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spider6oy · 4 years

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This is on you || JJ Maybank

summary: y/n and jj had been best friends for many years and had always been there for each other. but what happens when jj gets a new girlfriend and y/n finally comes to realise what has been happening between her and jj all these years. based on the song ‘this is on you’ by maisie peters because i am an absolute slut for her

Warnings: swearing, bad writing

word count: 3.2k

Your sleep was currently being disturbed by an incessant tapping at your bedroom window. At first, you had only thought it to be a tree branch raking against the window from the wind – you honestly didn’t think much of it. Living in North Carolina, you were used to the strong winds making things bash into the side of your house (or in this case; your bedroom window). With that thought in mind; you gripped the duvet cover, rolled over, and went back to sleep almost instantly.

Almost.

The tapping quickly became much more constant, almost never-ending, which lead you to assume that this in fact was not a tree branch in the wind but was something else. You let out a frustrated groan as you threw the covers away from your body and swung your legs over the side of the bed. You felt a scowl set upon your features as you marched over towards your bedroom window, feeling goose bumps rise on your skin as you walked across the cold wooden floor.

You couldn’t really think who would be knocking at your bedroom window at 3 o’clock in the morning – 3 in the morning?! Everyone you knew would either be asleep right now or at their own homes, there was no real reason for anyone to be at your bedroom window. You huffed lightly as you gripped the chord for the shade and yanked it; revealing who was outside your window.

Your eyes widened slightly, and your lips parted as you watched JJ, who you now realised was responsible for the tapping, wave at you through the glass and send you a dopey smile. You remained stunned, your hand hadn’t even let go of the shade chord, as you simply stared down at JJ.

You couldn’t believe it, quite honestly. You simply could not believe that he was stood outside of your window right now – at 3am, did I mention?

You hadn’t actually seen JJ for just over a month. At first, it had felt like your entire world was falling apart. What were you supposed to do without him? He was one of the most important people in your life; if not the most important person. Everything you had ever done; JJ had always been by your side – and you had thought that that would never change. Not in a million years did you expect him to be missing from your life. But it happened. He was in your life one day and gone the next.

It had all started when he had met this random touron at a kegger. Her name was Amber. She was pretty with her blonde hair and blue eyes. When you had first noticed her, you could have sworn that she was a real-life Barbie doll. She looked perfect (you could understand why JJ had started speaking to her).

But honestly, you didn’t even bat an eyelash at the pair. Why would you? This was typical JJ behaviour. Find an attractive girl, woo her with his good looks and dazzling charm, have sex with her, and then move on to the next poor unfortunate soul. It was practically like clockwork.

So, you could imagine how surprised you were to see the blonde girl sitting on John B’s couch (with a beer in her hand, laughing at something JJ had said) when you had arrived that afternoon. You had shot questioning glances at your fellow Pogues and received just as confused expressions from them back. You were all entirely perplexed and couldn’t help but wonder; what had this girl done to JJ?

Anyway, it quickly became apparent that Amber was not going anywhere anytime soon (much to your disdain) because for the next week and-a-half; everywhere JJ went so did Amber. It was as if they couldn’t live without each other. They had practically become joined at the hip. Every single boat trip, dinner at The Wreck, kegger, or whatever the group had planned to do for that day; Amber was always there. It quickly became impossible to separate the two.

And of course, you didn’t like it. You absolutely fucking hated it. You had basically lost your best friend overnight without so much as a warning. A quick ‘Hey, can I borrow JJ and. . . never give him back?’ would have been much appreciated on your end. But you hadn’t lost him entirely.

No, you still got to see him. . . and Amber. And, you still got to talk to him. . . and Amber. So, could you really complain?

(I mean, yes. Yes, you could complain. And you would complain. But only to the Pogues, and only when JJ wasn’t around (which was becoming more and more of a regular thing)).

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You felt guilty for the fact that your best friend, who barely got a chance at happiness in his shitty life, had finally found someone that made him feel happy. You felt guilty that you couldn’t just be happy for him too. You felt guilty that you couldn’t push your own selfish opinions and emotions to the side, at the benefit of your best friend. You felt guilty for not being a good friend.

So that’s what you did. You pushed those thoughts and feelings to the side and replaced them with only the happiness you felt for JJ. And it worked. You no longer felt irritation and anger when you looked over at the pair, wishing that Amber would somehow just disappear and never return. Instead, you could only smile softly at the couple now, loving how JJ’s eyes seemed to be filled with pure joy and his smile never seemed to drop.

Only that didn’t last long. It was maybe two days later when JJ was knocking at your front door. You remember your smile widening as you noticed he was alone (for the first time in forever), wondering if maybe your JJ had finally returned, and if Amber had gone back to whatever hovel she had come from. But your smile quickly faltered as you noticed his nervous demeanour. He was constantly nibbling at the corner of his lip, fingers fiddling with his rings, and his eyes couldn’t seem to meet yours.

You had quickly questioned what was wrong with him. Your own nerves were beginning to get the better of you, your grip on your front door tightening as you waited for his response. Your heartbeat began to quicken, and you could feel your palms becoming clammy as he awkwardly stuttered out what he had to say. You remembered tears welling in the corners of your eyes and your throat becoming impossibly tight as you couldn’t believe what he was telling you.

He didn’t want to see you anymore.

He didn’t want to be your friend anymore.

He didn’t want you anymore.

You had thought he was lying. You nervously laughed it off (holding back the tears) and shook your head, claiming that he must have been joking. Your lip quivered as you watched him shake his head and repeat his words, stating how he didn’t want to see you again and that you shouldn’t try to call him or talk to him from now on. He awkwardly turned on his foot, sending you one last pitiful glance, and walked back towards where you noticed John B’s van was parked.

And guess who was sat in the front seat?

Your sadness and despair at the loss of your best friend quickly transformed into anger and hatred towards him. How could he just dump you like that? Like you didn’t mean anything? How could he act as if your friendship meant nothing to him? As if 10 years of friendship equivalated to fucking zilch?! How could he choose her over you? How could he choose some blonde touron that he didn’t even know last month over his closest friend and ally?!

You were utterly destroyed by the whole thing. Honestly you were. You had never quite felt a pain like it before. It was as if someone had plunged their hand into your chest and physically ripped your heart straight out from within your body, squeezing it in their palm until all of the life had drained from it. This left you feeling empty and hollow. This left you feeling as though you had lost your sense of identity within the world. Who were you without JJ?

The next couple of weeks were quite possibly some of the worst weeks you had ever experienced in your life. The Pogues would visit almost every day; which made the passing time a little bit easier. All of them were completely enraged by what JJ had done. He hadn’t decided to cut them out of his life as of yet, but that didn’t mean that they wanted to be a part of it. They would always cuss JJ out for what he did, cursing him under their breath.

But you all knew who the sole culprit for JJ’s actions was – and this is what angered you the most.

Because you had given her a chance. You had started to put your own feelings aside and respect the relationship that JJ was developing. . . but, she obviously couldn’t do the same for you.

With all of this newfound time on your hands, you couldn’t help but think. What else was there to do? So, you thought. You thought back to all of the times you had spent with JJ; talking over your feelings together, helping and comforting each other through tough times in your lives, making each other laugh when all either of you had wanted to do was cry.

But, as you continued to think over all of those times, you suddenly came upon a thought. It was like some sort of fucking epiphany. You felt like someone had literally just smacked you right across the face and had woken you up from a sort of mad-daze because, when you actually thought back to all of those times you had spent with JJ, consoling and empathizing, he had never actually done the same for you.

Not once.

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh (the first sign of positivity you had shown in a few days). Your hands reached up to cup your cheeks as more and more dumfounded chuckles and giggles seemed to leave your lips, laughing at your own blindness and stupidity. You fell backwards onto your bed and stared up at the ceiling above you, finally feeling a sense of clarity. You finally felt like the fog that had inhabited your mind for so long had finally been cleared away.

Because you quickly came to realise that you did not need JJ. JJ needed you.

“Uh, hey Y/N.”

You couldn’t deny that your heart ached slightly at the sight before you. His eyes were puffy, his nose running slightly, and his cheeks seemed flushed whilst the rest of his face seemed to blanch in comparison. You couldn’t help but internally curse yourself for pitying him upon one single glance. You had been pitying the boy for so long that it was practically second nature at this point.

“JJ.” You greeted, but it came out as more of statement. As if you were confirming to yourself that JJ was actually outside of your bedroom right now.

He bit his lip as his eyes looked past you and into your bedroom, “Can I come in? I just. . . I just really need to talk to you right now.” His eyes travelled back towards you and captured your own in a pleading gaze.

You looked away from his stare, boring holes into the windowsill below you. You knew what he was trying to do – it was obvious for anyone to see. He was trying to pick up from where he had left off with you. Where he would show up at your house, teary-eyed and a blubbering mess, expect you to listen to his struggles and calm him down with your warm embrace. Because that was what you had always done.

People had always told you that you were caring, that you had the kind of loving touch that would make even the most hysterical and rowdiest of people settled with a single glance. And you had always thought that it was a good thing. You had always had a sense of pride when it came to your empathy because you liked helping people, and you wanted to help people. But you had come to learn that people could (and would) take advantage of your kindness and use it to their own advantage, and you didn’t want that anymore.

“No.”

You looked up from your windowsill and stared straight into JJ’s widened and shocked eyes. You could instantly tell that he hadn’t been expecting that from you (neither had you in all honesty).

His mouth bobbed open and closed whilst his eyebrows furrowed, eyes flickering all over your face as if he were trying to find an ounce deceit. “N-No? What-What do you mean, no? Like. . . like, no?”

You gripped at your windowsill, your heart hammering in your chest. You had never been one for confrontation or telling people exactly how you felt. You had always been too wary and scared of hurting anyone’s feelings; you were a proper softy at heart. Your worst nightmare had always been the thought of hurting someone, or worse; hurting those closest to you.

But, honestly, enough was enough.

“Yes, ‘No’ JJ. No, you can’t come in. I’m sorry.” You voice came out with a slight waver to it; you were not feeling confident in that moment at all and all you wanted to do was shut your bedroom window and hide under the blankets on your bed.

JJ, still utterly perplexed, stepped forward until he was directly beneath your window. He stretched up onto the tips of his toes and held onto the window edge for some form of support. “But I really need you right now, Y/N. Amber, she-um. . . she, uh, she broke up with me. And I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go because I always come to you in situations like these, you know?”

You nodded your head. Of course, you knew.

You wet your lips as you pushed a hand through your hair, trying to think of the words to say. You knew that you didn’t want to hurt JJ, after all he had just broken up with Amber. But you also knew that you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself, you had already been drained of so much.

“Listen, JJ, I am really sorry that Amber broke up with you. I really am because I knew how much you liked her. But, I can’t help you right now and. . . I don’t think I ever will.”

That really made him start to panic. You could see it all over his face; his eyes had widened, his face paled even more, and you could see him start to become much more jittery.

“Wha-What? Ever..huh, um, ever? Y/N, you’re not making any sense right now? What do you mean ever? Do you. . . do you now want to help me, or something?” His words were leaving his mouth in a rush and it all just seemed to scream fear and dread. He knew that he was losing you, and he couldn’t have that.

What was he supposed to do without his shoulder to cry on?

You sighed lightly, kneeling down on your floor so that you were much closer to JJ now. “I do want to help you JJ. I have always wanted to help you and be there for you when you needed me most.” You could see a spark of hope glisten in the corner of his bright blue eyes, most likely thinking you were reconsidering his invitation into your bedroom. “But I’ve been doing that for the past ten years, and honestly? I can’t do it anymore.”

You watched as JJ slowly reclined back onto the balls of his feet, snatching his hands away from the sill; obviously not wanting to be anywhere near you.

You couldn’t deny that that had hurt.

“This is such bullshit, Y/N! You’re supposed to be my best friend, and best friends are meant to be there for each other! We’re supposed to help each other through these types of things!” JJ’s voice had raised a couple of notches, making you reel back slightly from the harsh tone.

You couldn’t help but feel a sense of anger at his words. Was he being serious right now? His accusations were entirely hypocritical. He was straight up accusing you of not being a good friend, of not supporting him through the toughest of times, when all this time he had been doing exactly that.

Frankly, it was all a major piss-take in your opinion.

You scoffed, your eyes narrowing into slits as you felt the built-up anger and frustration finally break through to the surface. “And I have! I have helped you through everything, for so fucking long, JJ. I have always been there for you. When the Kooks would rile you up, I was the one who would calm you down. When your father would beat the living shit out of you, I was the one who would patch up your wounds. And when the anniversary of your mom came around, I would always be the one who’s shoulder you would cry on. You cannot call me a bad friend, JJ. I will not let you call me a bad friend, no fucking way, because the only person who has been a bad friend this entire time; is you.”

Your chest heaved as you took a deep inhale of breath. You couldn’t help but feel like weight was being lifted from your shoulders. It was as if this is what you had been waiting to say all these years but had never truly been able to grasp at the idea. These words had been buried deep inside of you for so long and your break from JJ had finally allowed for them to come to the surface.

“You dumped me JJ. You left me, your supposed best friend of ten years, for some random touron girl who you had barely even known for two weeks! Who fucking does that, JJ?!”

You leant forward, your head slightly protruding out of your window. You wanted JJ to hear every word that you had to say. You wanted him to understand what you had gone through. You wanted him to understand what he had put you through.

“So, when you need someone to cry to and you can’t think of anyone because you fucked up what you had with me; just know that this is all on you, JJ. All of this, everything that has happened, is on your shoulders.”

