend.” Ron’s ears turn a bright scarlet color. “Just for fun. Y/N’s lovely ex bombarded her the other day after her injury, kept bugging her to grab a bite with him, so she very politely took me by surprise and told him, before consulting me, that we’re dating. Of course I obliged—being the lovely gent I am.”

“It did not happen like that—”

“You’re absolute rubbish at lying, you know.”

You throw your hands up in surrender, your face a nice light shade of rosy pink. “I panicked!”

“Precisely,” Fred and George say together. “And how long are you two planning on keeping this little scheme going for?” George asks.

You and Fred turn to each other. It is now revealed, Fred realizes as he watches as you peer into space, that you have no plan. He leans back in his seat, looking rather satisfied at the fact that you haven’t come up with any details at all. “I—I hadn’t thought of that. I just kind of.. went for it. I was acting on the very daring nerve that comes with being a Gryffindor!”

“Right you were,” says Fred through a mouthful of potatoes, “barely skipped a beat, she did. Reckon she couldn’t wait for it to happen—she nearly pounced on me right in front of him.”

The boys roar with raucous laughter. You roll your eyes and turn your attention to George, Ron, and Harry, who are now wiping away tears from their eyes. “You don’t really believe him, do you? This will not last long. Believe you me. It was purely a spur-of-the-moment adrenaline rush decision.”

“Hey, Y/N?”

You turn back to Fred and ask in a sweetly sarcastic tone, “Yes, Freddie?”

“I’m invoking a rule. No falling in love with one another.” He winks and bites into his chicken.

You scoff at him, while the others chuckle again. “Ah yes, darling—because that’s so very likely.”

— -

When Fred finds you sitting underneath a large oak tree in front of the castle, he laughs softly when he sees you in quite a frazzled looking state: your hair is in disarray from pulling at it, the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven’t slept in days, and he can almost feel the pain radiating from your tired muscles.

He sits down next to you in the grass and teases, “You’re quite a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh, shove off,” you reply, not even looking up from your books. But after a few seconds of silence, the two of you fall into fits of laughter.

Fred nods at the books you’re so very immersed in. “What’s so important?”

“D’you think,” you begin, flipping the pages rapidly, “if I can find a spell that can produce a change in thought process on another human being, and somehow manage to stealthily pull it off and use it on Madam Pomfrey, she’ll change her mind and let me play in the next match?”

Fred cocks his head to the side, peering admirably at you, and smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t look very likely.”

“Ugh, I thought you’d say that.”

“But hey—there’s always obliviate,”

“Honestly, it’s getting to the point where I’m actually considering it.”

“Sure,” he says teasingly again, “I’d pay quite a lot of galleons to see you use any type of magic on a staff member, let alone something as dangerous as a memory charm.”

You cross your arms defiantly. “Don’t think I’ll do it?”

“No,” he smirks, “I know you won’t do it.”

You narrow your eyes at him and give in. Fred can’t help but laugh. “Okay, well—it would be really dangerous! But c’mon—I’ve gotten involved in a fair share of mischief with you and your brother; need I remind you of the time you landed me in detention my second year? A mere twelve year old, in detention…”

“Reckon that’s when you put this whole fake boyfriend thing into action, did you? When you fell for me all those years ago?”

“Ha-ha, you’re wickedly hilarious, Freddie.. seriously, funniest bloke I’ve ever met..” Your voice trails off when you notice something a few feet away, but Fred’s still thinking about how you called him the funniest person you know, even if it was in a sarcastic tone. But deep down, he knows you’re completely serious. He can feel his heart begin to soar a bit. His meandering mind is interrupted yet again by someone walking along the water’s edge—an unwanted visitor. Quickly, you shift yourself closer to Fred and say in a hushed voice, “Hurry—put your arm around me!”

He can’t help but stifle a laugh at your extremely flustered state. “Anything for my girl.”

You fit in so comfortably in his body that he doesn’t even notice how much time passes by. You spend the afternoon immersed in books, while Fred is resting against the tree, falling in and out of sleep with breaks to fix some malfunctions on some very small inventions of his and George’s. Each and every time he looks up, he notices the very curious looking ex boyfriend of yours watching you both, as if he’s trying his very hardest to prove that the two of you are just pretending. And each and every time Fred turns his attention back toward his inventions, he finds himself pulling you tighter and tighter into his arms.

— -

You and Fred are walking rather reluctantly through the corridors to your next class. If only you both had a free period, you’d be able to catch up on some work. But alas, here you both are, walking very, very slowly to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“How’s the team holding up? I’m dying to get back out there with you.”

“Miss me that much, do you?”

You narrow your eyes and the unmistakable sound of mock laughter from Fred bounces off of the walls. “I miss Quidditch is what I mean. It’s killing me that I can’t join you lot—especially with the match just a week away.”

Fred smiles softly at you, feeling a twinge in his heart, knowing that you won’t be able to play, regardless of your completely healed shoulder. “I know. It’s killing us, too. But come the new year, you’ll—oi, bloody hell, does he just spend his time following us around, or something?”

Fred nods in the direction of the unwanted visitor yet again, and he grabs your hand quickly and continues to walk down the corridor, careful to avoid eye contact. That is, until he corners you both.

It’s not in a violent sort of way—but rather, curious. You’re both bracing yourselves for yet another attempt at getting you to rekindle things, when he takes Fred by surprise. “Why is it, Weasley, that whenever I see you two around, you very quickly grab her hand or sling your arm around her shoulder? What is this—just a ploy?”

“Come on,” you say to him softly, and Fred’s feeling very, very nervous that your facial expression will tell your ex everything he needs to know. “Leave us alone, would you? We’ve got class.”

“Prove it to me, then,” he says now, crossing his arms. “If you two’re really together, then kiss her.”

“What?” you both say aloud, flabbergasted. You look at Fred, who’s doing his very best to bite back a smile, and it’s becoming difficult to not laugh in your ex’s face.

He smirks at the both of you, his cronies surrounding him doing the same thing. Fred squares him up, and it’s easy to tower over him, Fred’s 6’3 frame swallowing him nearly whole. “I don’t think that’s such an odd request—kiss your girlfriend, Weasley, and I’ll leave you be.”

It’s obvious to the both of you, now, that he is basically waiting for you all to admit that yes, you’ve been faking, the entire time it hasn’t been real. You open your mouth to speak and Fred notices the panic in your eyes, the truth bubbling up inside you. So he does the only thing he can think of—he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulls you close to him, and presses his lips to yours.

You try very, very hard to hold back your surprise, because you’re extremely aware of the group of Hufflepuffs now watching you both share a kiss that is supposed to look like it happens all the time. You’re sure you’ve lost your voice now. His lips are soft, softer than they look, and Fred’s finding it difficult to remember why you two haven’t been doing this the entire time. He pulls away very, very slowly, hovering close to you with a cheeky grin on his face, before breaking completely and taking your hand in his again, squeezing tightly. Fred notices the scarlet color of your face now, turns back toward the stunned man in front of him, and replies, “Is that all? My girlfriend and I have class, if you don’t mind—”

You swiftly walk your way through the group and you and Fred nearly fly down the hallway, his face as red as his hair, his smile as bright as the sun, and you bring your hands to your lips and you swear you can feel the electricity surging through them, just as they had when Fred kissed you just a few seconds ago.

“You were going to tell him!” Fred’s laughing now, outside the entrance to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, but he can feel his heart thundering in his chest due to the heat of the moment. There’s nothing quite like an adrenaline rush. You reply, “He—he knows we’re lying!”

“Well, now he doesn’t,” Fred replies with a cheeky wink. “C’mon—I made you a deal, didn’t I? Couldn’t let that git get the last word. Now he’s got no bloody idea what’s going on.”

“How can I ever thank you?”

Fred swallows over a lump in his throat, peering deeply into your very bright eyes. He knows what he wants to say, and he’s about too, but something stops him. Something holds him back. Instead, he grins, shakes his head, and slings an arm across your shoulder, making sure to hold onto you just a little bit longer this time.

— -

Fred, George, Ron, and Harry are sitting in the library looking positively ghastly. Ron and Harry are very reluctantly working on a Divination essay that Hermione had finished a week ago, while the twins are racking their brains to finish this petty assignment from Snape.

You wander inside and Fred notices, for the first time in a few days, that your sling is back on your shoulder. Concern floods through his body. “Hey,” he says, immediately pulling you into his arms, “are you okay? Is it bothering you?”

You’re positively beaming—that’s the only way Fred can describe is. Your smile is quite bright, looking happier than you have in months, even with your arm in a sling. “Yeah,” you tell him sweetly, taking a seat next to him, “hurts a little. Probably just slept on it funny, or something.”

“Be careful,” he tells you, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him, completely ignoring the assignment in front of him, “let me know if you need to go to the hospital wing, okay?”

You nod and begin to slowly pull spell books from your bag when you notice the others across the table, looking at you both with what can only be described as mischievous grins.

You and Fred look at each other, and then at them. Fred’s hand tightens around your waist. “What?” you ask together.

“You know he isn’t here, right?” Harry asks you both. George and Ron are focusing very hard on their parchments, and are not doing a very good job at stifling their laughter.

It’s almost immediate that Fred unwraps his arm from your waist, and your face is burning with color, and Fred’s insides are beginning to tighten due to embarrassment. But before he can speak and defend his actions, you speak up, “Oh, erm—could’ve sworn I saw him—must’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me, then. Anyway..”

The rest of the afternoon is spent in utter silence, recovering from that tiny slip up and moment of embarrassment. And one by one they leave—first Harry, then Ron, and then George—who, by the looks of it, is nowhere near done with his assignment—but he claims he has somewhere he needs to be, and vanishes through the doors of the library before either you or Fred can do anything.

About an hour later, you ask Fred, “Could Snape be any more vile? Why did he assign this stupid essay again?”

Fred laughs softly, “because some Ravenclaw started insulting his teaching methods in the middle of the lesson—remember?”

“Oh yeah,” you say, the memory coming back to you now. Brightly, you say, “Hey—want to get back at that Ravenclaw and plan some elaborate type of prank to make this whole assignment just a little bit more bearable?”

Fred turns toward you with a surprised expression on his face. He smirks and shakes his head in admiration, “I think I’m becoming a bad influence on you.”

You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “Maybe. Would that be such an awful thing?”

And then he pulls you nearly all the way into his lap, begins tickling you and poking you in the ribs, and you begin to flail in his arms and laugh hysterically, when Madam Pince angrily shushes you from the other end of the library. You flip your hair out of your eyes and regain your composure, and Fred is suddenly very aware that you’re still seated in his lap, your face only inches from his, the bright color of your eyes sparkling in the sun flooding in from the windows. Right. You’re not actually technically together. He swallows thickly and watches as you bite down on your lip. You’re both about to say something, hearts thundering loudly in your chest, when suddenly you break the silence and slide yourself off of him, back into your seat and say, “We’d better head to the feast, Freddie. Don’t want to be late.”

— -

“Anyone fancy a game of exploding snap before bed?”

Ron’s sitting in the middle of the huddle, finishing the last of his dessert from the feast, while everyone around him is slumped in their seats looking positively exhausted.

George says sleepily, “Can’t mate—we’ve got a late night practice tonight.”

“D’you think Angelina will give me a beating if I just sleep through it?” Fred asks nobody in particular, his eyes closed.

“Yes,” you, Harry, George, Ginny and Hermione say together.

“Oh fine, you lot are out,” Ron waves his hand in the direction of the Quidditch players and then glances excitedly at you, Ginny, and Hermione. “Ladies? Anyone? Feeling kind of lucky this evening.”

Ginny snorts at this. “You? Lucky? Luck would be me not absolutely obliterating you in a game—not you winning. That’d be a miracle.” Her older brothers chuckle quite animatedly at this comment; it’s certainly woken them up a bit.

You grin at Ginny and then say to her very angry and embarrassed looking brother, “What she means to say, Ron, is that we’re all kind of exhausted due to lack of sleep, because someone—” you shoot a glance toward another Gryffindor girl on the other end of the Great Hall, “—put an amplifying charm on some Muggle contraption of hers last night, music kept us up till nearly dawn.”

Ron turns back toward his brothers now, looking confused. “No way you could’ve heard that from the girls dormitory, or Harry and I would’ve been up all night, too! So why are you two so bloody exhausted?”

“Usual mischief,” Fred and George chorus together, winking at the youngest male Weasley.

Ginny picks up her bag and says to the group, “I’m heading to bed. You two coming?” she glances at you and Hermione.

You glance back and forth between Ginny and Fred and bite your lip. You’re absolutely knackered, but you wonder whether you should go to practice, just to be there, just to watch, just to show you’re still devoted. Fred picks up on this and shakes his head. “You’re tired—go to bed. Promise you’re not missing much. Reckon we’ll all be rubbish due to exhaustion, anyway.”

“Okay,” you finally reply, albeit begrudgingly. Fred places a quick kiss to your cheek, the group stifles laughter, and you, Hermione, and an extremely baffled Ginny make your way upstairs to the common room, leaving the boys to their jokes in the very crowded Great Hall.

When you enter through the portrait hole, Hermione wishes you both a good evening before heading up the stairs. This leaves you and Ginny alone in a completely desolate common room. You remove your shoes and stand across from the fire, letting the warmth of the flames radiate through your body, when Ginny clears her throat.

“Care to tell me what’s going on between you and my older brother?” she says cheekily, grinning at you. She so very much resembles all of her siblings.

You laugh softly, running a hand through your hair and stretching your arms behind your head. “I thought Ron would’ve told you.. It’s nothing, Ginny. Promise. We’re just pretending. My ex has been strangely remorseful about the breakup lately, trying to get me to talk to him and what not—Fred’s just helping me out a bit.”

“By pretending to date you?”

“Yeah..” you say a bit guiltily now. “Yeah, it sort of happened in a moment of panic. Don’t worry, though. None of it’s real. Just till it gets the other one out of my way—then we’ll go back to normal.” You turn back to face the fire and it suddenly feels much, much hotter than before.

“But this is the normal you actually want, isn’t it?”

This takes you by surprise. You turn back slowly, now facing Ginny, and she’s wearing a genuine grin. “I—I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“I’ve watched Fred and George for years,” Ginny tells you, “admiring their recklessness and rebellion—but in turn, this also means I see who they get on with.”

“Meaning?”

She smiles softly, looking a little sulky actually, which is so very unlike Ginny. And she confides in you, and she’s acting very vulnerable which makes your heart soar, “I’d give anything for Harry to look at me the way you look at Fred.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, and Ginny can easily sense your nervousness. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on your shoulder. In a very hoarse, soft voice, as if your vocal chords have been strained, you plead, “Please, please don’t tell him.”

She doesn’t respond to this exactly, but you know she’ll keep her lips sealed. She asks, “How long?”

“I—I dunno,” you tell her truthfully. You bite your lip to keep your heart jumping out of your throat, “over time, I suppose.” You continue to tell her of how everything unfolded, how Fred had jokingly told you to not develop feelings for him, how he’d kissed you that one day in the corridor.

There’s a few moments of silence between you both, but there’s nothing uncomfortable about it. In fact, it’s the most comfortable you’ve ever been with one another—secretly longing for the boys who don’t seem to look at you both the way you so deeply yearn. Finally, Ginny breaks the tension and says, “Your secret is safe with me. Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Is this her way of telling you that Fred doesn’t feel the same way as you? That these feelings you have for him are a hundred percent one sided and are not at all reciprocated? It’s as if she’s reading your thoughts, because she tells you, “I’ve no idea how he feels—he doesn’t tell me anything at all, real git that he is,” you both laugh at this exchange, and Ginny echoes herself, “Just be careful.”

“I will,” you reply, now realizing that she’s has given you quite a lot to think about, “Thanks, Gin.”

— -

Fred’s feeling positively blue, if you will. He’s standing smack in the middle of the corridor in his Quidditch robes after a truly rubbish weekend practice, staring at the spot you were just standing. It’s like you’re still there, he can still smell your perfume, but he reckons you’ve probably already made it back to the common room by now.

Just then, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He jumps in surprise, and turns around only to be face to face with George and Ginny, who laugh at his skittishness.

“You alright, mate? Coming to the Great Hall?”

“Yeah.” Fred’s voice sounds vastly different in his own ears; it’s hoarse and broken, and he doesn’t understand why. He coughs a bit, and then echoes himself, “Yeah,” except he doesn’t believe it, and neither do his siblings.

George stops bouncing his broomstick between his hands at once. He looks once at Ginny and then back at Fred as the corridor begins to fill with students, “What’s going on?”

“Sh-she ended it,” he replies, and the words feel foreign in his mouth.

“Who, Y/N? The.. fake thing?” George asks, lowering his voice. “Maybe the git is finally leaving her be.”

“No, that’s not it. She wouldn’t tell me. She was.. weirdly quiet. She told me that she was worried things are going to get messy and she’s afraid rules are being broken on her end.. has she said anything to either of you? What is she even talking about?”

George responds quickly with a, “No, nothing,” whereas Ginny hesitates a bit, and then responds, “No, Freddie. She hasn’t.” But Fred can sense that his little sister isn’t giving him all of the info. Had she talked to you? Does she know what’s going on? Then George nudges his brother and asks a bit cheekily, “Does this make you upset?”

“No, no, of course not!” Fred says a bit aggressively, but both of his siblings just cock their heads to the side, as if to say, Really, Freddie, we can see right through you. “I—I mean—I just.. thought we were having a bit of fun.”

“Yeah,” George begins, while Ginny remains quiet by his side, “okay, you were having fun, but.. what I’m asking you, Fred, is—do you maybe want to be with her for real? And that’s why you’re upset?”

When Fred doesn’t answer, Ginny finds her voice. “We know, Fred.”

“Know what?”

George and Ginny say together, “That you fancy her.”

Fred runs a hand through his hair. He’s feeling aggravated now—he doesn’t like when his mind and thoughts get picked apart by people closest to him, especially when he’s trying on his own to piece together exactly how he feels. But he comes to realize, as his heart begins to beat faster when he thinks of you, that his siblings are right. He’s felt this way for a very, very long time.

Without showing just how much he really feels for you, Fred tells them, “Yeah, erm, okay, I—maybe I have some.. feelings,” he says through gritted teeth and George can’t help but stifle a laugh at his twin’s nervousness. Fred punches him in the arm. “But she kept saying that she’s breaking rules—but what rules? I haven’t the foggiest what she’s on about! I don’t even know if she feels the same way!”

“Fred,” Ginny says quietly, “you jokingly made one rule with her when you two began this whole ridiculous stunt.” When Fred just looks at his sister quizzically, wondering what the bloody hell she’s on about, she opts to continue, “you told her you’re not allowed to fall for one another.”

Realization hits Fred like a ton of bricks, George throws his hands up in confusion, and Ginny pushes on Fred’s chest and grins cheekily at her older brother, leaving poor George baffled beyond belief at this secret language his other two siblings seem to have. Ginny nods in the direction of the common room, “Just go get her already, would you?”

And Fred’s flying through the corridors and up the stairs, he’s pushing past students and professors alike, he’s running hands through his messy, windswept hair and he’s climbing through the portrait hole, only to find you sitting on the ledge near the window looking out at the stars, just as you had all those long months ago when he found you crying.

“Hey, Freddie,” you say when you turn to face him. “Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer—he pushes past the desks and chairs blocking him from you and does the one and only thing he wants to do, the only thing he’s ever wanted to do for as long as he can remember now—he scoops you up into his arms, presses his forehead to yours, and kisses you. For real, this time.

Your surprise is overridden by the slight, exasperated moan that escapes your lips before you wrap your hands around the back of his neck. His fingers are dancing across your hip bones and then make their way up your back and into your hair. He kisses you once, twice, three more times before fully breaking, and hovers close to you again before pulling away completely to see the sparkle in your eyes, the bright smile plastered across your face.

As you push down any nervousness rising to the surface with a quick swallow, you say, “So.. where’ve you been?”

Fred laughs haughtily now, remembering that time all those few months ago when you’d said the exact same thing in a completely different context. He’s finding it beyond difficult to not kiss you into oblivion right now, especially as you bite on your bottom lip to try and suppress a very large grin.

“Sorry, love, I got tied up with my thoughts—but I can stay here with you now.”

He pulls you into a tight embrace before his lips find yours again. You can both hear voices outside the portrait whole. It’s obvious to you now that you have mere seconds before your alone time will be so very rudely interrupted by fellow Gryffindors.

“I broke the rules,” you tell him with slight tears in your eyes, playing with the baby fine hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Me too,” he admits breathlessly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. “I broke them a long time ago.” His heart begins to thunder inside of his chest at the feeling of your lips forming a smile against his, and he’s almost positive you can hear it—but he doesn’t care. He wants you to know you get his heart racing—more than pranking, more than firewhisky, more than Quidditch—more than anything or anyone in the entire world. He continues after another small kiss, “I reckon some rules are meant to be broken, though, aren’t they?”

reblogs & feedback are always appreciated, darlings. thank you for reading and requesting, much love x

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins #weasley twins imagine #hp imagine #fake dating tropes #ron weasley #ginny weasley #harry potter #hermione granger

[their-destinys-writer]

Lukanette September

I couldn’t follow the prompts, but that doesn’t stop me from celebrating this month somehow! Huge thanks to @corgi-likes-chat for reading, screaming and drawing <3 and @edendaphne for the awesome beta <3. You two made me feel proud of this one.