You noticed how JJ’s jaw seemed to clench as your words left your lips. You could tell that he was trying to hold himself together. He was trying not to fall apart right there in front of you because for the first time ever, he knew you would not pick up the pieces.

“This is your bed JJ, you made it,” You leant back from the sill, standing up and grasping onto the window as you readied yourself to finally close it and put an end to everything between you and JJ – this was it. “Now, lie in it.”

tagged: @5am-cigarette thank you for giving me the idea 💖

#jj maybank #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fic #jj maybank imagines #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank x fem!reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj x fem!reader #outer banks #jj maybank x platonic reader

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orsuliya · 3 years

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This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

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It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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tsu9live · 3 years

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Before I start, this is in no offence to anyone else’s opinion. You are all valid and probably make more sense than me. This is a bit of a rant and then a short character study.

Warning: This got too long.

I tend to come online for manga updates and ended up reading through opinion posts because I am a curious cat. Most of the time I come across really well-thought out posts, really valid points. But then MHA is also a soap opera/family drama where the main character is not supposed to have any progress in his story unless its to bolster or move along the other favs . But then they shouldn’t be bolstering his story either because why is a story about Deku’s journey all about Deku?

But then there are people who are happy Deku is finally edgy and they want him to wipe the floor with his classmates who love him and are willing to fight him if only to get through to him. So there are both extremes and honestly there is validity in all these thoughts because despite the writer’s intentions, a reader brings the story to life.

I personally hate making my own predictions because most of the time I feel it ruins the experience of reading a work for me. I go in with different expectations and when the story goes a different way I don’t enjoy it as much but I feel its more my fault.

So I do understand and respect the difference of opinion because there is no fandom without discourse.

In my opinion though, this Deku solo arc was a long time coming and I think Horikoshi has handled it really weird. I’m still trying to understand what he wants us to think about.

A story about heroes and putting your life on the line for someone else is controversial, but, I thought it was a given. Recklessness had been part of Deku’s character but an overly-cautious character would do nothing. Deku’s lack of self-preservation wasn’t unnatural for a hero, he rushed in to save Bakugo from the slime-villain when Pros stood by putting himself at risk but it spurred AM to act. Katsuki experienced it as well during the war arc, when his body moved to save Deku.

Going to Kamino to save Bakugo was suicidal, reckless and potentially flawed but story-wise it made sense. How is hero-work anything than risky? Kirishima and Todoroki initiated it.

Disclaimer: Deku, Bakugo, Uraraka, Momo, Toga and Shigaraki are characters that are very dear to me because they have had me extremely invested since the beginning of the story. This is my personal opinion, flaws, rant... basically me working through my feelings about this manga I had been obsessed with recently.

1) There is an opinion where Bakugo had a right to be upset/angry/bully Deku because he wanted to be a hero but did nothing for it. Firstly, I don’t understand the need to justify his behaviour when he himself has expressed regret on it. People want others to move on from the “go jump off the roof comment” but won’t stop talking about how everything about Bully Bakugo was justified. Deku was weaker, but he had the same dreams, dreams that were the basis of their friendship earlier on. Regardless of how Deku wanted to achieve them, Bakugo had no right to keep trying to stop him from doing so. No, 5, 10, 14 year old Bakugo did not do so because he had the brilliant foresight that Deku would be self-sacrificial and it was for his sake, he was an angry kid and Deku was a timid, wannabe that confused him, intimidated him even. Taking out his anger was a way of working through those feelings. He was in Deku’s words “a punching bag”. In a world where the powerful reign, Bakugo couldn’t understand how a quirk less, weak little boy could think he could stand shoulder to shoulder with someone as gifted as Bakugo. Yeah, society is very much to blame. The change and maturity Bakugo goes through where he is humbled by a cast of amazing hero students who are just as gifted yet with inspiring personalities and then traumatic consequences of being kidnapped, watching his hero use the last of his powers to hold back a great evil, having that fight with Deku where he bared himself open, failing the licensing exam, training with todoroki, the internship... the war has changed him in a way that has brought out his full potential as a hero and a person. There is a lot to admire about him yet I see so many people fixate on headcanons that glorify his every action/word instead of praising the amazing person he has become/how well written his growth has been.

2) “Deku wanted to be a hero and he did nothing for it”. “He could have been a quirkless hero like Batman.” Listen, the story is about AFO vs OFA first and foremost. Hori has done a good job of worldbuilding and adding a cast of interesting characters that its easy to forget what the main plot point of the story is. But it really is about a weak/timid boy who was born with a sort of handicap who dared to dream to be someone strong enough to have others rely on him instead. A lot of the times people want to become something they feel they needed, someone who gave people hope just by existing. Its natural for someone who is ‘considered useless’ to want to be the most useful person ever. His mother didn’t believe he could do it, Bakugo told him repeatedly he shouldn’t even try, everyone else made fun of him, and his hero gave him a wake-up call, no... you can’t be a hero without a quirk. Deku studied heroes and quirks all his life, hoping he’d find something that could work for his advantage. Not every hero relies on physical strength, their bodies are adapted to the nature of their quirks. Deku’s analysis, quick-thinking and impulsive nature is what helped him progress even after getting the quirk because he didn’t gain control until really late. People act like he was handed power, seem to forget he has just learned to use it without consequences. His studies of quirks also made him the best candidate to get new quirks, quirks that he has learned to utilise as tools quickly and efficiently. He was doing what he thought was going to help him become a hero without guidance, without backing and constant discouragements. Its admirable and relatable. If you don’t relate to him that’s fine, your life was different.

Batman was loaded. Deku is not an inventor. The Editors shot that idea down because it would not have survived in a genre where power fantasies are the main hooks. Aizawa, sure he’s training Shinso because he sees his potential now but he would have either expelled Deku/moved him to General studies on that first day for scoring the least in that test. He changed his mind not because of Deku’s quirk but because of Deku’s ingenuity.

When Deku did find his guidance, he tried to do years of work/training in a short period of time. He acknowledges how far behind he is, that the rest are leagues above him and all he wants is to be able to stand side by side with those incredible people and he would go to all lengths to do so. DEKU has never said he wants to be the number one hero. He always says he wants to be one so reliable he saves people with a smile and later on, he wants to be a hero that can save without having other people worry about him. Bakugo works hard, he’s not just exceptional he works hard for it, all of 1A do but saying Deku does nothing when he is constantly shown, studying, training his body, understanding his shortcomings and working on it is just petty. You don’t like him because of his saviour complex, newsflash, that is a hero thing. Hero course is about that, Deku’s is just highlighted because of how often he gets hurt. How can you be a Todoroki stan and hate Deku (although to be fair its your right, I’m just making a point), the kid saw Shouto and decided that it was more important for Shouto to stop hurting and gave him a hell of a fight. I still remember Shouto’s smile, it gave me goose bumps.

Deku’s lack of self-preservation is a part of his programming so much that he hasn’t noticed it yet. Deku broke his bones, but he didn’t realise the permanent damage. When Deku got injured with Muscular, he was never intending to fight him alone. He wanted backup, his phone was broken and he wanted to get Kouta out and tried but Muscular gave him no opening. He was driven into a corner and fought his way out. Like Aizawa said, “He got that injured because he has no intention of dying.” Before rushing to find Bakugo, he informed his superior first, knowing she can spread the message.

The fight with Stain, he messaged his location to all his classmates, didn’t intend to fight Stain alone, just defend Iida long enough for help to come along. Fight with overhaul, he just wanted to get Eri away and when he understood Eri’s power, he gave her the opportunity to fight back against her oppressor by teaming up with him, keeping her secure with the cape made out of Lemillion’s hair. During the whole fight he was present-minded enough to take the fight away from civilians and managed to prevent damage and casualties. During Natsuo’s rescue he played support.

During the war arc, he realised with despair that Shigaraki was coming in all his destructive glory for him and tried to stop him before but he didn’t object to Bakugo joining him. In the movie Heroes Rising (the initially planned ending) he willingly gave OFA to Bakugo, because he trusts him with his life, and was willing to be quirkless again if that’s what it took to keep the kids safe, and himself and Bakugo alive. Its mostly been good decisions on his part.

Its the war arc that’s been his downfall. Watching his childhood friend/rival almost die, his best friend, his mentors almost die while he could barely hold Shigaraki back set off a fight or flight response in him. The seriousness of how Shigaraki came for him and left such death and destruction in his wake because he was not strong enough and AFO is a monster and the sight of Shigaraki and the reality of his situation pushed him down the current path. His solo arc started well because constantly training in the field has helped him master his quirk, and he had the backup of the vestiges who trained and guided him in learning to use it as a toolset instead of a one-punch solution. Then coming face to face with the flaws of hero society and the power, manipulative nature and destructive intentions of AFO has prepared him emotionally. He is not acting like AM, he hasn’t in a while. He is acting like NANA and i don’t blame him because she’s in his head. No adult stopped him from doing this, instead using him as bait to lure out the league.

When they started realising he’s spiralling out of control, that’s when they realised they messed up.

He’s running on adrenaline/fumes alone and I think he’s actually terrified.

“AFO is OFA’s responsibility” “Tell the world I am here” “You’re not as strong as me yet,” “You are not a worthy successor”

Deku isn’t self-centered and but I agree with the screw loose comment (its years of “you are useless, not good enough, not worthy and I bet a dozen or so concussions, bloodloss, dehydration lol). I know Bakugo means well and that’s how he talks. At the moment, he’s probably the only one whose sole goal is Deku’s survival. Deku’s like a wild animal, terrified, lost and as always backed into a corner. AFO has him where he wants him and I am curious to see how class 1 A are going to get through to him. I don’t want them to fight, all those fanarts of Bakugo reaching his hand out to Deku and then maybe punching him in the face would have been a lot better then the mocking (the slow clap was a little triggering for me) but again maybe it just bothers me and Deku needs it. I’ll just have to wait and see. Deku and his class together would be an unstopabble force and I am waiting for that to finally happen.

P.S. Class 1 A looks so mature, everyone going crazy about Bakugo and his tie and I’m here like, look at baby Kirishima and his roots <3

I’m sorry if I gave anyone a headache lol.

#bnha spoilers #deku #personal rant #character study #midoriya izuku #bnha 319 #mha

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umblebumble · 3 years

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Star Trek Daemons

These choices are based on the newer movie series (AOS) featuring Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto and Carl Urban, etc. I have only seen bits and pieces of the many previous Star Trek series, but I will use what little tidbits I have picked up to help with this selection. My choices are a mix of analysis matching (I like to use the Daemon Forum as a starting point) as well as thematic/plot things. Hope you like them! Please let me know what you think, and your own headcanons!

James Kirk - Indian blue Peafowl. Thematically, I think a peacock/peahen would tell us a lot about Jim and reflect his story arc very well. Peacocks are thought of to be vain, cocky, proud birds who strut around showing off. This seems like exactly what everyone thinks about Jim at first glance, the sort of air he gives off. But peacocks are much more than that, people just don’t realize it. I think that parallel works well since everyone starts by underestimating Jim to seeing past his showy-ness and growing to respect and appreciate him as their captain. Furthermore, peacocks are intelligent, bold, fearsome and very socially oriented. They can fly despite what people think, and they’ve been known to always perch just out of reach of predators. They’re loud and communicative, and will fight and defend what is theirs. They actually have spurs on the back of their feet. Mostly, peacocks are very social - they spend time in flocks or at least pairs, and Jim is a very social person who would do anything for his people, his crew. So mostly thematic reasons, but I think a peahen perched on the back of the captain chair would just really fit him.

Spock - Eurasian Lynx. To me Spock has always been a cat person in my mind: he just exudes the same aloof energy with hints of softness, playfulness and even sassy-ness in the right circumstances. However because he’s half Vulcan and they have that raw animosity and energy they work so hard to tame, I figured it would be a wildcat versus a domesticated one. Lynx’s are ambush predators and have been known to sit in trees and wait to drop on unsuspecting prey. This matches Spocks patience in planning and executing strategy. Lynx’s are solitary creatures, but are very good mothers to young - and while Spock is more of a loner, he cares deeply and passionately for those in his circle. Lynx are also found in all sorts of environments, making them adaptable and quick on their feet. Plus they have been known to hunt deer, showing their bravery and fierce power. Spock is also very technical and sassy and sarcastic when the mood strikes him, which just fits very well with a cat attitude in general. Personally, I like the image of an aloof Lynx at Spock’s side that betrays no emotion until they crack and go for the throat. (Additionally, Lynx’s are known for their tufted ears and I think that would be hilarious alongside Mr. Pointy-Ears himself.)

Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy - Canadian Goose. This one seems a bit odd, but just stick with me a moment. Geese are loud, bold, brash, hardy birds who are hard working, determined, and known for their short-fuse but deep care for others. It’s perfect for Bones. A goose migrates thousands of kilometres each year, and live largely in Canada through very cold temperatures. This makes them very hardy, and hard-working birds. Furthermore, geese - Canadian Geese especially - are known for their temper. They’re given a wide berth because they have clear boundaries and will loudly let you know when you even approach said lines in the sand. But under the abrasive defensiveness and loud protestation of the world, geese make incredible parents. They’re protective, defensive, and very loving to their children, or their flock, or their mate. Those they care about, they are a stalwart defender and provider, and will often immediately adopt any stray goslings that are a similar age to their own babies. Bones is crotchety and loud and stubborn and has a tendency to yell about anything and everything, but he’s determined and smart and a doctor - he cares for people and will fiercely protect those he claims as his. It’s an unusual choice, but once I thought of it I just can’t get rid of the idea.