Patreon | Ko-fi | Twitter | Instagram

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

It didn’t come suddenly. It wasn’t a bolt of lightning. It wasn’t love at first sight. It had been something far more subtle. Like a small candle that consumed an entire room when she least expected.

What was worse, it took her a long time to realize what had happened. Too long. Long enough for him to move on. To create a life of his own, while she could only support him from the sidelines. All the while he thought she was content with what she had.

But she wasn’t. Waiting for someone who didn’t really see her, no matter how much he looked, was not enough. She wanted someone who made her smile, who gave her peace, who was there in her lowest moments and never judged her. Yet, like before, the timing was wrong.

So there Marinette was, standing just out of view from the crowds, silently cheering on Kitty Section. It was the best she could do, while she figured out how to move on once again. As the band finished their presentation, the members congregated backstage for refreshments.

“That was so cool!” Rose squealed, embracing Juleka. “Did you see that crowd? They were so many!”

“Yeah,” Juleka grinned, stroking her girlfriend’s hair. “It was awesome.”

“You guys did amazing,” Marinette piped up, as she started taking the large costume pieces from each one of them. “I think that next concert is guaranteed at this point.”

“Totally!” Mylène said, as she gave Ivan a bottle of water. “Penny was talking to the owner of the theater, and he said they hadn’t sold that many tickets in years.”

“That’s great news.”

Marinette resisted the urge to turn her head upon hearing that voice. Instead, she quietly placed the costume pieces in their respective boxes. The group continued their excited chatter, until a door opened, and in came…her.

“What are you doing here?” Luka was asking, as he hugged the girl that had just walked in. “I thought you had that thing—”

“It got cancelled,” the girl Marinette knew as Tina answered. “So, I decided to come support my favorite band.”

Marinette looked just in time to see the girl boop Luka’s nose. She quickly looked away to take a deep breath. Steady, heart, she thought as she exhaled. You’re fine. I’m fine. She’s been around for a month. There’s no surprise here.

Feeling calmer, she continued what she was doing, until she realized there was only one costume left. With a breath of determination, she turned on her heels and headed towards Luka and Tina.

“Hey, I’m putting away the costumes,” Marinette said loudly.

“Oh,” he responded, quickly taking off the pieces made of EVA foam. “Sorry, I got distracted.”

“It’s fine,” Marinette shrugged, forcing a smile. “I know how it is.”

As Luka gave her the costume pieces, Tina elbowed him. Marinette ignored it. If there was anything she’d learned from her time obsessing over Adrien, was that not every little detail had meaning. She turned and headed to the boxes away from the group, proud to have remained polite and coherent.

“Marinette?” Luka said quietly near her, as she closed the last box. The girl took a deep breath, wondering when he had gotten close to her.

“What’s up?” She turned to face him, keeping her face as neutral as possible.

“Um…Are you okay?”

Marinette blinked. “W-What?” she stammered, letting out a nervous giggle. “Why would I not be okay? T-that’s weird. You’re weird. I mean, you’re not weird like that, just—” She mentally slapped herself. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Luka responded, averting his eyes. “I asked because for a while now, you haven’t sounded like yourself. And just over there, I could hear a sad song come from you. Which I hear almost every time I see you these days.”

The girl paused, cursing Luka’s perception. She had hoped he would never find out. It had worked with Adrien, so why wouldn’t it work for Luka, too? What she had forgotten was how observant Luka could be, unlike her previous crush. Even so, she refused to place him in an uncomfortable position.

“It’s nothing.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Just stressed. Why don’t you go back to Tina? She keeps looking this way.”

“Don’t mind her.” Luka took a step forward and took her wrist, sending a chill up her arm. “You know I would never judge you, right? Please, talk to me. I know I’m not good with words, but I’m a great listener.”

“You’re great with words,” Marinette sighed. “I just didn’t listen when I should’ve.”

Luka frowned. “Did I do something?”

“No!” Her eyes widened. “No, no, you’ve done nothing! You’re great! You always have been, even when you didn’t have to.”

“Then why are you sad? I don’t want to keep making you sad.”

“Why do you think you’re making me sad?”

“I see it.”

“Luka—”

“Please!” Luka then slid his hand into hers, squeezing and raising it up to his chest. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“STOP!”

Marinette yanked her hand away, letting out ragged breaths. She could instantly feel several pairs of eyes fall on her. One of them were those of Tina, who was staring with puzzlement. She could feel her face heat up. It was the first time in a while she had acted in such an embarrassing way.

“I-I…” Marinette’s mind was drawing a blank. Would it be so wrong to run? No. “I’m sorry.”

With her heart giving thunderous beats in her chest, Marinette ran off towards the door. When she opened it, a crowd of fans and photographers were blocking the way. She pushed through the crowd, desperate to get as far as possible from the calls behind her, .

While squeezing through, she heard new screams, indicating that someone had just followed her. Probably one of the band members hoping to bring her back. Marinette pushed harder, bumping into shoulders and biceps, until she reached the back of the crowd.

Once freed, she ran. She ran past coffee shops, past restaurants. Past bookstores, cheese shops, and music stores. She ran until she reached a small park with a fountain in the middle. Her legs felt like jelly, and her resolve to keep running died. With hard pants, she sat on the edge of the fountain, covering her face.

“Why did I do that?!” she scolded herself. “I must’ve looked weirder than usual. Tina must’ve thought the worst of me. Ugh, I’m such an idiot.”

“Marinette,” Tikki whispered from her purse. “Don’t say those things about yourself.”

“I just don’t get why he was so persistent,” Marinette continued. “Luka is never pushy. So, what was that all about?! Whatever happened to waiting for me to speak up?”

“Uuum…” Tikki started hiding back in the purse.

“What am I supposed to say now?” She upped her tone an octave. “Oh, I’m sorry for acting like a total weirdo this month. I just got totally jealous when you started bringing Tina for practices because, it turns out, I’ve been in love with you this whole time, but didn’t notice because I was too distracted with Adrien. But now that it’s too late, I find it hard to be near you, because it hurts. UGH!” She raised her head. “WHY IS LOVE SO—hard.”

Marinette’s face burned. Standing in front of her was the young man she couldn’t get out of her thoughts. The one guy she didn’t want listening to her ramblings.

Luka stared at her, breathing heavily, but his expression was hard to read. He didn’t seem angry. However, he didn’t seem happy either. Marinette gulped, tempted to run again. Before she could decide, though, Luka moved to sit next to her.

They shared an awkward silence. Marinette still wanted to leave, but now it felt rude after making him run all the way there. Perhaps this was her punishment for handling the situation so badly.

“Tina started coming to practice because she was frustrated with me,” Luka said quietly, no longer looking at her. “She said that she had to see the girl I talked about for herself. And she was annoyed that I hadn’t made my move yet.”

Marinette turned her gaze to him, lips parted.

“I told her my brilliant plan to leave the girl be, so she could be happy with the boy she actually loved.” He chuckled. “Tina kept saying that I was an idiot, and that I should just ask you out. She pushed me time and time again to be more assertive. But I think her plan kinda backfired, since you think she and I are a thing.”

Luka turned to her at last.

“Marinette, I have never stopped loving you,” he said, a smile adorning his soft features. “But I have never wanted to push you into something you don’t want. Or, at least, I thought you didn’t want.”

Marinette did her best to suppress a smile of her own. “I did my best to hide what I wanted because I thought you moved on. And I didn’t want to make you feel like you were responsible for my happiness.”

“It would be an honor to be responsible for your happiness.” Luka placed a hand on her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb.

“So, you’re telling me we haven’t gotten together because of a dumb misunderstanding?”

Luka chuckled. “It seems like it.”

“I really am an idiot,” Marinette giggled.

“By your standards, so am I.”

The two of them laughed airily. They looked at each other, their cheeks rosy, hearts beating rhythmically with each other.

“Luka, um…” Marinette bit her lip.

The young man smiled knowingly. Using the hand cupped on her cheek, he softly pulled her in, lightly brushing his lips against hers. It was that small touch all Marinette needed to get the confidence to place her hand on his chest and press harder.

Luka took a breath right before deepening the kiss, using his other arm to bring her closer to him, hand on the small of her back. Marinette tried to follow suit. Unfortunately, the arm she tried to use was the one holding them steady. With two yelps, the couple fell backwards.

SPLASH

Marinette squeaked the second her head emerged from the freezing water. Luka’s hands were instantly on her shoulders.

“Marinette! Are you okay?!” he desperately asked, sitting on his knees.

The girl couldn’t help but snort. The snort immediately turned into giggles. And very soon, she was full on laughing. It didn’t take long for Luka to follow.

“Of course I would ruin our first kiss with my clumsiness,” she laughed.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, with an angel like you,” Luka chuckled.

Despite the cold water, Marinette’s face managed to turn warm. She sighed wistfully.

“Me neither.”

Luka’s smile widened. Wider than Marinette had ever seen. This time there was no asking for permission. They both leaned towards each other at the same time, their lips meeting halfway. Marinette placed her hand on his jaw, while he embraced her with both of his arms.

No, it wasn’t perfect. But the fact that Luka loved it that way was what made it perfect for Marinette.

#lukanette september 2019 #lukanetteseptember2k19 #lukanette #miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #corgi-likes-chat #edendaphne #trying to work with betas more often #because I'm leveling up XD #also got to work with a beta who also loves lukanette #which is awesome <3 #thank you corgi for always being an awesome motivator #and thank you eden for being so thorough with the beta

[jane-fucking-seymour]

By Definition...

A bonus one for @ichlugebulletsandcornnuts because this has been a meme between us for a bit. We’re even in UK friendly timezones for this release! Go team!

“So,” Jane says, pinching the bridge of her nose. She’s surely going to have a migraine later. “Tell me again, Lady Catherine Parr, how this happened.”

Catherine looks a bit sheepish as she shrinks under the judgmental gaze of Catherine of Aragon and Jane Seymour. Catherine looks a bit more amused than Jane at the moment, though that’s not a consolation by any means.

Cathy runs a hand down her face, looking up and wincing as soon as she meets Jane’s icy gaze.

“Okay, so, let me start out by saying, I completely did not know what I had agreed to.” 

“Yeah,” Jane says, “that was pretty clear by now.”

“We just want to know what happened, Cath,” Catherine says, “so it doesn’t happen again. Kitty’s clearly not going to sleep tonight because of it.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry-” Parr starts, but Seymour puts a hand up to stop her.

“Just, tell us. From the start. Exactly what happened.”