Nyota Uhura - Steller’s Jay. Since these birds are a species of corvid, they sit among some of the cleverest bird species. Nyota is especially smart and aware of her surroundings, demonstrated by her ability to readily understand Spock’s techno-babble. Furthermore, the smarter an animal, the more mental stimulation and challenge they need, or they’ll get bored easily. Nyota seems like the hardworking type to constantly have something on the go. Steller’s Jays are very adaptable, and a little bit manipulative when they need to get something, which pairs well with Nyota’s drive and tenacity. Furthermore, Steller’s Jay is noted as being an accomplished mimic of both bird calls and other noises. This is a fun thematic parallel to Nyota’s unparalleled auditory and linguistic ability.

Hikaru Sulu - Monarch Butterfly. A lot of people would think that butterfly’s are delicate and emotionally sensitive people, but that is not true of monarchs. They have incredible migrating habits that indicate they are hardy and hard-working. And while they may be sensitive to and aware of their surroundings, they are not as emotionally delicate as they appear. These migrating habits are also rather specific, showing a value of control over things that thematically I like for a main pilot/Command division person. Monarchs are group oriented, and Sulu has a deep care for his crew and his family, thriving among others. While they’re not an aggressive creature, Monarchs are willing to take risks if the reward is worth it and are known for their “wander-lust” tendency to explore and adventure and try new things.

Pavel Chekov - Atlantic Puffin. Aside from being adorable, a puffin matches well with what I know of Chekov. Puffin are a more social bird and will have a good time in a group of any size, or even working on their own. They are also active and energetic, matching with Chekov’s youthful energy and constant work drive. While somewhat cautious in unusual scenarios, they are very proactive planners and are the kind to look before they leap - but they will take the leap. Puffins are dutiful and sensitive, and while Chekov is not shown to be some thin-skinned wreck, he is still very young and has some youthful optimism and outlook that leaves him a little more surprised by the jaded side of the universe. Mostly, I think a puffin is just very well suited to the young but hardy and capable man.

Montgomery “Scotty” Scott - Cairn Terrier. Terriers are smart, clever, stubborn, loud little dogs. They’re more independent than some other dogs, but are still very social. Terriers are very vocal about their thoughts and opinions, and are not afraid of putting others in their place and taking charge. Scotty is as sturdy as they come and is very good at what he does, equally willing and able to take over and run the ship engines as well as dive in after Jim in weird antics and crazy adventures. I picked a Cairn over another terrier type because Cairns are very curious and adventurous and are the perfect middle of the road terrier: not too stubborn, not too sensitive, not too independent, and not too daring. Scotty is the perfect mix of stubborn, sensitive, caring, independent, bold, brash, and cautious all rolled into one loyal, loud, eager terrier package.

*P.S I realize I have selected largely birds for this group, and it wasn’t intentional, I just found myself gravitating towards them. However, I have always equated birds with their wings and flying and freedom. I find birds are always a little more out going and adventurous and travel-hungry by nature, so I think finding a majority of birds on a space ship destined to travel the distant universe isn’t all too unrealistic.

#star trek aos #star trek #daemons #star trek daemons #daemon headcanons #daemon au

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tvandenneagram · 4 years

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Avatar the Last Airbender: Zuko - Type 6w5

Zuko is complex, emotional and holds a lot of self doubt. Throughout the series Zuko changes a lot as he learns who he is and becomes more sure of himself.

At his best, Zuko gains a sense of calm and a better sense of self (integrating to 9). By the end of the series, Zuko grew into a benevolent leader ushering in an era of love and peace. He finally realises the love he gets from Iroh and becomes truly happy.

At his worst, Zuko was bitter and jaded because of his exile. He carried a pompous attitude and had a fixation on regaining his birthright. Zuko would sometimes resort to dishonest means to achieve his goals or to secure his safety (disintegrating to 3). For example, he stole from the family who took him and Iroh in for dinner.

Even in the first season, Zuko was principled and loyal. There were numerous times when he had to choose between capturing Aang and the safety of his soldiers or Iroh and in every instance Zuko chose to leave Aang behind. Additionally, Zuko was banished because he felt the need to speak up because he felt it was wrong for Fire Nation soldiers to be sacrificed.

Throughout the series, Zuko experiences a lot of internal conflict and often behaves like a walking contradiction. For example, he would always say he was marked as unlucky but at the same time believe he made his own luck. This kind of duality and contradictory nature is something that is often seen in 6s.

Like Sokka, Zuko has shown himself to be quite strategic. For example, he successfully hid his movements from Zhao by using the damage done to his ship as a smokescreen. He was also able to evade an attempt on his life and make Zhao think he had died. Zuko is also able to think quickly and solve problems, such as using his swords to shine light on the sunstone.

Zuko was the typing that I struggled the most with, because he shares a lot of traits with other types. I have seen Zuko typed as a 4 and an 8, however the enneagram is about motivation and I do not think that Zuko fits the motivations of these types. For Zuko I was stuck between a 1 and a 6, because his main motivations were to regain his honour and to become accepted by his family again. Ultimately I settled on type 6 for Zuko over type 1 for a few main reasons. The first reason was that Zuko is very reactive and has trouble controlling his emotions. This is much more in line with type 6 than type 1, as 6s are part of the reactive triad. Furthermore a key characteristic of type 1s is that they repress their anger which is something Zuko is not successful with. Zuko often uses his anger as a sort of fuel for his actions and it is a driving force of his bending for most of the series. Another reason why I think Zuko is a 6 over a 1 is that he will resort to immoral acts if they need to be done more readily than a type 1. That said, Zuko does have an extremely strong moral compass and will always try to do the right and honourable thing. For example, he tries to save Zhao even though they are in the middle of an Agni Kai and Zhao had tried to assassinate him.

Type 6s often have complicated relationships with their father. Obviously this is evident in spades with Zuko (who at one point even called the Fire Lord the Father Lord). He was never treated well by his father but always wanted to earn his respect and approval. This is quite common in type 6s who often seek acceptance and approval from their parental figures. 6s seek stability and want to have a safe home. At the beginning of the series, Zuko has been exiled from the Fire Nation and has been told that the only way he will be welcomed back is if he finds the Avatar. This is essentially a wild goose chase as at the time he was given the mission nobody knew about Aang. Even so, Zuko doggedly pursued the mission as it gave him a false sense of hope of being able to return home. It takes Zuko a long time to learn that he will never get the acceptance he craves from his family and to appreciate Iroh's unconditional love.

Zuko shows his 5 wing as he is more reserved and aloof than a 7 wing. He is also more independent and will often push people away (like Iroh) which is unlikely in a 7 wing as they are more people-oriented.

Tri-type: 6w5 - 1w2 - 4w3

Some quotes to describe Zuko’s traits and motivations:

"I used to think this scar marked me – the mark of the banished prince, cursed to chase the Avatar forever. But lately, I've realized I'm free to determine my own destiny, even if I'll never be free of my mark."

"I've struggled for so long to do what's right; to even know what's right. [...] But asking you to end me if I went bad; that was like asking you to figure out right and wrong for me. [...] I understand now. The struggle isn't something a Fire Lord can escape."

"After I leave here today, I'm gonna free Uncle Iroh from his prison. And I'm gonna beg for his forgiveness. He's the one who's been a real father to me!"

“I finally have you [Aang]. But I can't get you home because of this blizzard. There's always something. Not that you would understand. You're like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. She's a firebending prodigy and everyone adores her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born. I don't need luck, though. I don't want it. I've always had to struggle and fight, and that's made me strong. It's made me who I am.”

"For so long, all I wanted was for you to love me, to accept me. I thought it was my honor that I wanted, but really, I was just trying to please you. You, my father, who banished me just for talking out of turn! My father, who challenged me, a thirteen year-old boy, to an Agni Kai! How can you possibly justify a duel with a child?"

[yelling angrily toward the sky] “You've always thrown everything you could at me! Well, I can take it, and now I can give it back! Come on! STRIKE ME! You've never held back before!”

“I’m angry at myself!

“I don’t need any calming tea! I need to capture the Avatar!”

“Why am I so bad at being good?”

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twoidiotwriters1 · 3 years

Text

Written In The Stars XCI (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I'd missed this silly goose! tho the actors in hp for some reason look way older so he looks like a baby but pls imagine Erick like this older-looking student bc he should look that way jdhfd -Danny

Words: 2,195

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Chapter Twenty-Six: Talk it out.

"Hagrid!" Hermione shouted. "Hagrid, that's enough! We know you're in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can't let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! Hagrid, get out here, you're just being —" The door opened. "About t — !" Hermione froze when she found Dumbledore there instead of their friend.

"Good afternoon," he said.

"We — er — we wanted to see Hagrid."

"Yes, I surmised as much," He said in amusement. "Why don't you come in?"

"Oh... um... okay."

Hagrid was sitting at the table, there were two mugs of tea. For the looks of it, he'd been crying.

"Hi, Hagrid," said Harry.

" 'Lo," he said lowly.

"More tea, I think," said Dumbledore, and with the flick of his wand, a tea tray appeared. "Did you by any chance hear what Miss Granger was shouting, Hagrid? Hermione, Mel, Harry, and Ron still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break down the door."

"Of course we still want to know you!" Harry said. "You don't think anything that Skeeter cow — sorry, Professor..."

"I have gone temporarily deaf and haven't any idea what you said, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking up to the ceiling with interest.

"Er — right... I just meant — Hagrid, how could you think we'd care what that — woman — wrote about you?" Hagrid cried silently, two huge tears falling down his beard.

"Oh, Hagrid, don't cry!" Mel's hand went to rest above his, looking almost comically small.

"Living proof of what I've been telling you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "I have shown you the letters from the countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it —"

"Not all of 'em," said Hagrid. "Not all of 'em wan' me ter stay."

"Really, Hagrid, if you are holding out for universal popularity, I'm afraid you will be in this cabin for a very long time. Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven't had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anybody?"

"Yeh — yeh're not half-giant!"

"Hagrid, look what I've got for relatives!" Harry said in disbelief. "Look at the Dursleys!"

"An excellent point," said Dumbledore. "My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practising inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not! He held his head high and went about his business as usual! Of course, I'm not entirely sure he can read, so that may not have been bravery..."

Mel looked at her uncle knowing that there was certainly more he could say about their family, but she remained quiet.

"Come back and teach, Hagrid," said Hermione, "please come back, we really miss you."

"I refuse to accept your resignation, Hagrid, and I expect you back at work on Monday," said Dumbledore, standing up to leave. "You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all."

When the Headmaster left the cabin, Hagrid sobbed for real, hiding his face behind both hands.

"Great man, Dumbledore... great man..."

"Yeah, he is," said Ron. "Can I have one of these cakes, Hagrid?"

"Help yerself," said Hagrid. "Ar, he's righ', o' course — yeh're all righ'... I bin stupid... my ol' dad woulda bin ashamed o' the way I've bin behavin'... Never shown you a picture of my old dad, have I? Here..."

Hagrid got up, went over to his dresser, opened a drawer, and pulled out a picture of a short wizard with Hagrid's crinkled black eyes, beaming as he sat on top of Hagrid's shoulder. Hagrid was a good seven or eight feet tall, judging by the apple tree beside him, but his face was beardless, young, round, and smooth — he looked hardly older than eleven.

"Tha' was taken jus' after I got inter Hogwarts," Hagrid croaked. "Dad was dead chuffed... thought I migh' not be a wizard, see, 'cos me mum... well, anyway. 'Course, I never was great shakes at magic, really... but at least he never saw me expelled. Died, see, in me second year...

"Dumbledore was the one who stuck up for me after Dad went. Got me the gamekeeper job... trusts people, he does. Gives 'em second chances... tha's what sets him apar' from other heads, see. He'll accept anyone at Hogwarts, s'long as they've got the talent. Knows people can turn out okay even if their families weren'... well... all tha' respectable. But some don' understand that. There's some who'd always hold it against yeh... there's some who'd even pretend they just had big bones rather than stand up an' say — I am what I am, an' I'm not ashamed. 'Never be ashamed,' my ol' dad used ter say, 'there's some who'll hold it against you, but they're not worth botherin' with.' An' he was right. I've bin an idiot. I'm not botherin' with her no more, I promise yeh that. Big bones... I'll give her big bones."

The kids shared nervous glances, but Hagrid kept talking without waiting for a reply.

"Yeh know wha', Harry? When I firs' met you, you reminded me o' me a bit. Mum an' Dad gone, an' you was feelin' like yeh wouldn' fit in at Hogwarts, remember? Not sure yeh were really up to it... an' now look at yeh, Harry! School champion! Yeh know what I'd love, Harry? I'd love yeh ter win, I really would. It'd show 'em all... yeh don' have ter be pureblood ter do it. Yeh don' have ter be ashamed of what yeh are. It'd show 'em Dumbledore's the one who's got it righ', lettin' anyone in as long as they can do magic. How you doin' with that egg, Harry?"

"Great," said Harry shakily. "Really great."

"Tha's my boy... you show 'em, Harry, you show 'em. Beat'em all..."

"But if it doesn't turn out as expected," Mel was quick to add. "Know that we are all proud of you as well, Hagrid. We love you very much."

"I'll follow Cedric's advice," Harry told her quietly before going to bed that night.

"Blimey, all it took was a crying Hagrid..." Mel raised her eyebrows. "Want help?"

"No," He replied. "Dunno... I'll let you know."

"All right," She sighed. "Good luck."