So, with a deep breath, Cathy starts exactly that.

It had started at the grocery store.

Cathy had volunteered to do the grocery shopping this time around, and Katherine had been required to go with. The girl had originally been quite cross to be going at all, but after Cathy persuaded her, she reluctantly agreed.

They had been in the shop for maybe five minutes before Katherine asked about some boxes of chocolates.

“No, Kitty,” Cathy said, looking at the ingredients of a certain pasta sauce. “You know what your mum says. Only one box of chocolate.”

Katherine frowns, but begrudgingly puts the box away.

After a few bagged ingredients, Katherine wanders back to the candy aisle and tries to sneak in two.

“Hey! No you don’t!” Cathy says, instantly taking the boxes out of the cart. “Only one box!” 

Katherine pouts, but walks off, semi-defeated for the moment. Cathy scowls but continues the shopping list.

At the last item found, Cathy decides to take a pit stop towards the book section. 

“Are we going home soon?” Katherine asks, clearly bored. “I wanna go home.”

“We’re almost done, Kat,” Cathy says, looking at one book, then another. “Let me just figure out which one I want to grab, then we’ll be good. Go get your box of chocolate while we’re waiting, I promise I’ll be done soon.”

“You said that five minutes ago, but alright,” Katherine complains, walking off.

It takes Cathy another twenty minutes to decide which book she should get.

Katherine is gone that entire time.

Cathy is still reading from one of the back covers, three books still in hand, when Katherine all but skips back to the cart.

“I’ve got my thing,” Katherine says, smiling brightly. “Let’s go!”

“Alright, I’m going-” Cathy starts, putting two books away. She’s about to put the book into the cart when she stops dead in her tracks.

She looks.

She blinks.

She looks at Katherine.

She looks down at the cart.

“What’s that?”

“One box of chocolate,” Katherine replies nonchalantly. 

Cathy narrows her eyes. “No it isn’t.”

“But it is!” Katherine nods. “How can you not say it is? It’s chocolates in one box.”

“I-” Cathy starts, but in all honestly, technically, the girl is right. That’s one box of chocolates, as permitted.

Katherine knows this. Katherine also knows that Cathy is a stickler for words and their meanings.

Meaning, Cathy can’t say no in good conscience.

“... which is how we ended up here,” Cathy explains, head hanging in shame. 

Jane gives her such an incredulous look. “That’s not a box of chocolates.”

“It was, technically.”

“But it wasn’t- you know what we meant!”

“But it wasn’t specified!” Cathy exclaims. She points to the issue at hand: a large, bulk box, filled with 20 regular-sized chocolate bars. “How was I supposed to know she was going to ask the shopkeep for the bulk box of it?!?”

“You’ve got to admit, Jane,” Catherine says, “it was rather clever-”

“And it’s spoiled her dinner and, probably, the next fifteen of them!” Jane says, sighing as she leans against the counter. She shakes her head. “How many?”

Cathy tilts her head. “How many what?”

“How many did she eat?”

“Before you got home-?”

“YES, before I got home, good lord, Cathy!”

Catherine Parr hesitates, but the glare from Jane makes her answer.

“... ten.”

“Ten what?”

“Ten boxes.”

“Lady Catherine Parr-”

They’re intrrupted, however, by a one Katherine Howard zooming past them, Anne Boleyn, Maggie and Joan barely keeping up.

“She’s bouncing off the walls still, and it’s way past her bedtime,” Jane says with a sigh. “The girl’s sure to crash soon, thankfully, but tomorrow, you’ll both have a lesson in what a box means, and you’re both in trouble for putting one over the rest of us.”

“But Jane, you’ve got admit, that’s literally one box, how am I supposed to dissuade her from thinking cleverly like that-?” Cathy starts, but when Jane steps towards her, Catherine steps in.

“Alright, alright, we get it, Jane, I’ll take care of Cathy from now on,” she says calmly. “Go help the others with Katherine, okay, love?”

Jane grumbles about something under her breath - growling to herself about the meaning of words and how is she so smart yet so stupid and the like - as she follows the rest through the house to try to catch the sugar-high’ed Katherine bouncing off the walls (not literally... anymore).

Catherine raises an amused eyebrow at Cathy. “You know, you really need to learn some common sense, love.”

“I just! I didn’t want to punish her for thinking out of the box, that’s all!” Cathy says, standing when Catherine offers her a hand. Catherine chuckles as they head upstairs, leaving the chaos that is Katherine to the others. “You’ve got to admit, Catherine, that was clever of her. Problem solving like no other.”

“She’s learning from all of us - she has your wit and Anne’s mischievous streak,” Catherine quips. “It’s no wonder she’s as good at that as she is, but what I’m saying is... maybe think critically before you do that. Give her a second box to reward her, not 20.”

Cathy sighs. “Yeah, you’re right,” she agrees. “I’m sorry, Catherine.”

“It’s alright,” she says with a smile. “But you owe Jane an apology - and the others, I imagine. Even poor Maria’s been roped into trying to calm the girl down.”

Cathy winces when they hear a crash downstairs. “I’ll make it up to them, I promise.”

“I know, love,” Catherine says, leading Cathy to her room. “But for now, try to get some sleep, alright? I’m sure Maria will be up to say goodnight as well.” She tucks the girl in, kissing the top of her head. “Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, Catalina.”

Catherine gently closes the door behind her. 

When she turns around, she sees a very tired Bessie and Anne moving into the hallway.

“Everything turn out alright?” Catherine asks softly.

Anne nods. “She crashed, we’re good now,” she says, slightly out of breath. “Let’s make sure that never happens again, yeah?”

“How’s Cathy?” Anna asks. “I’m a bit cross at her, but I don’t think she deserved the yelling Jane gave her.”

“She’ll be fine, she’s learned from this, I think,” Catherine says with a nod. “We’ll be alright. Go get some rest, girls, we’ve got a show tomorrow.”

“Goodnight,” Anne says.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Anna promises. They retire to their respective rooms soon after.

Catherine takes a pit stop into her room to get ready for bed; by the time that happens, the ladies have taken their leave, saying goodnight to everyone, and Jane seems to have retired to her room. Catherine knocks on the door softly and, when allowed, walks in.

A soft smile on her face grows as she sees Katherine curled up to Jane, fast asleep.

Jane gives Catherine a small smile. “She’ll be out for the night, I think.” A pause, before she continues. “She’s quite brilliant, even if she’s a bit of a brat sometimes.”

“Katherine Howard is never a brat,” Catalina replies with a smile. “A babey, yes, but never a brat.”

“She can absolutely use the babey part to be a brat, though, you can’t deny it,” Jane says, rolling her eyes fondly. “She uses it to her advantage, clearly.”

Catherine chuckles as she gently smoothes out Katherine’s hair. “Clever girl,” she comments. “Reminds me of Mary, a little bit.”

“Oh?” Seymour asks, looking up at Aragon.

The first queen nods. “She was just as clever, always trying to find ways around the rules I made her. She’d get away with it sometimes, too, just because of how brilliant some of her loopholes were,” Catherine says with a chuckle. Then, softer: “What I wouldn’t give for a time like that again.”

They’re silent for a moment, save for Katherine’s soft, steady breathing. 

Jane perks up again.

“She really is learning from all of us, isn’t she?” Jane asks quietly. “She’s really being raised by all of us.”

“You can see it, can’t you?” Catherine asks. “Cathy’s wit, your gentleness, my confidence, Anna’s kindness, Anne’s mischievousness... together, it’s a brilliant combination.” she says somewhat proudly, watching the girl. “She can take over the world at this rate.”

“And yet, she’s using her brilliance to swindle us out of chocolates,” Jane quips. It earns a laugh from both of the mums.

“She’ll be just fine, Jane,” Catherine says. “We’ll teach her some common sense, make sure she understands why it’s a bad idea to have so much sugar.”

“I think she realized it towards the end, right before she crashed,” Jane explains, “but can’t hurt to make sure she knows.”

Catherine smiles. “Goodnight, Jane.” she kisses the girl’s forehead.

“Goodnight, Catherine.”

As Catherine leaves the room and heads back into her own, she can’t help but remember the times Mary had managed to get away with something, or broke the rules in a unique way, or had been so clever that Catherine couldn’t help but agree to let her off with a warning. It had been simpler, peaceful times, before things got out of hand.

She misses it, yes, but she also hopes that it never ends for Jane and Katherine. 

Maybe they could have the happy ending Mary and Catherine could not.

With a small chuckle and a prayer for her daughter, Catherine soon joins the others in sleep, a soft smile on her face.

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfic #six fanfiction #sixfic #sixff #six fic #six ff #catherine of aragon #maria liw #maria #maria on the drums #jane seymour #joan #joan liw #maggie #maggie liw #bessie #bessie liw #anne boleyn #katherine howard #catherine parr #anna of cleves

[raximoweek]

An insight into Cristina’s life by C. Bonadincel

You wake up to 45 text messages from your son Máximo waiting to be answered on your phone.  Check your facebook/twitter/Instagram and you have 450 likes on the selfie you took of yourself with a caption making fun of our current President.  You want more attention though, so you take a shower, put on a shirt that whoops! accidentally lets the side of your bra show, put on 4 whole pencil’s worth of eyeliner to go from a 9.5/10 to a 10/10, and snap a quick selfie of yourself that you quickly upload to your social media accounts with some sarcastic emojis.  Maybe this one will get you 4500 likes.

Your driver takes you to the Senate in a car that cost 365,283 whole Argentinian pesos.  Before you get out you make a quick video complaining about all the injustices done to you by Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio : (  Got to keep the public talking about you! you laugh to yourself.  As you walk into the Congress building, you pass several Federal Justices on the street. They all stare at you as you pass. Most of them are actually concerned with bringing justice to the nation of Argentina and punishing its most heinous white-collar criminals.  Gross! You ignore them.  These losers spend their whole adult life jerking off to persecuting their political opponents, and they still only earn one million pesos per year—legally.

You stop to get your usual morning diet fruit salad on the way.  Have to maintain all 140 pounds of you!  The good-looking boy serves you and tries chatting you up again, but he’s too good looking, nothing like your crude, hulking son Máximo or the rotting corpse of your dead husband who it’s time to get over.  You know he’s going to ask you out one day, but you’ll end up rejecting him because you only fuck people with the last name of Kirchner.  You don’t mind the attention though.