She had an important matter to attend that day in private and it could only be between her and Erick. She used the pocket watch he'd given her and informed him that she wanted to talk. On Monday, both students met at the far end of the library, Mel had no idea where to start.

"I won't apologize for what I said the other day, I know you hate it when I do that," She began, "but you're hiding something and I would like to know what it is, maybe I can help you?"

She was expecting many reactions, all except the one she got. Erick let out a long sigh and picked out of his bag one of the books she'd lent him.

"Persuasion?" Mel raised a brow.

"I take that you've read it?" He asked.

"I love it," She smiled at it. "The main character's name is Anne, right?"

"Yes," Erick shook his head. "The story... It made me think– What if I'm making a mistake?"

"What d'you mean?"

"What if I don't like Anne the way I think I do?" He elaborated. "I wrote and she wrote back every week, we never ran out of things to say, but the last week before going to my grandad's house she said something that... What if I just like her because she's the complete opposite of what my parents want?"

"I feel like those are unrelated, I'm not sure I follow," Mel frowned. "Since when you've been having doubts?"

"Since Anne and I started to talk more this summer. It's not exactly that I have doubts, I mean, I know I feel something, I just don't know what."

"I don't think there's a reasoning behind the people we like," She retorted. "...Right?"

"If there's no reasoning, then I guess it's all right, but if I'm supposed to have one... I don't have it. I can't tell why I like her."

"Well, you think she's pretty?"

"Yeah," Erick moved on his place awkwardly. "Although I think other girls are pretty too, and I could even get along with them as I do with Anne. If you were to ask me why I'm interested in her, I wouldn't know."

"But that's normal," Mel tried to calm him. "Love has no logic, that doesn't mean is bad?"

"Listen," He put a finger on the book and pointed harshly. "If I just like her because she's pretty and fun then it wouldn't be bad... Yet I think I'm around her because I know it'd make my parents mad, when I'm here, at school, I don't worry about her... I do wonder, but is not constant."

"So? I don't think about Harry all day."

"Aren't I supposed to be dying of solitude when I'm away from her? Maybe this is just a lie I tell myself so I feel like a normal guy, maybe I'm incapable of falling in love and Anne is just my excuse to be a bad son..."

There was a piece of paper coming out of the book, she took it without thinking. Erick kept rambling without looking at what she was doing and her eyes skimmed through the letter. The seams were so worn out that she could tell the boy had read it several times.

"Anne likes someone else..." She said quietly.

Erick's eyes landed on the piece of paper his face turned pale. "Give me that."

"His name's Stuart and he's nice...'" Mel read out loud. "Her boyfriend?"

"No," He said, seizing the letter. "He could be... but she's waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For me."

"And you don't want to say anything," Mel said slowly, "because you're not sure?"

"I can't be with her," Erick said with difficulty. "Not yet... I have two more years of school, even then I don't know when I'll be able to leave my parents' house..."

"But you like her."

"My parents won't approve."

"You don't have to tell them."

"I can't do that!" He said. "Imagine that Harry's parents were alive and they hated everything about you. That every time they see you they'd throw nasty remarks your way, and then Harry'd be out in the street with no money and without being able to give you a good life, imagine you're from two different worlds and nothing you have to offer can get him out trouble..."

"I think... I think we'd both be in pain all the time," Mel said quietly, "...Is that how you feel?"

"That's what will happen if I do the wrong thing," Erick ran a hand through his hair, ruining his neat curls. "I'd love to send a letter telling her everything... but we're young, I wasn't expecting things to move as fast as they did... she's great, she really is, but she doesn't even know I'm a wizard. There are too many secrets and I just think Anne deserves better. Maybe Stuart can do better."

"I think that in a way, you're right," Mel pushed the book towards him. "But I've seen you read and learn, get rid of so many prejudices just to meet her, not even knowing if she'd like you back... that has to mean something."

Erick supported his head in one hand, rubbing his forehead. "All I know is that if I pull her away from this boy without telling her everything... I'll end up ruining one of the best things that have ever happened to me."

"Then?" She frowned. "You're going to... you're just going to leave her?"

Erick swallowed the lump in his throat. "I want her to choose him... I'm not around anyway, I could even mention the ball and Daphne just to... to make her think..."

"You're gonna hurt her," She told him, not in a reproachful tone, but one that had to be said. "I guess this is the gentlest way you can do it... and it's not forever, right? I mean, if everything goes as planned, eventually you'll be able to try. It's meant to be."

"Meant to be?" He chuckled bitterly. "You sound too sure."

"I am," She responded sincerely. "You and Anne will end up together... just like Harry and me, if I'm lucky enough."

Erick gave her a look, a tiny smile on his lips. "Warming up to the idea then?"

"I've been too hard on myself and Harry," She shrugged. "I think life can be a fairytale if we do what we're meant to do."

"How are we supposed to know what that is?"

"Fate will find a way," Mel got up and patted his shoulder. "Just don't lose hope..."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

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hollywooduniversityalumnus · 3 years

Text

2. where are you now when i need you most?

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

Crew members wrapping for the day spilled out of the open-doored set of Love is Everywhere when she arrived. In lieu of the typical mid-morning lecture for Hollywood 101, the professor had arranged for a special off-campus field trip that evening to a studio warehouse for a tour with one of the producers. When he had announced it, Professor Hunt had emphasized the importance of arriving on time with a particularly snide side-eye at her, so to play it safe, she had shown up even earlier than he had asked of the class. Finding the doorway he had specified for them to wait nearby, she leaned against the adjacent wall, glanced at the time on her phone, and let out a heavy sigh.

It had been weeks since the masquerade, and that side-eye had been the only time he had dared to acknowledge her existence. But, to be fair, she hadn’t given him much to work with; her proclivity for exchanging quick-witted barbs and snark with him had all but vanished, something that had all her friends, but especially Addison, worried.

Margot’s phone rang, making her jump, the sudden movement startling one of the people exiting the warehouse with a big roll of fabric in their arms. Mouthing apologies, she rounded the corner and put the phone to her ear.

“Keep your phone on you,” Ethan Blake instructed. She could tell without seeing him that he was in full agent mode – his professional voice was different than his speaking voice – so she bit her tongue from making a sarcastic remark. “This is going to be huge. Huge.”

“What is?” she asked.

Ethan sounded like he was smiling, which made his professional voice sound a little less so. “That tape you sent in a few weeks ago has captured the attentions of a certain rising director and his casting director currently looking to hire for a highly anticipated art house horror film.”

Her heart leapt in her throat. “Ethan.”

“I know. Keep your phone on you,” he said. “Even if you have to wrestle with alligators, even if you have to punch Masika in the face, whatever it takes, just keep that phone on you. This could be It. The golden egg. The golden goose. The-”

“Have you been watching Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory again?”

Her agent’s voice went from professional to sheepish. “Perhaps.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll take no more of your time. Keep that phone on and on you. Call me as soon as you hear anything. And I mean anything.”

Once she hung up, she headed back to the doorway to find a handful of her classmates idling around. Beside the doorway, the professor and a man, presumably the producer giving the tour, stood. The man, upon seeing her, held out a light brown wicker basket.

“No phones allowed on set,” he called out.

Her eyes flickered to Professor Hunt’s, who immediately focused his attention elsewhere.

Subtle.

“Actually, I have a call I’m waiting for,” she said. “It’s really urgent. Would you mind if-”

“No exceptions,” Professor Hunt emphasized. “Phone. Now.”

Margot shook her head. “I may be getting a job offer. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

This piqued the producer’s interest. Lowering the basket to his side, he asked, “May I ask what offer you might be receiving?”

She felt Professor Hunt’s gaze burning a hole in her forehead, but she kept her attention firmly on the producer. She was not unaware that her classmates had begun listening in, apparently eager to see if she would finally stir the pot after weeks of being curiously silent.

“With all due respect, sir, I’d rather not disclose that information just yet. Don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch,” she said.

The producer looked her over for a moment. “Understandable. Just keep your phone on vibrate, and step away from the group if that call comes, okay?”

She nodded.

Turning away, she made a point to immerse herself within the growing crowd of classmates gathered by the door a little way from the two older men. Addison and a few other people whose varying projects she had helped with immediately absorbed her into their conversations.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

At precisely six p.m., the professor stepped before the doorway and clapped his hands once. That was all he had to do to command their attention. All conversations ceased and the class – minus a handful of students who would be dealt with later – focused on their stern professor and his producer friend.

“Listen up, everyone. We’re fortunate the producer, Jaxson Mitchell, is giving us this opportunity. That means you will behave in a way that reflects well on the university, no exceptions.”

Margot felt his gaze burning another hole in her forehead.

The tour began earnestly, with Jaxson taking the class through several of the smaller sets that had been erected in the studio warehouse for use within the next few days. Some of the sets looked like showcase rooms in furniture stores, but with a wall missing for viewing purposes. A few of the sets, like the ornate dining room that was to be used for an important monologue, were completely enclosed for the night, and they were allowed a brief peek into them before moving on.

She was keenly aware of her phone waiting in her pocket, silent and intimidating. Though she was enjoying the tour and the amusing anecdotes that Jaxson shared, she was desperately willing for the phone to ring.

“Here’s part of the ballroom set. We’re still working on it, but as you can see, its marble pillars and glazed tile flooring will help add a sense of extravagance to the climactic scene we’ll be filming in here,” Jaxson explained.

She looked at the ballroom set and felt her stomach twist. It was beautiful, albeit unfurnished and unfinished, and it reminded her far too much of the night she was hoping not to think of.

She didn’t dare glance up to Hunt to see if he was having any similar reaction to the ballroom set. He probably was as unaffected as usual.

At long last, the tour came to a close. As they all gathered by the doorway from which they had entered, Jaxson weaved through the class, handing back the phones. Once reunited, Jenni Whitman gave hers a kiss on the back of her glittery phone case. She chuckled to herself, then felt her whole body freeze up at the feeling of her phone vibrating urgently in her dress pocket.

Oh my God.

Oh my God!

Stepping back into the warehouse, away from the din of chattering classmates, she clapped one hand over her free ear and answered her phone. “Hello?”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

As he ticked off the attendance sheet on the clipboard in his hand, Professor Hunt tutted under his breath at the names of the no-shows who would be getting a very stern warning from him in the near future. Bianca Stone, of course, was one of them, but her father kept so many people in his pocket that any misconduct she did was waved off with little more than a slap on the wrist and, at worse, a ten-page essay that was more of a punishment for him to read and mark than it was for her to write (and he suspected it wasn’t even her writing it).

“What a nice bunch of students you have, Tommy,” Jaxson said, coming to stand beside him. “So polite. I can’t say I approve of how . . . attached some of them are to their devices, but that can’t be helped, eh?”

“Oh, Miss Whitman has a serious problem,” he said, setting the clipboard down. “God forbid she and her purchased social media following be parted for more than an hour.”

Jaxson laughed. “Cold as ever.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s been good seeing you.”

“And you as well. Thank you once again for allowing us onto the set,” Professor Hunt said. “Reminded me of old times.”

Jaxson smirked. “Any chance of there being any ‘new’ times?”

Professor Hunt cocked his head to the side. “I don’t believe so. Too much to critique, so many to teach.”

Jaxson nodded solemnly. Then he lifted his gaze past Hunt and into the warehouse. “Like her, for example.”

Hunt didn’t really need to turn his head to see who Jaxson was talking about, but he did so reflexively.

Miss Schuyler stood further into the hallway separating the sets, her phone clamped to her ear as though it was the only thing providing her life. Her elated expression betrayed her; she was clearly hearing something she liked.

“What’s that smile for?”

Hunt looked at Jaxson. “What?”

“That smile.” Jaxson was genuinely curious. “I’ve not seen a smile on you in ages.”

“You haven’t seen me in ages, either,” Hunt rebutted. “And it wasn’t a smile.”

Jaxson laughed. “It’s okay, Tommy, I get it. It’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Seeing one of your students spread their wings and fly.” Jaxson nudged him. “C’mon, man, don’t tell me you’re not happy for her. She must’ve gotten that offer.”

“She gets a lot of offers,” Hunt said evenly. He wasn’t wrong; within a month of her attending Hollywood U, she had managed to procure key roles for projects with pop star and wild child Lisa Valentine, action film star Chris Winters, and several other celebrities who had all found her work satisfactory or better.

“All the more reason to celebrate,” Jaxson said. “But look, I’ve just got to pop over to my car real quick with some materials, and then I’ll be back to get the doors locked for the night. Do you mind getting your student? I won’t be long; I’ve still got to stop at the grocery store.”

Hunt nodded.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Thank you again, Mr. Cattrall. I look forward to working with you. It’s actually somewhat of a career goal for me,” she said. “It’s an honour.”

The velvety voice of the director she would soon be meeting for a table read for his newest film sounded pleased. “Well, then I hope I live up to your expectations.”

Upon hanging up, she felt all feeling returning to her body, beginning from her unwavering, wide smile that was beginning to hurt her cheeks. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, her lungs rapidly filling and emptying, as she looked deep into the warehouse and let out a small burst of laughter at what had just transpired.

She was going to be in a Cattrall. A Cattrall! The Spielberg of art house films, he had burst onto the scene with riveting dramas and unsettling experimental horror films and had already won the Cannes Film Festival’s Grand Prix.

And he wanted her.

Still numb, but fizzing over with excitement, Margot did a little spin and promptly bumped into another body, which knocked her off-kilter.

“Sorry, I-” She looked up to find the man she had temporarily forgotten about.

Well, that was a nice five minutes while it lasted, she thought.

“Miss Schuyler. While I assume congratulations are in order, I believe we’ll have to make them outside,” Hunt said briskly. “This set is officially closed.”

“Right, sorry,” she said. “It’s just – I’m so happy.”

Margot heard herself say it and immediately cringed. It sounded so childish, as if she was amused by everything, like finding a dime on the ground.

“And what exactly has you so happy?” he asked. “A soap opera cameo? Dancer number three in a music video?”

Without thinking, she replied, “I don’t like to reveal all my secrets just yet, professor.”

They both froze in place as the memory washed over them, a crashing wave that knocked them both off kilter.

And then he was dragging her by the elbow to the first open doorway he saw on the set, which was, ironically, the ballroom set that had yet to be finished. Before she could open her mouth, he began speaking harshly in low tones.

“That night didn’t happen, do you understand? I’ve already said everything that needs to be said. Our circumstances haven’t changed. Nothing’s changed. I don’t know what you think is going to happen, but-”

They both froze again upon hearing the loud screech that interrupted his diatribe. Pushing past her, Hunt stepped away just in time to see the giant doors of the warehouse swing shut.

“Hey! Wait! We’re in here!” she cried from behind him.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

All but running to the door, he pulled at the handle desperately, but the cold metal refused to budge.

“Let us out, you idiot!” Hunt yelled.

But it was no use. Jaxson had swiftly locked up and gone, as quick and precise as he was when he used to work for Hunt. Except, clearly, he didn’t bother to check the set one last time to confirm that absolutely no one was present. He would have to talk to him about that later.

And then Hunt sighed.

No, he wouldn’t, because Jaxson had asked him to get his student out of there. Upon seeing the presumably empty set, he had assumed that the director and his student were well on their way. No fault but his own for pulling them away for privacy.

“Oh, great,” he muttered, turning to lean against the door. “Now I’m stuck with you for who knows how long on the set of this idiotic romance film.”

Petulant as always, Miss Schuyler narrowed her eyes. “There are worse ways to spend a night.”

“I assure you, there are not,” he bit back. “Let’s just find a way out as quickly as possible. I don’t want to have to deal with you.”

Logically, the back of the warehouse would have an emergency exit. With that in mind, he began walking, weaving around miscellaneous props and tables to get as much space between her and him as possible.

From behind him, she called out, “No offense taken, in case you were wondering. Assuming you actually have emotions, or a heart at all.”

You would know, wouldn’t you? he thought bitterly.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“Unbelievable. This is clearly a fire code violation. I’ll be drafting a strongly-worded email as soon as we get out of here.”

“If we get out of here.”

“We are not going to die in here. But someone will pay for this.”

The back of the building was glaringly bereft of exits, emergency or otherwise. As soon as Hunt had realized this, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying his hardest not to feel panicked at the low percentage of his battery.

Searching through his contacts list, he called Jaxson, but didn’t get an answer. He waited a minute and tried again, but to no avail.

Hm. Would Marianne still be at Faux Pas? he wondered, thinking of his magazine editor friend who was in town overseeing a shoot. This warehouse would be a bit of a detour from her drive home, but she did say she’d do anything for me.

No answer from her, either.

He huffed.

“No luck, huh?”

He turned to find her sitting on a prop chair, watching him with great interest. He rolled his eyes.

“Just look for a way out,” he snapped.

She stood, brushing off the skirt of her dress. “Prof- Hunt. Can we at least talk to each other like regular people instead of constantly being at each other’s throats? That’s going to get old fast if we’re stuck here for the night.”

He ignored that. “Perhaps there’s a side exit I missed.” He sped up his walking and felt dismayed to hear her shoes clicking against the floor as she followed.

“Who could blame a professor and student for talking when they’re accidentally locked on a set together? And we have to talk about . . . that night. Why can’t we?”

“It’s not about blame, it’s just-”

Seeing the handle jutting out from the wall made him feel relieved. But, upon pulling it and having the weak wooden door that had been propped against the wall almost fall on him, he began to lose hope that they weren’t getting out.

“Damn it!” he shouted to the fake door. And then a string of curse words that he usually wouldn’t dare to speak in front of a student, or really outside of his small circle of friends, but he didn’t feel dignified enough to stop himself.

They really were locked in for the night. And of all the rotten luck, it had to be them.

Behind him, she let out a long exhale. Then-

“Are you going to talk to me now?” Miss Schuyler asked.

His jaw clenched. “No. Not about that.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The lights shut off ten minutes later.

By then, Hunt had firmly seated himself in a chair by the only doorway, rifling through his contacts list for anyone who might be able to help them on short notice. He had managed to find a signal strong enough to send a few emails, one of which was a particularly strongly-worded note about the warehouse’s glaring lack of emergency exits to Jaxson and several of the studio’s warehouse managers, but as it was well past nine o’clock on a Friday, the chances of anyone answering before sunrise were slim.

In the only other chair they could find, the one she had been perched in earlier, Margot sat shivering in the cold air of the warehouse. She had not dressed like someone who had anticipated such a predicament, with no sweater or jacket to be seen. But she had pride, and she didn’t want to ask for his jacket, nor did she believe he would give it to her.

Her phone stayed in her pocket, brightness cranked to its lowest setting and on battery-saving mode. She was sure he was draining his phone battery with all the calls and emails. She didn’t want them entirely without means to contact anyone, and it seemed pointless to try when his attempts were failing. She silently thanked the universe for letting her have what must have been the last good signal to receive her call from Penn Cattrall.

When they were suddenly thrust into darkness, Hunt let out another swear word, one that made her smile despite herself. It was so strange and alien hearing him swear, like hearing Mr. Rogers or a Sesame Street character cuss out a kid or something.

And then he fell silent, and the whole warehouse was silent, and the shivers running up her spine were not just from the cold.

Margot sniffled. “Hunt?”

No reply.

The sound of shuffling, somewhere a little ways away, or perhaps closer. It was hard to tell.

“Can you say something please?” She hugged herself pathetically, feeling tears spring to her eyes as they failed to adjust to their pitch-black surroundings. “This really sucks.”

More shuffling. The sound of impact. Another swear word, murmured so low she wondered if she had heard him think it.

Then nothing.

The silence stretched on, broken only occasionally by the sound of scratching so faint that she wondered if her mind was making it up.

Tears slid down her cheeks. She was a grown-ass woman, but as the darkness swallowed her up, she felt dizzy, weak, like the child she once was, waiting, waiting . . .

Her stomach rumbled, and she instinctively curled up on the chair, knees to her chin.

It’s okay, she told herself. He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.

“Please, Thomas,” Margot whispered.

And then a brilliant spark broke through the darkness, living for one beautiful moment before extinguishing on the concrete.

And then another.

And another.

And then-

“Got it.” Hunt’s voice was a balm to her nerves. “Now, where are those candles I saw?” As he rifled around, bumping into things, she squinted at the little flame on the tip of the match he held, desperate to see anything – an eye, a cheekbone, his chin – to confirm that he was really there, and it wasn’t a hallucination. The flame was too small to make out any of his features, but its existence was enough.

She watched from her chair as he touched the flame to the wicks of several jarred candles he managed to find on a nearby table. As the candles began to melt, strong scents began dispersing into the room, clashing with one another in a way that made her feel dizzy, like after passing around one of Crash’s “Satanic cigarettes” after a night on the town. Cinnamon and spice, something tree-like, pumpkin pie . . .

Her stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear.

“Stay there,” he said, picking up one of the smaller candles. In the dim light she could see the sharp shadow of his jawline. “I’ll see if they left any catering.”

“Okay.” Her voice was hoarse.

He seemed to pause then. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just – let’s hope they have something. I didn’t really eat dinner.” She offered him a smile that was lost to the darkness.

She heard his footsteps recede, and his dim light faded into the darkness. Once she felt she was alone, she rested her chin on her knees again, squeezing her eyes shut as a few more tears pricked at them.

It’s okay. He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.

You’re not alone.

Margot took a deep breath of pine and citrus air and repeated it to herself until she heard his return.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He had never sworn so much in one night.

As his hip met the jutting corner of a table, Hunt found himself directing his exclamation of pain to the floor. Gasping, he leaned against the table for a moment to breathe and mutter a few more curses before continuing on his venture into the blackness.

All sense of dignity and professionalism had gone once that stupid fake door had almost knocked him down, and once the power went out, he felt his sanity slipping away like granules of sand through a sieve.

That is, until he heard her cry.

How weak Miss Schuyler’s voice had sounded, speaking desperately into the darkness as though he had somehow disappeared into it, leaving her beside herself, cold and scared. He had briefly considered giving her the silent treatment, but upon hearing that, he had shrugged off his jacket and was prepared to make the potentially treacherous journey of heading over to her chair to give it to her when his mind cried out to him, reminding him of the box of matches he’d confiscated from Spencer Yamaguchi a day earlier. What that boy, aptly nicknamed Crash, had planned with those matches, he did not know. But now, as he strained to remember where he had seen those obnoxious scented candles in the warehouse during the tour, he was grateful for the stunt major and his affinity for having campus contraband on hand.

He pulled the matchbox out and began striking the matches. The first few gave him no flame, and he wondered if perhaps he had confiscated a matchbox prop.

But then he heard it.

“Please, Thomas.”

The sniffle that accompanied those words conjured up a painful image that had seared itself into his memory. A woman in a beautiful blue gown standing before him, the glimmering night sky a backdrop to the tears sliding down her face, cowering as he yelled at her for deceiving him, for making him enjoy a night with her, for making him feel.

He didn’t like feeling. Didn’t like when other people made him feel. Only a few had been able to, but he had let them, because he-

Don’t think about that, he reminded himself.

He struck the next match with vigor, and the small flame that burst from it made his heart soar, even as it extinguished itself almost immediately. He let it drop and pulled another out.

Hunt shook his head as his next attempt also puttered out quickly. What kind of weak matches are these?

He worked through a few more matches, lighting them for seconds before they went out, until . . .

“Got it.”

Now he was on another search, this time for a crumb of food to feed the hungry woman he was unexpectedly stuck with for the time being. And, as he bashed his knees and hips against props and furniture that seemed to move directly into his path, he prayed that he would find something that would sustain her for the evening.

The mini fridge he found had a few large glass bottles of . . . something. Assuming they were not alcoholic – though, since this warehouse neglected to have an emergency exit, he couldn’t entirely rule out other blatant violations - he took them out and replaced them with a five-dollar bill from his wallet, hoping that whoever owned those drinks wouldn’t mind.

And then he felt his way around nearby until he nearly upturned a fruit bowl and took the lone banana within it. A paper plate close to the fruit bowl teetered over the edge of the table, but he set down his candle to catch it. Two slightly stale blueberry bagels and a few little packets of room-temperature cream cheese spread. More than he had expected to find.

He took great caution in maneuvering around the furniture he’d knocked into, but he still caught himself a few times on the hip. He had a death grip on the candle, the food plate held close to his chest. He hadn’t found utensils but was more grateful to have found anything at all.

As he neared the light emanating from the candles on the table, he heard her whispering. He didn’t have to strain his ears to hear her.

“He’s still here. Somebody’s still here.”

He set his candle down and she let out a yelp.

Pretending as though he hadn’t heard anything, he laid out the food on the table so she could see it. “I found some bagels and drinks. And a banana.”

Miss Schuyler emerged slowly from the darkness, barely illuminated from the dancing candle flames. Dragging her chair closer to the table, she sat and twisted the cap off one of the bottles. Her eyes met his as she took a long sip. Finally, she set the bottle down.

“Snapple.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Half and half. Half iced tea, half lemonade.”

“Oh.”

She pulled apart one of the bagels and ripped one of the cream cheese packets open before turning back to him.

“Are you coming to eat or what?” she asked.

For a moment, there was silence again, but then the screeching of chair legs against concrete made her wince. And then he was in view, sitting close – but not as close as he had weeks earlier – and unpeeling the banana enough to break it in half and take the top piece.

“The rest is for you,” he said. “I had the foresight to eat dinner.”

“Lucky you,” she drawled.

He sighed.

“Are we going to talk now?” she asked. She sounded defeated, already knowing the answer.

But they were the only ones stuck in that warehouse for the night. Just him and her, and no one would blame them for talking. Just himself, but he knew her well enough that she wouldn’t usually let up so easily. Something was wrong.

“About the masquerade? I suppose we could.” He chose his next words carefully. “As long as we talk about what happened a little while ago. When you were crying.”

“You heard that.”

“There’s not much else to listen to.”

She sighed, swallowing a bite of banana. “I would say ‘don’t feel sorry for me,’ but I already know that’s not going to be a problem.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“I’ll be right back. I promise.”

She had always been afraid of the dark, but her parents were determined to rid her of that fear. When her Dora the Explorer nightlight broke, her father refused to repair it. Her mother caved and bought her a new one, but only let her plug it in on school nights. For two terrifying nights of the week, she huddled under her covers, armed with her favourite stuffed animals and a flashlight she borrowed from the clutter drawer in the kitchen.

Once, when Margot was really afraid, and the world outside her window was dark and storming, her mother taught her how to pretend she was somewhere else. The sky was falling, but in her head, the sun bore down, warming her skin, the crashing waves of the beach they’d visited the day her father left disguising the thunder that shook the windows.

Later, her mother taught her how to pretend to be someone else, too. They were in a car, and her mother had put an itchy thing on her head made of hair the colour of straw. As she braided the dry strands, she wove a backstory for the new person she would play, a young girl off to see her grandmother for the weekend with her mother, and fed her lines to repeat to the border patrol officer.