Several men stare at your cleavage and the bruises on your leg that conveniently show through your tights as you resume your walk.  It’s so hard to be such a radiant goddess.  You enter your 106,000 pesos per year Senate job which you had to get by manipulating the voters due to being a mentally ill degenerate with no competence or leadership skills who’s thirsty for power.  You notice many of your male political opponents are there. The Senate is sexist.  Typical.  You greet all of your coworkers: Máximo’s handsome young friend from La Cámpora, Axel Kicillof your young, brilliant Chad former minister of economy, Máximo’s other handsome young friend from La Cámpora, Hot Blonde Female Senator who you’re probably fucking, and nemesis from the opposing party Vice President Gabriela Michetti (in a wheelchair, so she can’t even sit on the special throne!)  Of course the “less corrupt” political party is currently in office.  They get all the good jobs now!  But that would change.  We’re fighting to get me—I mean, us--back into power! You remember how Kim Il-Sung of North Korea is still considered the leader of the nation even after his death. Good on him, you think to yourself.

You ask the Vice President to shut up and let you speak and she immediately does so.  You cut a grape from your fruit salad in half because grapes have such a high caloric content and demand that a bottle of low-sodium mineral water be brought to your desk.  Máximo’s young Chad friends have to come over to flirt with you, so you make the entire Senate wait for you to begin your egocentric ramblings.  Then you take the floor and talk for 45 minutes about how you’re being persecuted for your beliefs and then answer another 45 texts from Máximo.  Then leader of the majority Miguel Pichetto asks to speak.  He can be so conceited sometimes thinking anyone cares what he has to say! But at least this gives you time to go to the bathroom.  You stand up and make sure to announce how unfair it is that the bathroom is so far away while you pretend to be leaving the room quietly and respectfully.  Before you know it, it’s lunchtime and you hide in your office and stuff your face with your favorite fried pig intestines so no one sees you eating anything other than fruit salad and grilled chicken.

Around 2pm another senator from your party comes and jokingly asks if you’re doing any work.  You laugh and tell him you don’t need to work to make money and smile sexily at him (because you’re talking about all your laundered money).  You spend the rest of your time in the Senate ranting on Facebook about how Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio has accused you of colluding with Iran.  What an ugly, fat son of a bitch he is!  Your post from this morning now has 450,000 likes.  You have several text messages from Máximo letting you know he wants to get dinner tonight.  So far, he’s asked for dinner 3 times and for pre-dinner drinks 4 times. You check Página|12, the one news site in the country that understands how oppressed you and other Kirchnerite policians are (but especially you).  You see an article about how Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio should be removed from the Iran case because he holds a grudge against you and is very corrupt besides. You share the article and say how hard it is for you that this competent, experienced judge is persecuting you and your family.  You get 45 likes and 45 comments agreeing with you and saying that this innocent and ruggedly handsome enforcer of the law of the land should go to hell.

After work you head back to your apartment and do 30 minutes of running on the treadmill with smoke pouring out of your ears while watching the news anchors on TV talk about your criminal behavior.  You notice your personal trainer Luciana staring at you from the weights section. She’s pretty hot, but topping you is a privilege that she has to repeatedly earn, so you put your headphones in to listen to the Gladiator soundtrack.  You wouldn’t dare take a selfie when you’re done with the treadmill, because you don’t want the public seeing what you look like with most of your eye makeup sweated off. You head off to the water cooler to drink another glass of low-sodium mineral water.  Luciana tries to make conversation with you.  She’s hot and attractively younger than you, but her last name isn’t Kirchner, so you politely make it clear that you’re not interested (today).

You already have several more likes on your reposted article about angel of justice Bonadio and more comments about how heartless he is to persecute the best president the country has ever had.  Máximo has now asked you to go out for dinner with him 6 times.  You text him 4 times and organize the night and make sure to use lots of heart emojis.  You get home and say hi to your poodle Lolita and ignore your daughter Florencia.  She’s 27 and still a vegan.  She’s always cared about the environment, stood up for the rights of dairy cows and shit like that.  Now her baby daddy dumped her because of how obsessed with soy milk and social justice she is.  Maybe if she showed some ambition like you did.  You got into politics relatively early on because the electorate noticed how charming, sexy, and honest you are.  She was always Dad’s favorite though, and never appreciated you enough before he died.  She could be such a selfish bitch sometimes.

You call your 89 year-old mom and tell her that you want to buy a new Birkin bag but don’t want to use any of the funds you’ve thoughtfully embezzled from public works projects.  She gives you 6,088,350 pesos that she earned from scamming the Post Office.  You say thank you, even though you know you don’t really need it because you recently had a net worth of 80 million USD.  You deserve it for simply being Cristina Kirchner.

You decide it’s time to meet up with Máximo.  You need protection out on the street though in case the people who have seen through your grating charisma and realize what a sexy piece of shit you really are decide to throw eggs at you again.  You text some of Máximo’s buff, Chad friends from La Cámpora to come walk with you. You take fifty selfies and a dozen videos for your YouTube channel while you’re walking down the street.  Some men who also happen to work as federal judges and prosecutors call out to you about how immoral you are, and you and your Chad posse laugh hilariously.  All these guys aren’t getting laid, right?  Like, why do they even bother?

As soon as you get to the restaurant Máximo comes to greet you and plies you with expensive wine.  You don’t really plan on staying though because you want to have a private night with your good for nothing Chad son who’s never had a job interview in his life.  You make sure to keep his handsome male friends from La Cámpora there so they can protect Máximo’s blubbery body and lack of a law degree too.

After 4 men come to talk to you and tell you they definitely don’t believe that you allegedly ordered the murder of a prosecutor who was about to accuse you of collusion with Iran, which gets them kisses on the cheek from you, you abandon the restaurant and head off down the street with Máximo.  People greet him with respect even though he has no degrees from institutions of higher learning and owns 45 SUVs purchased with stolen money.  Your Chad bodyguards get in between you and Máximo and the innocent Argentinian citizens who you proclaim to love so much who are demanding you answer for your disgraceful crimes and complete lack of disrespect for our justice system, especially learnèd and powerful Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio. Máximo takes a video of you two walking down the street while ignoring the demands of your countrymen.  You can’t stop laughing at how empowered it makes you feel to ignore this persecution.  This is great!

At home you and Máximo sit close together on your expensive imported couch and talk because literally no one matters to you other than the degenerates in your family.  Máximo tells you how he’s broken up with his latest girlfriend, just another one in a series of girls who look like a broke-ass version of you.  You tell him how you approve of this because she was a distraction—Kirchners need to stick together.  That’s why you refuse to testify in your court appearance and won’t meet Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio’s eyes when he greets you.  Some guys can be so pathetic.  Your lawyer Gregorio is texting you.  He is a pretty hot Chad and you’ve considered ****ing him to see if that will get you free legal representation and perhaps inspire him to bribe the jury (with his own money, not yours).  Your degenerate son Máximo gets jealous so you stop replying.  The only thing you love more than defrauding and deceiving an entire country while dressing like an oversexed mom is your son who always seems to get girlfriends even though he has accomplished nothing in life (certainly nothing like going to law school and becoming a Federal Justice, anyway).  You make plans to have Máximo spend the night. You ask him which of your apartment’s 5 bedrooms he’d like to sleep in and he says he wants to sleep in yours. Gregorio is still texting you but you have long since stopped replying.  Even your Chad lawyer is kind of acting like a loser right now.  You tell Máximo that of course he can sleep in your bed with you because he’s such a big strong boy who spends Mommy’s laundered money so well. He is a literally perfect Kirchner. You remember Florencia telling you that it’s weird that Máximo still likes to sleep in your bed at age 40, yet she’s the one sleeping alone tonight.  You laugh to yourself. She must be doing something wrong.  She’s obviously not worthy of the kind of love you and Máximo share.

After a night as deviant as you are, you wake up to Luciana asking if you’ll have hot girl-on-girl sex with her today, your mom sending you her fraudulent money for your new Birkin bag, and 450 comments on a leaked photo someone took of you on the treadmill saying you look good even with your 45 pounds of mascara smeared all over your face.  It’s only 9am.  Máximo brings you cake in bed and you post another article trashing the blameless silver fox Federal Justice Claudio Bonadio on all your social media profiles.  Today is going to be a good day!

[picturesinlove]

London Film Festival 2017 or: the real world sucks just watch films for 2 weeks

I feel like I’ve spent my entire student loan seeing things at the London Film Festival, which ran over the last few weeks.

Was worth it.

#1: MANIFESTO, directed by Julian Rosefeldt, 90 mins

- Originally a critically acclaimed multi-screen video installation in which Cate Blanchett plays 13 different characters, ranging from a school teacher to a homeless man, performing artist’s manifestos in 13 different scenarios. Part of the financing deal was Rosefeldt had to cut a 90 minute, linear version of the piece for a cinematic setting. Provides some super interesting results.

- Clearly a translation, but an interesting one. Making the viewer watch it beginning to end highlights the flaws in that translation from installation to cinematic setting (can get too much to digest sometimes), but when it works, it *really* works. 

- More than anything, made me think about the cinema as a space- question the realms of it and what we’re putting on a big screen. 

- CATE FUCKING BLANCHETT!!!! i am convinced no one could have pulled this off like she did. She’s running on adrenaline and pure bravery. She makes interesting choices at every twist and turn. A masterclass.

- You HAVE to be fully, super awake and willing to give this your full attention from the start. It’s slow and beautiful and wonderful... but it is slow. 

- Genre hops from scenario to scenario perfectly... from Clio Banard-esque social realism to Rachel Maclean-like cartoonish sci-fi. 

- Some things Julian Rosefeldt and Cate Blanchett said in the talk afterwards that seemed interesting (lots of paraphrasing): - The white cube is a prison... talking to people who already agree with you... Cinema has a bigger audience with more coincidental audience members-  Cate Blanchett fans from the new Thor film mayyyy see this... - Ask ‘would anyone be interested in seeing this?’, NOT ‘will anyone like it?’ - ‘If I could say what everything means, I should stop doing art.’ - ‘Your brain attends to things differently when watched linearly’ - ‘Art’s role isn’t educative- it’s provocative.’

4/5.

Opens November 24th.

#2: BATTLE OF THE SEXES, directed by Jonathan Dayton & Valarie Faris, 121 mins

- True story of 1973 tennis match between Billie Jean King and Bobby Riggs.

- Rousing good fun. A real crowd pleaser. I saw the Gala screening at the Odeon in Leicester Square... the perfect way to watch- with lots of people, all feeling the Hollywood-ised, over-dramatised, over-sentimental beats together... and super enjoying it. 

- It’s less subtle than MOTHER! (2017) about what it’s saying, but has a shining, naive optimism to it that you just kind of have to smile at.

- Emma Stone and Steve Carrell as King and Riggs hold all the moving pieces together. They add weight to potentially weightless, throw-away moments.

- All supporting performances great too- Sarah Silverman the MVP. Andrea Riseborough continues to be a chameleon, effortlessly embodying everything about who she’s playing, and it doesn’t even look like she’s trying. And hey! it’s super nice to Martha MacIsaac back on screen with Emma Stone! Their first time together on screen since Superbad (2007).

- The romance between Billie Jean King and Riseborough’s character Marilyn Barnett is easily the most engaging aspect of the film. The only time it leaves Hollywood feel-good territory. Something so magical watching them drive the sun-kissed California roads together listening to ‘Rocket Man’.

3.5/5.

Opens November 24th.

#3: OUR TIME WILL COME, directed by Ann Hui, 130 mins

- 1940s Japanese occupied Hong Kong. Fang Lan, a young primary school teacher, gets involved in the resistance movement and rises to become a legendary figure in the fight for freedom.

- STAKES. Really, really gets how to set up stakes for the characters. It’s a film about all the small things, the little fights in a war that will eventually add up to victory. Not assassinating all the leaders of the opposing army, just stealing a map that’s been put in a bin in an enemy outpost, hoping perhaps it helps. It’s a section of a larger painting. EVERYTHING feels dangerous. Every character is in danger at every moment, and is always punished for making the smallest mistake. Gives the sense that the oppressive State is ALWAYS watching. It demands you never become de-sensitised to the violence which leads to that immediate sense of danger.

- Had a restrained cheapness to it which I actually quite liked. Every now and then you get some goofy looking VFXs and some badly dubbed ADR, but the restraint keeps everything feeling grounded and human.

- Runs at it’s own pace/abides by it’s own structure, which may be too slow/anti-climactic for some, but I liked it for the most part. Playing by it’s own rules and truly being what it wanted to be... which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t.

- The moments it steps out of the main story and does a docu-drama thing... just why? Came across so half-baked. Similar to the 3 time scales in Nolan’s Dunkirk (2017), there was never really a moment of release, an ‘oh! that’s a really interesting decision to do that!’ moment. Just left me kind of baffled to why?

- Genuine moments of magic that I wouldn’t dream of spoiling. Seriously some of the most creative, inspired scenes I’ve ever seen.

- Some guy (wearing a BFI lanyard??) sitting a few seats away kept repeating phrases from the film outloud in a strange voice? Why would you do this??

3.5/5.

UK release date unknown, probably some time in 2018.

#4: LAST FLAG FLYING, directed by Richard Linklater, 124 mins

- 2003. A Vietnam veteran recruits his two oldest buddies, who he served with, to accompany him on a journey no one should ever have to take.

- Richard Linklater continues to prove he can effortless hop between genres like no one else, but the film is still packed full with ideas he’s played with before.

- Performances are uniformly and predictably excellent. Bryan Cranston’s Sal is like the crazy friend of your parents who’d show up every few years in a beaten up old car and give you a pack of smokes for your birthday. Laurence Fishburne says ‘praise Jesus’ every 2 minutes and it’s amazing. Steve Carrell has a quiet dignity to him that’s really special. 

- Linklater knows exactly what he’s doing with his camera (water is wet), but it kills me to say it felt visually bland like his films never have. 

- Features the best ‘characters uncontrollably laughing’ scene since The Intouchables (2011).

4/5.

Opens 3rd November.

#5: THOROUGHBREDS, directed by Cory Finley, 90 minutes

- Two rich-kids from small town Connecticut hatch a plan together.

- Ugh, just.... what’s the point? It’s not boring, but every frame just had me thinking ‘why is this happening?’ So disappointingly transparent. I could see the director sitting planning the movements and cuts. Painfully ‘first-feature’ like. Should have been a rich, twisted delight, but was just so vapid and empty. 

- Olivia Cooke is one of my favourite rising actresses. Has one of my favourite performances ever as Rachel in Me and Earl and The Dying Girl (2015), and dammit I cry every time I watch her in it. In this... she does a good job with what she’s given. Anya Taylor-Joy is fun too.

- Badly costumed?? So rarely actively think that.

- Music was fun but as empty and ultimately weightless as the rest of the film. Felt like an afterthought to spice things up.

- Anton Yelchin’s character was the only person in the whole film I cared about. Brings a greyness to such a black and white film. What a fucking loss to the world man.

2/5.

Opens 9th March, 2018. 

#6: CALL ME BY YOUR NAME, directed by Luca Guadagnino, 130 minutes

- Somewhere in Northern Italy, Summer 1983, Elio’s life changes.

- Sun-drenched Europe, the smell of warmth and twirling cigarette smoke, deep blue sky- pure, breakfast with a glass of apricot juice and an espresso, the sound of bike spokes spinning lazily. 

I wish I could live with these people.

‘Later.’

4.5/5.

Opens 27th October.

#7: THE SHAPE OF WATER, directed by Guillermo del Toro, 119 minutes

- 1962, Cold War America. A mute cleaner at a government research facility, Elisa, strikes up an unlikely relationship.

- Del Toro just *knows* what he’s doing. It’s all so effortlessly confident. So rich and fulfilled. Such commitment to everything. 

- The first half is fantastical and brilliant. The second.... loses something. Still has moments of genius, but too much plot. Fizzles out in a disappointing way.

- Reminded me in a lot of ways of Edgar Wright’s Baby Driver (2017). Both are clearly projects the directors have wanted to make for a while, both have amazing first acts then don’t quite know what do with themselves. However, Shape has pure heart that carries it through any rough patches. It feels like it’s actually about something, not just an exercise in style for the director.

3.8/5.

Opens 16th February, 2018.

#8: LUCKY, directed by John Carroll Lynch, 88 minutes

- The swan song of Harry Dean Stanton. A 90-year old atheist’s life as he wanders his desert town, drinking, smoking and speaking to old friends.

- Pure magic all the way through. Plays at exactly the speed and tone it wants to play at.

- One of the most engaging ‘but nothing happens!!’ films I’ve ever seen.

- Everyone hits perfectly. David Lynch appears playing a character that has a pet tortoise called President Roosevelt for fuck sake.

- Bleak, but finds immense joy in that bleakness. Whenever I feel like I’m about to face the void- I will remember the smile of Harry Dean Stanton.

- 3.5/5.

Opens January 2018.

#9: BAD GENIUS, directed by Nattawut Poonpiriya, 130 minutes

- Thai Heist-Thriller about students cheating their exams.

- WHAT A FUCKING RIDE!! More stakes in this than most ‘end of the world’ superhero movies.

- The filmmaking is so good it makes you forget plausibility is sometimes being pushed. Amazing set-pieces. Expertly choreographed.

- Whimsical, but painful and genuinely emotional when it needs to be. 

- Every character is so rich and textured in their own way. So fully realised.

- Why do the last 2 minutes of this film exist??

- 2 years time, there will almost certainly be an American remake of this... and it’ll suck so hard. 

- SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM. SEE THIS FILM.

4/5.

Opens some time in 2018.

#10: THE FLORIDA PROJECT, directed by Sean Baker, 115 minutes

- In the shadow of Disney World, 6 year-old Moonee and her friends spend the summer playing around the Motels they live in.

- Pastel bright colours. Every person has survived a storm. Explore the wasteland of failed corporate America. Become a child again.

- Baker continues to masterfully blend fiction with reality, wrapping one in the other.

- Doesn’t ask you to like the characters. Doesn’t need to. One of the very best films of the year.

4.5/5.

Opens 10th November.

#11: INGRID GOES WEST, directed by Matt Spicer, 98 minutes

- Ingrid moves to California to become Instagram famous.

- An enjoyable, fun Saturday night film. 

- Elisabeth Olsen as ‘photographer’ Taylor Sloane is note perfect. Could so easily have slept-walked through it, but didn’t. Her relationship with brother Nicky is so, so good. Idea of this Instagram famous rich girl with her crazy, pill-junkie, roid-monkey brother who she knows is terrible but loves him and is sort of as vapid as he is- just knows how to hide it better. And man, he is SO evil. Haven’t hated a character as much as I hated him in a while.

- Plaza holds it together. Her and the film trust you to realise how mentally ill she is without reminding us too much.

- 1st half is superbly played... loses it somewhere in the middle of the 2nd act but picks up again at the end.

- Music was terrible?! Suggested some weird criss-cross in tone of the film.

- I GET IT! THE INTERNET IS BAD!

3.5/5.

Opens 17th November.

#12: You Were Never Really Here, directed by Lynne Ramsey, 85 minutes

- Gulf War veteran Joe is known for the brutality he inflicts on captors of the children he’s rescuing.

- Deeply troubled. Beautiful. Precise. Scatter-brained. Focused. A violin strung too tightly, then played by a madman. How can something so stripped down and raw feel so symphonic and wholesome? I feel like I’ve been repeatedly smashed in the head with a hammer... but enjoyed it.

- Jaoquin Phoenix. Lynne Ramsey. Johnny Greenwood.

- There are things in this that will play on loop in my head for the rest of my life.

4.5/5.

Opens in early 2018.

#13: Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, directed by Martin McDonagh, 115 minutes

- A mother takes desperate steps to pressure local law enforcement to find her daughter’s killer.

- Perfectly woven and layered characters. I fucking hate the phrase ‘the character arc’, but if I were teaching a class in it- I’d show this film. 

- A film about relationships, and every relationship between every character or creature or inanimate object is perfect.

- McDonagh loves theatrical sensibilities. Nobody does grand, rich set-pieces quite like him... makes highly stylised situations feel real in the world he sets up.

- I could have watched hours more of these characters interacting.

4/5.

Opens 12th January 2018.

STRAY THOUGHTS:

- Felt spoilt in the audiences I had the pleasure of watching these films with. Always respectful.

- Every time Clare Stewart (head of festival) came on stage to present a film, I just couldn’t help but smile. Bumped into her after a screening and told her my student loan situation. I don’t think she knew what to say.

- DON’T WATCH THE TRAILERS OF ANY OF THESE FILMS. THEY SPOIL SO MANY OF THEM.

- I am consistently shocked by how enamoured I am with celebrities. Some weird conditioning in my brain. Am glad I didn’t queue up to get a picture with anyone. Saying that, this screenshot from a random interview I saw online where I’m juuuust to the left of Emma Stone will live on my wall forever.

ughhhhhh i’m a loser ughhhhh

[preserving-ferretbrain]

Soon I Will Be Invincible - Review

by Wardog

Saturday, 08 September 2007Wardog dusts off her cape and puts her pants on outside the rest of her clothing.~Soon I will Be Invincible is a book written by a loser for losers. Perhaps I'm being slightly unfair but the guy on the back is aggressively bald, over-educated, a computer game designer and has written an over-angsty, over-affectionate novel about superheroes and supervillains. I'm not saying he's not somebody I would love to hang out with but then I'm not saying I'm anything other than a loser too.