“Can you do that for me, sweet pea?”

When the officer asked her questions, she parroted the responses with as much enthusiasm as a tired seven-year-old could muster when she was cranky from being in the car too long. The officer let the car through, and her mother rewarded her with an entire kid’s meal to herself. A few hours later, her mother chucked her free toy out the window for being too noisy.

The little house they moved into was really one room with plastic curtains separating the bathroom from the kitchen and the bedroom. They had to share the bed, but her mother let her keep the nightlight on.

It wasn’t working. Neither did the light switch, which was supposed to tell the eclectrickle creature in the ceiling to brighten up the bare bulb in the ceiling. There was no space for a clutter drawer in their kitchen, so she didn’t know where she would find a flashlight, or if they even had one.

The world outside the window was blotted out by the darkness, and with nothing to break through it, she felt achingly alone. No stuffed animals to snuggle, no covers to protect her from the cold. No mother to run to.

She’ll be back. She promised.

Every time she woke up after slipping into a sleep, she was alone, lying on her side on the barren mattress. No sign of her mother returning yet. She passed the time by counting the popcorn bumps on the ceiling and the ants gathering crumbs from the floor and slipping through the crack on the windowsill. But she didn’t keep count of the days passing. It really felt like one big endless one.

Eventually, a neighbour lady came knocking. She didn’t like that her mother hadn’t come back yet. Other people showed up, men and women with water and fruit and cookies for her. Just like Miss Peaches, they had a weird look on their face when she told them about her mother’s promise.

Miss Peaches gave her a room of her own, a bed piled high with stuffed animals, and all the food she could cram into her mouth. After many attempts at soothing her in the middle of the night, Miss Peaches gifted her a beautiful lamp that emanated a gentle glow. When she curled up in bed, she thought of the beach again, of her mother holding the hand of a girl with straw hair.

Pretending came to her as easily as breathing.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

“What happened to her?”

“My mother? I haven’t seen her since.”

He swore. “What about your neighbour?”

She kept her gaze focused squarely on her knees. “Miss Peaches died a few weeks before I came here.”

It sucked, losing a maternal figure twice. She really had grown to like her, even if the first year was rocky because she was still adamantly waiting. Miss Peaches had been the one to encourage her into acting and had cheered her on for the few roles she had in high school plays. When she got accepted into Hollywood U, she promised to be there for her first ever movie premiere, walking the carpet as her companion.

Another promise broken.

Hunt let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve been through it, huh.”

“And still going through it, clearly.” She chuckled to hide the sniffles. “Not a fan of the dark, obviously.”

“It should be afraid of you,” he murmured.

As weird a statement as that was, she felt the laughter bubbling from her belly. Looking up at him, her face split into a huge smile as she let herself laugh.

“What an idea. The dark being afraid of a person. I’ll have to run that by Cattrall. If anyone could pull it off, it’s him.”

“Penn Cattrall?” Hunt said. “The director?”

She nodded. “The phone call earlier. He wants me to be the lead in his next film.”

“Penn Cattrall?” Hunt repeated.

And just like that, any good mood she had dissipated. “Yes, the Penn Cattrall. Why does that surprise you so much? You’ve been monitoring my progress at Hollywood U, haven’t you? Seen all the projects I’ve contributed to? I’ve earned this and you know it.”

Silence.

Of course.

She turned her attention back to the Snapple. It must be the unsweetened kind, she mused, because the taste was slightly bland and-

“I know you have.”

Slowly, she looked back up. Hunt’s face was hard to read in the darkness, but she assumed he must’ve pulled his mouth into a grimace, like he always did once he said something he thought he shouldn’t have. She strained to see it on him now.

“Since you came to Hollywood University, you have been extraordinarily prolific with your projects. Though, obviously, you had to be in order to stay enrolled after the tiff you had with Miss Stone-”

“Her false accusation, you mean?”

He brushed off her interjection. “-That incident helped accelerate your career in ways that your fellow students only dream of. You’ve amassed an impressive catalogue, and your growth, both professionally and personally, is palpable with every credit.”

Though her cheeks warmed with his unexpected kindness, she sensed a “but” coming up.

“But,” he said, then paused thoughtfully. “You’ve got a long way to go still. A lot more to learn. Things you need to know to make sure your career has longevity and meaning. I have so much more to teach you.”

Her heart twisted.

“My place is behind the lectern, guiding you. Not . . . whatever it is that you think you want from me.”

The second part of his statement should have bothered her more than the first.

“No, it’s not.” She set the glass bottle on the table and straightened in her seat. “Your place is behind the camera. It’s what you were meant to do, it’s your passion!” She squinted at him. “I don’t understand why you retired. You were one of the greats. Are one of the greats, I mean.”

Hunt exhaled, a sound bordering on sadness. “Some things cannot be,” he said cryptically.

And then he stood, picked up his candle, and disappeared again into the labyrinthine set.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

He just knew the heart-shaped bed in the honeymoon suite set was a middle finger from the universe. Gaudy and overloaded with the cliché colour scheme of nauseating reds and pinks, the sheets were slippery silk and the pillows were fluffy from lack of use. He set his candle on the end table and pulled off his suit jacket, before remembering that he had meant to give it to her earlier.

He could practically hear Priya scoffing at him. “You’ve gone soft,” she had accused him, his office suddenly too small to have such clashing egos within it. He had denied it then, but now . . .

“So I tell you about my whole thing with the dark, and you leave me in it again?”

He winced at Margot’s harsh tone. “I was just-”

Standing in the doorway, she set down her own candle and crossed her arms over her stomach.

“And here I thought we were actually getting to know each other. We weren’t done talking. You said we could talk about-”

“We did talk about-”

“No, we didn’t!” She stepped forward, closer. “I know you feel something for me. And before you say anything, remember we’re not in class right now. You don’t have to teach me all the time. Don’t act like it’s your cross to bear.”

He didn’t budge, staring down at her with furrowed brows. “It is my job to always push you, to be firm if it means you reaching your full potential.”

“So you do care about me.”

“As a student. Look, this thing you feel for me, it’s just a crush. It’s fake love, the kind people eat up at the movies.” Gesturing around the room, he scoffed. “Look around this set! None of this is real, yet when this movie comes out, people will swoon for the romance as though real love can be like that. But it’s all fake. Manufactured. Lies.”

He heard her swallow hard. The next words she spoke came out weakly.

“My feelings for you are not fake. What I feel for you is more than just a formulaic Hollywood romance. It’s real. And real feelings are about spending time with someone and enjoying their company, even when you’re just eating stale bagels together. Sharing our vulnerable sides, our deeper thoughts. Trusting one another. Even when the other person is being ridiculously stubborn.”

He turned away from her, ignoring the pang in his chest as he did.

“Thomas.”

“Don’t,” he said, but his voice didn’t come out as stern as he wanted. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples. “I just want to rest. It’s clear no one’s coming until morning. Might as well take advantage of this silly set piece. I’m sure there’s another bedroom you can stay in.”

“You-” She picked up a pillow from the bed and screamed into it. “It’s not like I want this. I would love to not have feelings for my surly professor.”

“Great. Then it’s settled.” He primly pulled back the silk sheets and slipped under them, sliding a little too far from the texture. “Good night.”

He closed his eyes and stilled.

And then, once he heard her walk away, he opened them again.

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

She didn’t bother trying to navigate through the warehouse in the dark. Knowing her luck, she would probably trip and break her leg, or bleed out on some fancy imported carpet and get billed for the damages.

And Hunt would scold and scold, because that’s all he does, she thought bitterly.

For a while there, she might have thought they were getting somewhere. She didn’t expect him to do a complete one-eighty and want to dive head-first into a relationship or anything, but she did think that the progress they’d made would’ve lasted.

Two steps forward, five steps back.

Like she had done when she followed him into the garish honeymoon sweet set, she clung to the wall until she caught sight of the other candles still lit up on the table. Instead of sitting on her chair, she opted to slide to the floor, placing her candle beside her.

The warehouse’s temperature had dropped even more. She hadn’t noticed it earlier, but there was even more of a chill about the air. She hugged herself and tried to keep her mind off the cold. She tried to imagine the beach, then any other memory that included the sun and its blessed warmth.

None of it worked.

After what felt like an eternity of grinding her chattering teeth together, she pulled out her phone and turned on the screen, blinking at the bright light. Just past midnight.

It was going to be a long night.

“Your cell phone has been charged this whole time?”

Hunt stood over her, jacket draped over his shoulder.

She curled her knees up to her chest. “I was just checking the time. Still no signal, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Did you think to try to call or text one of your little friends to help us?” he asked. “You could have tried. I did.”

“I was watching you drain your phone battery and thought it might be a good idea to preserve mine.” She rolled her eyes. “Go back to bed, professor.”

She heard him step closer. Then, something draped over her lap, a shock of warmth and textures with an exquisitely quilted inner layer. Instinctively, she snuggled underneath it, but she looked up at him in confusion.

“There are enough pillows to make a barrier,” he said quietly. “That way we won’t touch at all, and we can both get some sleep. Come along.”

“Seriously?” she asked.

He held out a hand, an olive branch. “Seriously.”

🎬🎬🎬🎬🎬

The screech of the warehouse doors opening startled them both from sleep. Jackknifing out of his lying position, he immediately dove for the suit jacket that had fallen to the floor as he slept. She was a little slower to get up but finally stood and dusted herself off.

“Tommy?”

Hunt clenched his jaw. “In here.”

Seconds later, Jaxson warily poked his head through the doorway, apprehensive of the wrath he was sure to receive from his old friend. What he didn’t expect was the presence of the student, groggily rubbing her eyes with the back of her hands at the opposite side of the room. But seeing the disturbed sheets and pillow strewn about the heart-shaped bed and the deliberate space between them now, he couldn’t help but smirk even as Hunt stalked towards him.

“Where do I even begin?” Hunt seethed. “Who was the absolute idiot who approved of this studio warehouse’s design? I need numbers, and I need them now. This is absolutely unacceptable . . .”

As Hunt began his rant, Jaxson watched as the student slipped past them and through the doors, bringing her phone to her ear as she walked.

#thomas hunt #thomas orson hunt #hollywood u #only fools fall for you #fanfiction #please let me know if the clapboard emojis are a stupid way to separate the scenes #i'm trying y'all

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dlrzhs0627 · 3 years

Text

so to pass the time, i’ve been rewatching sherlock holmes the bbc show.

and i am about to write what i think was sherlock’s “love at first sight” moment with john.

(fyi i created this tumblr account Just to publish this i hope you can read it)

about 50 minutes into the first episode we have john and sherlock sitting at the table, their waiter (the owner?) is serving them, appropriately he says “...for you and your date.” typical sherlock says: “do you want to eat?” john says instead: “I’m not his date.” not the first time that sherlock and john’s relationship is implied to be gay in the show, but probably the most prominent one in this episode. after the “date” quip, john inexplicably says: “boyfriends, girlfriends... do you have a boyfriend?” And Then he adds: “which is fine, by the way.”

sounds like just a nice, polite, bit cautious something that a new friend would say. and sherlock only replies: “i know it’s fine.” there’s even a bit of a smile in his voice: I know it’s fine, John, it doesn’t bother me. he sounds... like he’s flirting. even the little way he turned his head towards john when john first asked him if he had a boyfriend looks like he’s flirting with john, his head is partially (if not fully) turned towards john, and john’s smile could mean anything. but of course we can’t pin everything on a flirtatious tone of voice. so john continues: “so you’ve got a boyfriend, then.”

immediately, sherlock replies: “no.” this part could almost obviously be put in here for comic relief; it’s funny how sherlock replies immediately, like he’s scared john would think otherwise. but he’s sherlock holmes, and john is just his flatmate, albeit one that he asked specifically and with no room for rejection to follow him on a wild goose chase across a few streets in london. why would he need to be scared? because he might think of john as a bit more than a flatmate? like john has a place in his heart that weighs heavier than what a simple flatmate would weigh? but of course, maybe it’s just for laughs, the writers must have fallen out of their seats writing this.

then we have john’s adorable “You’re unattached, like me. Okay. Good.” and his little ahem, his too-loud eating for the suddenly-silent atmosphere around the table. sherlock is looking out the window, at the street — right? his eyes are a turned a little too down — like he’s thinking. and then he snaps his head back to john. explains: “I’m married to my work... flattered... not looking for...”

now. john shakes his head, almost immediately, but in a calm way, like he believes it, “no, no... i’m just saying, it’s all fine.” he doesn’t reiterate it, but he looks up at sherlock, properly, and everything in his eyes is honesty. earnest. it’s all fine. whatever you are. it’s all fine with me — i think everything that you just did was brilliant. maybe not leaving me at the crime scene all alone, but your deductions, the confidence, how you simply carry everything out so efficiently we’re all left in the dust of your wake. and sherlock just stares at him, eyes darting a little, like he’s trying to see if john is telling the truth. if he’s really fine with it all. and, seeing nothing, he nods, almost imperceptibly: “Good.” then he looks back, but suddenly again he looks at john, blinking. just like when you’re looking at someone, but you turn your head away too fast, so you have to look back because you didn’t see your fill. sherlock looks back to the window instantly afterwards... like he’s embarrassed. is he embarrassed because of the strange topic, or because he was caught off-guard by john’s words? is he thinking: Oh. Oh. Good. Brilliant. is he recalling the first time john called him amazing, wonderful, in the taxi, and few had ever called the prodigal introverted Sherlock Holmes “amazing”, ever.

so he looks again. to see if john is still looking at him with that expression. like he was trying to tell sherlock: It’s fine. It’s all fine. to me. it doesn’t matter.

sherlock says: thank you. putting an end to the conversation. eyes focused on the window. the not-date for dinner with a flickering candle, his not-date looking off awkwardly into the distance. you could say benedict’s panicked glances were instinctive, like an eye twitch, but there could be tens of takes for once scene in a tv show. and perfectly, they chose that take to be shown in the final episode. filled with little details for people like me to pick apart until it seems ludicrous, “boyfriend?” “flattered.” “It’s all fine.”

i might put “It’s all fine” as my bio.

basically. i feel that sherlock fell way hard for john at that famous “date” scene, when john indirectly told him that he wouldn’t judge sherlock for being prodigious or rude or gay or straight. although he does get furious at sherlock in future episodes when sherlock does dumb stuff. but he won’t leave sherlock, or shun him, or become immensely infatuated with him until it ruins his own common sense, or pay people to spy on him. and he might be one of the first people in sherlock’s life to do so. their relationship is based on mutual respect, like in the books, although obviously it doesn’t seem that way — this scene is the first time sherlock thinks of john, as a person (although this sounds callous), and if you look close enough you can see his heart pounding, amazing, like everything his character is. in my opinion. i could just be looking for johnlock moments in places where there aren’t any. either ways i ship johnlock more than sherlock and irene, i don’t even know their ship name. thank you for reading.