I'm a fair-to-moderate reader of superhero comics but I'm no authority on the genre so what I'm about to posit could be either a) so obvious it's not worth stating or b) completely wrong but I do think there's been a bit of a change of focus. Back in the day, it seems to me that superheroes were deliberately presented as everyman figures, community-spirited boys-next-door who just so happened to get gifted with exceptional powers. They seemed to be saying: "This Peter Parker fellow, he could be you, you could be the superhero."

But, of course, moral values have shifted with time. We're no longer all about the wholesome friendly neighbourhood superhero, we want the dark and the driven and morally ambiguous. The people who read comics are, for the most part, people like me (weird, unpopular kids) and, here on either side of the millennium, superheroes - those gifted by pure chance or cruel circumstance to be more attractive, more powerful and more popular than, say, me - are beginning to look rather like the kids who laughed at me at school. Thus you start to pay more attention to the villains, initially just larger than life foils to set against the unyielding virtue of the superhero. But, unlike the hero, villains tends to be self-made men who have progressed down the long road to world domination by dint being more intelligent and more determined than everyone else around them. A familiar motif for weird unpopular kids, I'm sure. The superhero belongs to the realm of the blessed and the accepted. The villain is the perennial scorned and derided outsider. I could take over the world, you know. If I wanted to.

SIWBI takes place on an alternative earth that, although rife with aliens, fairies, superheroes and supervillains, future tech and magic, is recognisably our own. The first person narrative alternates between the point of view of Dr Impossible, brilliant scientist turned supervillain and Fatale, a newly created cyborg who has just been invited into The Champions, a famous group of superheroes, previously led by Dr Impossible's arch nemesis. The plot, such as it is, is typical superhero fare: Dr Impossible escapes from prison and hatches the usual supervillain scheme to knock the planet out of orbit and herald in a new ice-age. Meanwhile CoreFire, the leader of The Champions, has disappeared and the group must to struggle to re-form into an effective unit and deal with the events of their past. As is practically de rigueur these days in anything dealing with people with super powers, the self-consciously trite plotline and the comic book archetypes are there primarily to illuminate the recognisable human dimension to it all. Thus The Champions battle not only Dr Impossible but their own very human failings and, even as he flounces around in scarlet cape and helmet, Dr Impossible angsts over the whether "the smartest man in the world has done the smartest possible thing with his life." It's not exactly ground-breaking but it seems to work well enough and adds pathos to Dr Impossible's obsession with invincibility, not so much to protect him from those with superpowers but to protect him from the very ordinary world that has always excluded and derided him and never loses its power to hurt him.

There's a lot to like here, if you're into that kind of thing. The chapter titles are all stock phrases ("Foiled Again" etc.) and most of the secondary characters are nods to various comic book characters. In fact the whole style and approach of SIWBI is incredibly affectionate and genial, although I do have to wonder what it's doing presenting itself as literary fiction because I can't imagine you'll get it, or indeed see the point of it, unless you're also fond of and familiar with the genre to which it offers itself as an homage. And I know that Grossman wanted specifically to write a book but it seems a peculiar choice to me. His writing style is brisk and punchy, favouring a lot of dramatic statements that would look absolutely perfect floating above a character's head in a speech bubble ("It was time for me to stop punishing myself and start punishing everyone else") but when they're just a just a line on a page they occasionally fall somewhat flat. It's kind of the equivalent of writing POW just like that. In fact, the blatant attempt to "literary-ise" the book, and through association the genre, is one of the more irritating features SIWBI. You like comics, dude, just accept it. Some people will laugh at you, some people will agree, and some people will start to talk about Maus. Regardless, Watchman will never be Ulysses.

As well as occasional stylistic difficulties the narrative jumps between the present and the past in a rather jarring manner. Although it's interesting to get (some of) the backstory, it does completely ruin the pace to the extent that what ought to be an adrenaline-saturated rush towards the final stages of Dr Impossible's plan bog down in a lot of superhero dithering and bickering. For the most part, Grossman is at his best in his supervillain's head. The attempt to give Dr Impossible a reasonably credible psychology for behaving as supervillains behave within the genre (always explaining his plans to the good guys, shrieking I AM A GENIUS at every slight provocation and so forth) does not entirely work because if you were actually capable of such self-awareness one would hope you would also be capable of behaving in a moderately sensible fashion. Nevertheless, Dr Impossible's seemingly unflinching commitment to a role he knows must always be the losing one does generate a certain emotional resonance and bizarrely, as the novel stutters to his inevitable defeat, a certain tragic force.

Dr Impossible, painted with all the narrative garishness a supervillain deserves, is not a subtle character:

For a second I stand at the fulcrum point of creation. God, I'm so unhappy.

But he is complex. Grossman writes him with genuine flair and appreciation. And, one loser to another, it's impossible not to empathise with his broken and lonely desperation:

If you're different you always know it and you can't fix it even if you want. What do you do when you find out your heart is the wrong kind? You take what you're given and be the hero you can be. Hero to your own cold, inverted heart.

Villain he may be but he's probably the arrogant, articulate poster boy for every geeky comic lover out there.

Sadly, the other characters can in no way live up to him, so much so they seem almost like afterthoughts. The Champions bitch and moan like a bunch of sulky teenagers and, even if that was partly the point, it didn't make them easy or pleasant to read about. As for Fatale, new superhero on the block, who narrates with Dr Impossible, she's tedious beyond expression. I had a feeling that, as a woman, she was probably meant to be saying profound things to me but her narrative voice is pedestrian at best and offers none of the exuberance or emotional engagement of Dr Impossible's. I skimmed most of the superhero sections.

Even so, Dr Impossible is worth the price of admission alone. If you're even remotely interested in the superhero genre or have ever contemplated world domination while sitting by yourself in maths, you'll probably find something to enjoy here.

PS - Please note the views expressed within the article are solely those of the author. Ferretbrain as a whole does not believe Mr Grossman is a loser.

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Books

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Sci-fi / Fantasy

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Arthur B

at 18:32 on 2007-09-08I'm sorry, but there's only room for one "arrogant, articulate poster boy for every geeky comic lover out there" and it's

this guy

. :)

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Wardog

at 16:05 on 2007-09-10Oh come on, geeks need all the help we can get :)

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Jamie Johnston

at 12:59 on 2007-10-01Aside from the merits and demerits peculiar to this book (which I haven't read), I wonder whether it was a good idea to try to do superheroes in a novel at all. They grew up in comics, which are basically a dramatic form like plays, films, or television. They seem to get on fairly well on film and television (never seem them on stage), but throwing them into continuous prose narrative strikes me as probably unwise and possibly self-defeating.

If Grossman has, as you guess, done it in the hope of giving the genre literary credibility, then he's rather missed the point, hasn't he? Putting superheroes into a novel doesn't make them into literature any more than doing 'Richard III' as a comic would make it into childish pulp.

'Heroes' is a pretty good example of an intelligent transfer of superheroes from one literary form to another because it recognizes and deals with the differences between the two forms. The scale of television (both the size of the screen and the length of episodes and series) means it can't cover the whole range of dramatic action that comics do, so it concentrates on what television does well, which is the drama of personal relationships; but it also remembers that saving the world is the point of superhero stories, so it uses the flash-back / flash-forward structure to suggest a larger drama going on without having to indulge in the big colourful battles which do the same thing in a comic. It also recognizes that on television, with live actors and real-time action, superhero costumes simply aren't going to be credible, so it simply ditches them.

I'd say a superhero novel should probably ditch costumes too, for different reasons. In comics, costumes solve three problems: first, how do we easily distinguish different characters when the simplified style of the artwork makes all faces and bodies look very similar? second, how do we make every page look exciting even when nothing much is happening? and third, how do we make it easy to work out what's going on when up to a dozen different actions need to be depicted on a single page smaller than A4?

The advantage of solving those problems outweighs the disadvantage of a slight loss of credibility. But in a novel none of those problems arises in the first place, so costumes have none of the advantages but retain the disadvantage of implausibility (which is in no way reduced by the traditional internal narrative explanation: "I must protect my secret identity by wearing a costume which incorporates a mask... and bright yellow tights and a billowy green cloak").

Gosh, if I look behind me through a telescope I can see the point where this comment stopped being relevant to the article... Oh yes, that's right. Well, I think that's probably why I'm very dubious about doing superheroes in a novel at all. The whole point of the superhero genre is that it externalizes the drama and symbolism of the story. The way the identity of each character is made explicitly visual through his costume and is expressed in action through his superpower is a prime example of that. The whole point of the novel, on the other hand, is that it internalizes the drama by taking the reader into the minds of at least some of the principal characters. Action in a novel is secondary - it affects the characters and triggers internal change. If there was ever a narrative form which was unsuitable for superheroes, it's got to be the novel, surely?

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Wardog

at 10:49 on 2007-10-04I think I read in the introduction or the acknowledgements or somewhere that presenting the story as a novel rather than a comic was a carefully thought through decision, and one the author felt strongly about. On the other hand, I do think the interactions of various literary (or artistic) forms is interesting and, for that alone, perhaps I feel more supportive of it than perhaps it deserves. I was possibly being quite unfair when I suggested it was a doomed attempt to confer a literary validity on a popular form. As you point out, books / comics hop easily to the big and small screen and back again and books do, in fact, turn readily into comics (I've even seen a comic version of Proust for God's sake) and it seems peculiar that it's always been an unspoken one-way street i.e. that things can be turned into comics and comics can be turned into movies but never the other way round.

For what I've read about Heroes, I think it was always designed primarily as a drama rather than a slightly more high brow than average contribution to the superhero-genre. Tim Kring claims explicitely that his inspiration was Lost, he has no geeky nostalgia for the days of X-men or whatever ... essentially he started with television and incorporated superheroes rather than starting with superheroes and incorporating television. If that makes sense.

And there are some quite amusing sequences about costumes in SIWBI in fact! I think the point is that the novel - regardless of whether you think it's an appropriate experiment or not - deliberately attempts to offer a plausible psychological landscape to the external superhero world. Thus, Dr Impossible has an outrageous costume to allow him to put aside the vulnerabilities (or attempt to) of the man behind the mask and become a supervillain capable of delivering the usual array of hysterical villain lines. And one of the themes of the book is the clash between the external and the internal, the visual and the psychological. It doesn't *quite* work because you can't actually offer up a credible explanation of supervillainous compulsions i.e. why do they always pour our the details of their dastardly plans at the slighest provocation.

But it was fun.

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Jamie Johnston

at 16:37 on 2007-10-07Perhaps my reaction comes partly from my continual annoyance at the use of the novel form in general. I feel that a lot of storytellers write novels not because that's the best narrative form for the story they want to tell but because either they prioritize being a novelist over telling the story to its best advantage or, worse, it simply never occurs to them that there are any other narrative forms at all.