#sherlock #bbc sherlock #john watson #sherlock holmes #sherlock and john’s first fall in love at first thought???#anyhow write one #please read #a study in pink #johnlock

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detroitbydark · 5 years

Text

Title: A Collector

Characters: Mob!Haz/Reader

Word Count: 2400+

Summary: Sometimes love means being blind. Sometimes it means having your eyes wide open.

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I blame this completely on @hazshauntedbelle (also the moodboard is all hers because she's a genius.) Never intended for this to be as long as it is but it kind of wrote itself. I suppose it could be a precursor to my other Mob!Haz piece.

You walked into love with Harrison Osterfield with eyes wide open, never under an illusion he was anything other than what he was, a killer and a mobster. For his part he didn’t try to force rose colored glasses over your eyes or blinders to hide the shit he did.

The day you’d met him you’d been sent along with one of the galleries appraisers to look at a piece he was thinking of auctioning at an upcoming charity event. You were young, barely out of school with an art history degree and a ton of student debt. You’d been hired on as a junior appraiser, an understudy of sorts to the paunchy old man with the droopy face who’d held the position since the days of methuselah. Your heart ticked up a notch as the towncar passed through the iron gates with armed guards on either side. In your line of work confidentiality was of the utmost importance but the guards and the wrought iron O on the gate had been an easy giveaway. Osterfield. The name was synonymous with the London mob and decadence. Even before the heir to the throne, Harrison, had taken over the family business it was a known fact that you didn’t cross an Osterfield or turn down one of their invitations. An invite to an Osterfield party or even was worth its weight in gold. Everything they did was exclusive. Everything they were was high end.

You’d followed dutifully behind the appraiser as he was welcomed in, keeping your head down and taking notes as you’d been instructed. A baby faced brunette with a gentle smile had shown you into the study where a handful of paintings had been set up on stands to be assessed. You’d nearly had a heart attack at the names that surrounded you. Matisse. Picasso. Pollock. Klimt. It was almost too much for you to bear, so much beauty in such a small space. You missed Harrison when he’d entered but he hadn’t missed you as you stepped softly from one painting to the next, your fingers ghosting over strokes and absorbing the colors and textures.

“Beautiful, yeah?” His voice had startled you and you nearly dropped your notebook. It had brought an easy smile to his face. You shot the appraiser a look but he was already moving about looking at the different works.

“It’s a wonderful collection.” You’d said softly. Harrison had moved closer to you, nearly shoulder to shoulder as he turned and looked at the painting you’d stopped in front of. It was one of Pollock’s.

“Why this one?” He’d asked and he expected an answer. Men like him always did.

“I like the abstract expressionists.” you answered softly and felt rewarded but his hum of agreeance. “I like beautiful things.” you added as an afterthought.

“So do I.” He turned his head, blue eyes boring into yours. ”But why this one?”

You were never sure what made you answer so honestly, what made you answer the way you did.

“The red reminds me of blood spatter.”

When an Osterfield liked something they didn’t let anything get in the way. Harrison moved quickly securing you as his own. From the moment he laid eyes on you he knew you were meant to him, hand delivered by the Gods. You were a delicious package both gorgeous and wickedly intelligent. You kept him on his toes. You made him want to take over the world if only to offer it to you on a silver platter.

He liked that you weren’t a society girl. You didn’t come from money. You’d worked to get where you were. He liked that you appreciated everything he did for you. He enjoyed lavishing you with gifts and taking you to nice dinners and parties and the way your eyes would light up when he surprised you with box seats to the theatre. He enjoyed your wonder at the finer things in life, you never seemed to grow accustomed or jaded. You never questioned his life style, never tried to talk him out of his life of crime. You stood by his side regardless of what wicked things he’d done and would do in the future. You had a zest for life and the beauty in even the darkest parts of it. Harrison liked to collect beautiful things, surround himself with them, and you were his pride and joy.

You knocked lightly at the office door and heard a muffled call for you to come in. The morning sun was just beginning to spill in through the window at Harrison’s back and it bathed him in light more becoming of an angel than the devil you knew him to be. He was your devil though, your fallen angel, and your heart sang as he beckoned you in. you press the solid wood door shut before padding over to his desk. He pats his knee, never glancing away from his open laptop on the desk. Obediently you sit down and his arm comes to wrap around your waist, his fingers brush against the soft sild of the robe you’d worn. He holds the phone away from his mouth just long enough to place a pair of soft kissed against your collar bone where your robe had fallen open. You lean against his chest, fingers toying with the fine hair at the back of his neck as he continued to talk on the phone.

“Two things William.” he growls out, the sound reverberating through his chest. You hear the talking on the other end cease. “First, you don’t ever interrupt me when I’m talking to you. You got me?”

You hear a muffled response on the other end of the line. You loved seeing Harrison like this. When he was alone with you he was soft and doting but outside of your little bubble he could show no weakness. He was the boss and anyone who didn’t listen was likely to find themselves wishing they had. He demanded respect and obedience or else there was a price to pay.

“Second” He continues, “Figure out how to unfuck this situation…” Something about the control in his voice, the threat in his tone did something to you. You squirmed lightly in his lap, feeling the beginnings of your own arousal start to dampen your panties. Harrison’s hand squeezes your hip, stilling you. You bite your lip lightly.

“William, I don’t want to hear your fucking bullshit, yeah? This is your fault…” Harrison sighs loudly, it’s a bored sound but you know it’s really the sound he made before he was done with whomever he was dealing with.

“Interrupt me again and I will come down there and put a bullet between your fucking eyes” he promises with a sudden burst of anger that has goose flesh breaking out across your arms, you clamp your thighs together. It was sick to be so turned on by your boyfriend threatening someone but you didn’t care. He glances over at you and raises an eyebrow. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips. A knowing smirk grows across his smug face. “Good that’s more like it.” he says into the phone after a moment of watching you. His attention goes back to his computer as you try to wait patiently.

The conversation continues for another few minutes, your nipples are hard and peaked, pressing against your robe and you are unbearably wet as he wraps it up. When he sets the phone down he turns to you.

“Good morning, Angel.” He says lightly, a hand trails from your knee up your inner thigh, nudging you open.

“Good morning, Darling.” You respond with a soft inhale as his fingers reach the damp fabric of your panties and stroke lightly over them. You’ve always thought his hands were a magical experience. Dexterous fingers with a knowledge of what it took to drive you wild, fingers that would just as soon wrap around his enemies throat as he choked the life out of them.

“Angel, you're absolutely soaked.” He notes, teasing your sex through the fabric. He plays like he’s shocked. “The thought of me putting poor William out of his misery get you all hot and bothered, love?” You sigh out his name softly.

“Love seeing you take charge. It gets me every time.” You admit as a finger slips under the hem of your panties and dips into your folds. You cant your hips trying to get him to touch your clit or slip a finger inside of you but he doesn’t and you pout prettily. “Haz…. I want you baby.” His warm breath tickles against the column of your throat as he chuckles.

“Such a needy little girl for me, aren’t you?” You feel his fingers slip away from your body and you whine at the loss, than they’re pressing against your lips demanding access. You suck his fingers, slick with your own arousal as he watches. Your eyes flutter shut as you think of something else you’d like in your mouth, imagine the tang of your juices is actually the bitter bite of his release.

Harrison removes the digits from your mouth, lets them trail down over your chin. Moving lower, they slide between your breasts and stroke softly before he’s pushing open your robe. He tuts quietly.

“Naughty girl. Just your panties and robe? Did you have something on your mind when you came in here?” The smug grin on his face lets you know he’s pleased with you and it makes you that much more desperate for him. You loved making Harrison happy, loved giving him what he needed. You nod silently.

“Why don’t you slide off my lap and put your hands flat on the desk. Can’t leave my girl such a needy mess can I?” His strong hand strokes against your cheek as you smile brightly at him. He always knew what you needed. He always made sure you were taken care of.

You let the robe slip from your shoulders as you stand, your hands going flat on the mahogany desk in front of you. Harrison’s hand smooths along your bare back and you can’t help but arch back at the feeling. He chuckles darkly as you hear the familiar ‘shink’ of the switchblade he always carried on him. The cool metal against your skin makes you whimper as he slices your panties at each hip. They fall away and you’re left bare and open to him.

He takes his time admiring you. His hands squeeze the round globes of your ass and he quietly hushes you as your whining gets louder.

“Almost time, Darling.” he soothes as you hear the rustle of his belt buckles and the zipper of his pants. The solid length of him presses against the cleft of your ass and your ready to beg for it, wherever he wants to put it just so long as it’s inside you. A strong hand pushes your upper body against the desk as he guides the tip of his erection up and down your sopping folds. The wood of the desk is cool against your breasts in stark contrast to the heat radiating from his cock as It bumps against your clit. You nearly cry out as he strokes his head over the tiny bundle of nerves. Finally after he’s brought you to the edge of sanity he slowly readjusts and slips inside you. It's a stretch to accommodate him. He’s thicker than any man you’ve ever been with. He doesn’t give you time to adjust as he begins rocking into you, hands dropping to your hips as you press back to meet his thrusts.

“That’s right. You needed this didn’t you?”

You cry out “yes” and how much you’d wanted him inside you.

Harrison liked keeping a running commentary. When you made love he was full of soft encouragement, whispered affection, words of adoration. When you fucked he praised you, told you what a good girl you were for taking his cock so pretty or how good you were going to look with his seed dripping out of you. It had come to the point where you were sure his voice and the words alone were enough in themselves to get you off.

“My sweet girl.” He breathes out as a hand moves from your hip, tangling in your hair. He pulls back. Your chest comes off the desk. You feel the buttons of his shirt press along your spine as his body melds to yours and he mouths at you neck.

“Mine.” he growls, “Say it, Angel.”

“I’m yours! Only yours!” Your cries are broken as his other hand leaves your hip and moves to your breast. His fingers twist and pluck at you nipple. You feel your body clamp around him, hear his ragged groan in your ear.

“I would kill for you, Darling” He rumbles in your ear, nipping at the lobe as he fucks up into your willing body. “It makes you hot knowing I’d fucking end someone for messing with you, doesn’t it?”

“Haz...God...yes…” You manage to choke out as your own hand slips between your thighs and begins circling your clit in quick, light strokes.

“I’d fucking die for you love, before I ever let another man lay his hands on you.”

He is all but snarling as each snap of his hips presses yours against the desk. You feel a ball of pleasure growing low in your belly, wrapping around your spine, your muscles tightening with each thrust.

“Tell me what I need to hear, love.”

“I love you Harrison….fuck…. I love…” the words are cut off as the building tension suddenly snaps and your falling apart. Only Harrison’s strong arms banding around you keeps you upright as his own rhythm falters. You're panting and shaking in his grasp. “Please, love, fill me…”

You hear a choked sound escape from him as he buries himself deep inside you. Your body squeezes him as he pumps every drop of his load against your cervix.

You both pant heavily as he begins to soften inside you. His hands run adoringly over your naked body, his touch like that of a ghosts. It reminds you of the way you’d been with the paintings the first time you met.

He slips out of you and quickly fixes his pants. When you finally have the strength to stand up you see he’s sat back down and is watching his cum slide down your thigh with rapt attention. His eyes follow your index finger as it scoops some up and you lick it off. A groan escapes his lips as his eyes flutter shut. You smile innocently at him as he scoops your robe of the floor and holds it open for you to slip into it. When your back turns to him he wraps his arms around your waist and kisses your head softly.

“You know I was serious about what I said. I’ll fucking end anyone that ever tries to take you from me.” he murmurs against the crown of your head. You snuggle back into his protective embrace. A smile plays at yours lips as you turn in his arms.

“I know.”

#harrison osterfield #haz osterfield #mob!haz #detroitbydark #harrison osterfield fic #haz osterfield fic

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missbrightsky · 4 years

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Chasing Tails

Fics Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2: Feyre

It was nearly impossible to keep a straight face as I announced my plans to marry and how I was picking a husband. The women looked upon me with contempt while the men’s faces were open with intrigue and determination.

I stood in the dim hallway that led to the balcony, gathering my nerves for the night ahead. Now that I had shown my face and made my declaration, it was time to meet the masses, which will no doubt nearly drown me.