But certainly I don't want to say that a story can't be transferred from a comic to a novel just as well as the other way round. In principle any story can be told in any form, it's just that some forms are going to be better suited to the nature of some stories. But genre is a horse of a different colour. Still, I mustn't be too categorical since I haven't actually read the thing! If he's trying to explore the inside of the characters minds then the novel is certainly the form to do it with, but I would tend to think that all that would really achieve is to expose the psychological implausibility of many central elements of the superhero genre. Which, from your comments, sounds more or less like what happened. But it's interesting to find the edges of a genre.

As for 'Heroes', I'm interested that you say that Kring (not a bad supervillain name, that) wasn't particularly interested in superheroes. I hadn't heard that, and judging solely from the content of the series so far I'd have guessed the exact opposite. I can count on one finger the concepts, super-powers, characters, and plot developments in 'Heroes' which aren't almost identical to things I read in the X-Men comics when I was 15. And I notice that the producer of 'Heroes' (and the script-writer of a couple of episodes) is Jeph Loeb, who was a writer on X-Men for a long time, if I recall correctly.

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Arthur B

at 17:12 on 2007-10-07I think that just shows Kring recognised that he doesn't actually know much about superheroes and was wise enough to hire people who did.

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Wardog

at 10:19 on 2007-10-09On a rather tangential note, it's interesting really that the novel, once the bastard offspring of better literature, is now very much established as, perhaps, the most authentic and recognised of all literary forms - perhaps in a few hundred years the comic will supplant it. I mean, there's not exactly much call for epic nowadays - what sort of narrative forms did you have in mind, Jamie? And I suppose the major point of interest for SIWBI is that it's a novel, not a comic. As a comic it would be sub-standard post-Watchman fare I'm sure. As a novel at least it doesn't get lost among a morass of very similar items.

And with references to Heroes, I think something similar is at work; because he is not a great big superhero geek, Kring is more concerned about providing good television and, therefore, lots of the very obvious superhero tropes and motifs and arcs he uses, he does so with the blissful ignorance of the utterly unitiated. Whereas any superhero fanatic worth their tights would probably be unable to use them as effectively because they'd be preoccupied with what enormous cliches they actually are...

#Ferretbrain #Soon I Will Be Invincible #Wardog #Superhero

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GMP Action Pillar Analysis: Live Action Himura Kenshin vs. Shishio Makoto 

Note: the purpose of this analysis is to describe what it takes for an action scene to contribute to the overarching narrative of the story of which it is a part. Ideally, the action scene should tell a story works on its own, while doing something to move the rest of the story forward and contribute to the characterization of the combatants involved.

The “GMP” abbreviation stands for the attributes I will be analyzing below:

Geography:  placement and location of combatants

Motion:  techniques used to engage the audience in the conflict of the combatants

Psychology: the individual stories that are being told in the the context of the fight

Geography

Every fight scene in this movie trilogy excels at using geography properly to draw the audience in and give us a sense of how the environment affects the fight on screen. Kenshin is intent on being the one to strike, but of course, he’s going to wait until Shishio is finished descending from the stairway to avoid wasting energy on striking at an opponent who's more able to defend himself by utilizing the higher ground.

Note that the scene is taking place in a cluttered cargo area of a ship. Nothing in the immediate area is allowed to go to waste. Shishio is able to use the boxes themselves as disposable weapons to bludgeon Kenshin to the point that he completely loses his bearings for the first time in the trilogy. Both combatants pause slightly when sawdust obscures their vision - none of this Dragonball Z/Loony Toons flailing around in a cloud nonsense with these two.

Lastly, I’d like to highlight the way Kenshin tries (and fails) to use the environment around him. He’s usually able to make use of cramped spaces for the purposes of evasion and quick strikes. It quickly becomes clear that this strategy won’t work as Shishio is used to fighting in the same narrow trenches as Kenshin in the Boshin War. Terrain is something that both men regard as weapons to be wielded against one’s opponent, and Shishio’s “terrain-no-jutsu” is in a class of its own.

Motion

This film series consistently performs so well in this area that it’s almost not worth including this section in any given analysis of the scene. The filmmakers made a very wise decision when they eschewed the use of doubles, shaky camera effects, or CGI enhancements to make the fight scenes look more impressive. The scene always shows what is happening to both combatants at any given time. The director chose to switch between narrow and wide shots not to “keep things from being boring,” but to ensure the audience had a sense of where Shishio and Kenshin are within the environment. They don’t use visual tricks to convey Kenshin’s disorientation or Shishio’s joyful savagery: they leave that up to the actors. The cameras are simply assigned the role of making sure the audience can follow what’s happening through a very fast-paced scene in a cluttered environment.  

Psychology

In case the asterisks I used at the beginning of this post didn’t make it clear, the psychology of the scene is the most important pillar from a storytelling perspective. As Ninouh aptly describes it, “psychology” is shorthand for the story that’s being told. No matter how well choreographed a fight scene is, it’s boring filler if it doesn’t tell a story on it’s own and contribute to the larger story. I freely admit to having skipped entire episodes of anime I was watching because it looked like the episode itself was just an excuse to stall for time by trying to distract me with displays of the characters’ fighting prowess. It’s such a pet peeve that  I’ve been overzealous about it a few times. I would happen upon some interesting moment later on in a show and realize that it was an important snippet slipped into a fruitless battle episode I skipped.

I think it’s worth bearing in mind that the term “fanservice” doesn’t refer to sexual content alone. “Fanservice” is a term that refers to tropes that are not strictly necessary for the story being told, but used as an enhancement to keep the audience engaged when the creator(s) worry that the audience might be losing interest, or simply  a popular catch phrase that isn’t necessary but the artist(s) know the audience enjoys. In truth, Kenshin’s “Oro?” catchphrase is fanservice on par with the teeny weeny metal bikinis in the Magi franchise, or the 4th season of Arrested Development’s frequent references to jokes and memes from the first three seasons of the show everyone had been quoting for years while they waited for a reboot.  (－‸ლ)

Of course, fanservice isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It works to varying degrees. Watsuki Nobihuro’s decision to run with “Oro,” as a catch phrase when he noticed readers liked it is a prime example of how to properly use fanservice as icing on what’s already a very delicious cake.

But I digress...

What makes this scene truly brilliant is the story that’s being told. One could stumble upon this clip having no idea what franchise the movie is from and understand what’s going on. It’s like a well-composed ballet.

Kenshin is fuming with anger and eager to cut the bloodthirsty monster in front of him that must be stopped at all costs. However, he’s a seasoned swordsman who knows how to balance his emotional motivations with strategy, and never lose sight of his true objective. With that in mind, he waits until Shishio is on even ground and in a neutral stance. He knows that Shishio is an experienced, strategic opponent who won’t go down easily. He knows that if Shishio is still talking, he’s on his guard. There is no “sucker punching” your way through Makoto Shishio.

With that in mind, Shishio assumes his neutral stance, taking the opportunity to read Kenshin in a way that borders on being a trap. Of course, it’s not a true trap: it’s just his best course of action as he has not had a chance to learn his secrets or see him fight (unlike the  anime & manga, in which most fights with Shishio’s subordinates are set up as recognizance missions rather than real attempts at taking Kenshin down.)

Shishio fights like a literal demon plucked out of a dark tale from ancient Japanese lore. Once he engages Kenshin, he is fighting as much for his survival/original objective as the thrill of testing a man whose said to be his equal. He relishes every moment of the fight: he smiles with glee and becomes more enthusiastic with each blow that connects with is target. He laughs out loud once he realizes he has Kenshin on the defenses, making half-hearted attempts at grabbing Kenshin to further unsettle his opponent and prolong his moment of amusement around the 0:35 timepoint. Houji’s praise for Shishio underscores the amount of trouble that Kenshin is in.

When you combine that with the amount of effort and wary expression on Kenshin’s face throughout the first volley, it’s clear that Kenshin doesn’t stand a chance at defeating Shishio alone, but there’s no turning back. If anything, he seems more disgusted with Shishio than ever and even more determined to find a way to do the impossible.

Kenshin lunges again at Shishio, giving it his a few different tactics he wasn’t using before. Shishio quickly has him on the defensive yet again, but Kenshin keeps plowing ahead as best he can. Shishio has the upper hand to such an overwhelming degree that he literally has Kenshin’s back to the wall twice. Kenshin is emotionally panicked but maintains technical form, which only excited Shishio even more. Long before the 1:21 timepoint, it’s clear that Kenshin’s on a sort survival mode autopilot. He’s having to put all of his effort into surviving. He doesn't’ have time to look for openings that this “High Heavenly Dragon” style of swordsmanship is designed to exploit. There are no openings - only strikes to doge to prolong his own life.

We don’t need a shaky cam effect to understand that Kenshin is disoriented. Shishio is literally bashing his head against walls of cargo with glee. He’s no longer fighting a man, but an Oni trying to maul him to death. That’s why a literal roaring sound effect is introduced in the moment that Kenshin dodges another blow while he’s pinned at the 1:22 timepoint. For a few moments, Kenshin is just curled up in a defensive position, hoping it will minimize the damage that’s being done until he can find a way out of the the cage of crates around him.

Once he’s in the open again, Kenshin puts all of his energy into offensive attacks, desperately looking for some sort of strike he can land that will affect Shishio. When he does manage to connect, Shishio laughs with joy and amusement when Kenshin lands a few strikes at 1:28, because he’s delighted that his prey is still worth toying with.

From there on out, Kenshin just gets spanked. There’s a moment where Kenshin is being dragged by his legs after attempting one of his signature acrobatic moves, and Shishio literally spanks him like a child with his sword. He doesn’t want the fight to end yet, but this “childish fool” who sullied their fight with a “cheap trick” must be punished somehow before they return to the real fight.

Once Shishio is bored with him, he burns Kenshin on the back when he’s reeling from a previous attack and bites a chunk out of Kenshin’s shoulder as a sign of contempt. He just curbstomped a man everyone praised as his equal, much to his disappointment. At the end of the scene we’re reminded that his plans for “strengthening Japan” have as much to do with his genuine belief in Social Darwinism as it does with the delight he takes in toying with prey.

That’s one hell of a narrative to pack into under two and a half minutes. In sum, Rurouni Kenshin: The Legend Ends manages to a complete story of a Samurai losing a valiant battle against an Oni that could stand on its own in an anthology of Shinto lore with body language and the tone of the actors’ voice alone. This is good universal storytelling. This is a fight scene doing everything a fight scene is supposed to do.

#Rurouni Kenshin #himura kenshin #shishio makoto #るろうに剣心 #anime #live action kenshin #manga #nobihuro watsuki #GMP action analysis #miyamanga repost