One breath after another, Mother trained you for society. I took a final, steadying breath and lifted my chin, making my way to the stairs that will take me to the ballroom floor. The quartet had taken up the music again, a gentle, sweeping piece but conversation nearly covered the notes.

Bright light temporarily blinded me as I stepped onto the floor, but that was much more preferable than the looks that were thrown my way.

Who will be brave enough to ask me to dance first?

I quickly had my answer when a tall man shouldered his way through the crowd. His long, blond hair was tied back in a simple ponytail at the nape of his neck, but his clothes oozed wealth. A rich brown jacket was snugly fitted over a forest green vest with matching breeches. He had piercing green eyes that took in my form but left a film of grime that had me wanting to retire early and take a bath.

He stopped before her, bowing low. “Hello Miss Archeron, I am pleased to meet you. My name is Tamlin O’Toole.” His grin was a bit too sharp to be called friendly.

She curtsied in response, “Pleased to meet you, Mr. O’Toole.”

“Will you do me the honor of being your first dance partner?” he asked, offering his hand.

“But of course,” even though you’ll actually be the second, I added silently. I let him guide me the short distance to where half the room was currently dancing, trying to ignore that everyone was looking at us.

I positioned my left hand on his shoulder and rested my right in his hand. Despite his slightly disconcerting presence, he was still a graceful dancer and lead her through the steps without fault.

“So, Miss Archeron, do you really intend to lead everyone through this wild goose, or cat, chase?” he questioned, his tone mocking.

“You must think it silly, Mr. O’Toole,” I simply replied, it was only natural that some people would poke fun at the challenge.

“I must confess that I do. Why have a perfectly nice gentleman jump through the hoops of catching your cat rather than court them the usual, and proper, way?” it was obvious that he was referring to himself, but I skipped over the insinuation.

“Believe it or not, it’s actually a tradition in my family, to come up with a quest,” not the complete truth but only the winner of my challenge will get to know the true answer.

“A tradition you say, and you have no intentions of breaking it?” he pressed further still. As handsome as this man was, his manner was starting to grate on my nerves.

“Yes, I have no intentions in breaking my family’s tradition, lest I be shunned for the rest of my lifetime.” I was starting to count down the measures until the song ended and I could escape to a more pleasant partner.

“Well if you marry the right man, you won’t have to depend on your family, you will have your husband to support you,” he countered, thinking that his logic was infallible.

“Perhaps, but there are no certainties in life.” Thankfully the final notes floated off of the violin strings and I bid Tamlin goodbye.

The next several hours were filled with similar conversations, men thinking that there were simpler ways for me to pick a husband. I could only brush off their questions and comments, handling them with as much grace as I could muster. Mr. Night did not appear again to ask me to dance. I tried to ignore my irrational disappointment.

Any time that was not spent on the dance floor, I was sipping on a flute of champagne and trying to find at least one sensible woman in the crowd that I could hold an intellectual conversation with, but those moments were few and far in between.

The grandfather clock in the hall was striking just past one in the morning when I was finally able to slip through the crowd to the buffet table without being stopped. The last time I ate was lunch and even then that was only a few bites. If I was going to last any longer, I needed no less than three lemon tarts in my stomach.

There was the only one left that got snatched up by a golden hand when my fingertips were only inches away. I strangled a cry from escaping my throat, as that would be improper behavior of a hostess in the middle of her own party.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry, here,” a voice said as they slipped the tart onto my plate. I startled, looking up at the person that had returned my last hope at sanity. She had gorgeous gold hair that was pinned half up, half down, ringlets slightly damp from the heat of the room. Her amber eyes glowed in the light, liquid and warm.

“Oh, thank you….”

“Morrigan Night,” she finished.

“Ah,” my heart fell a little. She must be Mr. Night’s wife. I internally scolded myself for being so taken with a man that I only danced with for a few minutes and also had a wife. “Thank you, Mrs. Night, I haven’t had anything to eat all evening.”

Morrigan let out a surprised laugh, her eyes sparkling with amusement. I gave her a confused look, unsure of what I said that was so funny.

“Sorry, Rhysand Night is my cousin, not my husband, although it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re new to the town. He danced with you earlier, correct?”

I only had a second to rein in my relief, “Yes, it appeared that I saved him from an unwanted dance partner,” I said with a small grin.

Morrigan returned my grin, “Indeed, that was Ianthe Prion. She tends to ask my cousin to dance even when she knows that he does not enjoy her company.” She leaned in like she was sharing a scandalous secret, “She hopes to marry him someday but has yet to catch on that there isn’t a chance in hell for her.”

We shared a laugh at this woman’s ignorance. “Well how about you gather some more food and come join us at our table, you can meet the rest of the family and catch a break from dancing, I’m sure your feet are about to fall off.”

My chest warmed at this woman’s friendly words. She was so genuine and grounded that I couldn’t help but agree. Morrigan stood guard for me as I filled my plate with a few more pastries and other food.

Once my plate was sufficiently piled, she led me through the still thick crowd to the ballroom, where a few men were lounging at the table. I recognized Rhysand and gave him a friendly nod.

“Look who I found,” Morrigan announced. “I’m sure everyone knows who Miss Archeron is at this point so allow me to introduce my other cousins. Cassian Monte,” a gentleman with a roguish grin and long brown hair tied back rose to kiss my hand, even going as far to wink, “and Azriel Shade,” the other gentleman had the same shade of brown hair, only shorter, but his face was more reserved. Not cut off and distant, but quiet and peaceful, someone I could sit in hours of comfortable silence with.

“Pleased to make you acquaintance,” I said with a curtsy, setting down my plate. “It’s good to see you again, Mr. Night. No more dancing with unpleasant partners I trust?”

“None as so pleasant as you, Miss Archeron,” he replied smoothly. It appeared that any earlier awkwardness had faded away and been replaced with easy grace.

I only allowed myself a small blush at his compliment and instead turned my attention to my food. Handsome men were fun to talk with, but my stomach demanded more attention at the moment.

The others sensed my need for a moment of quiet and continued their conversation around me. I could still feel eyes on me, but they were gentler and less pressing than the others that I’ve felt all night.

Once at least half my plate had been cleared, I returned to the present topic at hand.

“I still believe that I can ride a horse better and faster than you, Mor,” Cassian argued. “Remember that I beat you when we were racing in Mr. Beechamp’s field.”

“When we were nine!” Morrigan exclaimed, “That was the first time that I didn’t have to ride side saddle so of course I wasn’t at my best.”

Cassian waved his hand, “Still, you've hardly improved since then.”

“Fine, two days from now, we will race again and then we shall see who the best horsewoman is.”

“Or horseman,” Cassian corrected.

Morrigan leveled a glare that would have flattened a lesser man, but Cassian only returned it with a smirk.

“Twenty marks on Mor,” Rhysand interjected, earning him a glare from Cassian.

“Thirty marks on Cas,” Azriel countered.

“And what do you think, Miss Archeron?” Rhysand asked me. I paused, swallowing the last of my pastry and contemplated the two in question. Cassian would seem like the natural better choice, being a man, but there was a quality about Morrigan that most would overlook.

“I’m afraid I cannot give you an answer as I have not seen either of them ride a horse.”

Morrigan and Cassian then launched into their respective histories of how long they’ve been riding, tripping over each other.

Rhysand leaned over to me, “They could be at this for a while, would you care to dance with me?”

“Of course, Mr. Night,” taking his hand and standing. Morrigan and Cassian let out what sounded like squawks as Rhysand took me away from their lecture.

Instead of a waltz, this one was a standard line dance. I stood opposite of him, curtsying with the other ladies as he bowed in tandem with the gentlemen. Unfortunately, this type of dance allowed for little conversation but instead gave me the opportunity to study his form.

Mr. Rhysand Night stood a few inches taller than me, enough that allowed for a comfortable difference of height without having to crane my head to an uncomfortable angle. He had hair blacker than a raven’s but shared the same blue qualities when it caught the light.

Tonight, he had chosen an all-black ensemble, down to the undershirt that peeked out of his jacket sleeves. On anyone else, it would have looked too stiff or pretentious, but he wore the outfit with ease as if he owned the color. His shoulders were broad and his body seemed well kept, unlike some of the heavier gentlemen I had danced with tonight. It seems that Rhysand had not allowed his wealth or position keep him from being active.

His eyes, well, I don’t know how they didn’t stand out before. While everything else about him was remarkable, it was his eyes that made all other features fade away. They were the deepest blue I had ever seen, making even the summer sky seem pale in comparison. When they fell into shadow, they turned purple, a color I previously thought impossible to find naturally in the human form but here was evidence otherwise.

The song was too short for me to continue to observe him, and we soon made our final bows. Rhys thankfully offered his arm to escort me back to the table. I wasn’t quite ready to continue to socialize for the evening. Even though it was getting into the wee hours of the morning. Country dances could go all night, with its final guest not leaving until the sun broke the horizon.

When we were once again seated at the family’s table, Morrigan and Cassian seemed determined to draw an answer out of me as to who would win in a horse race.

“I think the only obvious answer would be for Miss Archeron to join us and witness the results,” Rhysand halted the impending argument. He turned to me for my answer.

“I have yet for any social engagements for that day so I would be delighted to attend,” I answered with a smile. Unlike the other offers for tea and dinner that had come my way, this was the only invitation I was most looking forward to. This family was small and loudmouthed but was the most cohesive I had met so far.

A round of smiles swept the table, excited to see the outcome of the race and to have made a new friend.

Unfortunately, I was only able to spend a few more minutes at the table before another gentleman asked to escort me into dance.

I again fell into the pattern of dancing and conversing with others, but none could match the warmth of my newfound friends.

As I suspected, it wasn’t until dawn appeared when the last group of guests bundled bleary-eyed into their carriage and took off down the driveway. I was sad that I was unable to see off Rhysand and the others but the promise of seeing them the next day was enough to hearten me.

I entered my house, napkins and doilies littered the floor, accompanied by the odd or end ribbon that had come off a gown. Plates were heaped on almost every surfaced, even with my servants constantly clearing them away.

Speaking of my servants, they looked even more exhausted than me, sluggishly gathering the trash and platters.

I clapped my hands, gathering their attention. “Everyone take the day off, we’ll clean this evening. Please tell the cook that we will be eating simply today and that I will be joining you all in the kitchen for dinner. No need for any fancy pretense.”

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The past month had been nonstop preparation of the estate for my living and then the ball. They all needed to rest before continuing on with life.

When I saw everyone was clearing out, leaving the mess be for now, I climbed the grand staircase to my chambers. My handmaid tried to help me out of my gown, but I shooed her off to her own bed, stating that I could undress myself.

It was a relief to finally be alone and my thoughts could be put into order.

I must have met dozens, if not hundreds of new people tonight, almost none of which really stuck in my mind.

Except for Rhysand Night and his odd family. I could only hope that he would be the first the catch onto my competition, but it was too early to start wishing that he would be the one to unlock my front door.

After all, I had just met him.

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjmaas #sjm #sjmaas books #sjm books #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand

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theeonlyroman · 5 years

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Star Crossed

Quentin didn’t account for you to be the primary factor in his story but he certainly wasn’t opposed to you being “his star crossed lover” to him you were perfect in every single possible way and because of that “perfection” it had only made him want you even more. Not only were you a close ally to both Fury and that sleazy man child Stark but you had also became this “big sister” to Peter and it had made it outrageously easy for him to grow closer to Peter but you as well. Everytime Fury had uncharacteristically yet heartedly reminded Peter of his position as “Avenger” you had always stepped forward “gently” reminding Fury that Peter is not only still a child but Stark had wanted him to “be the friendly neighborhood spider” not an Avenger and because of this it had given him the perfect opportunity to step forward as well playing a similar role to yours. He had relished the appreciative looks that both you and Peter had given him but he had grown too enjoy yours even more so, especially when you had gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder happily thanking him for taking Peter’s side.

But what Quentin couldn’t help but notice was that you had always kept him at a distance whenever he had made attempts at growing closer to you in specific and he had a feeling that you somehow knew that he was beginning to see you on a more “romantic level” and he himself was beginning to wonder if his feelings for you were real or not. Despite your obvious hesitance he wasn’t deterred by this because he knew that the greatest of plans require patience and he had plenty of that to give if it meant that your were to be his prize at the end of this carefully cultivated “race of heroism”. In his most privatest of moments away from the dangerously paranoid man Fury he can recall his and yours last exchange with the utmost fondness and frustration, it was after another one of Fury’s heated talks and during yours and Peters personal talks. He remembers it all so erringly clear.

“Don’t mind Fury Peter underneath all that stubborn broodiness he’s really a softie at heart” you comfortingly tell him. Peter doesn’t look up from your attempts to ease him instead choosing to sadly fiddle with his mask but Quentin can tell that you weren’t bothered in the slightest.

Quentin than sees you playfully snatch his mask from his hands holding it above your head with your other hand placed on his shoulder pushing his body away from yours. He can hear Peter’s impatiently insistent pleas for you to give him his mask back but all he could focus on was your teasing yet hopeful smile that you had managed to somehow get a positive reaction out of him. So after a few short “agonizingly long” (from Peter’s perspective) moments of teasing you give him his mask back but not before gifting him with humor and wisdom.

“Wanna know a secret about Fury Peter? Something that he would absolutely just INTERNALLY die of embarrassment should he be found out hm?” you excitedly ask him with obvious sparks of hope emanating from your very being and upon this memory that Quentin possessively covets to himself, he can’t help but humorously think that your obvious hopefulness at making Peter happy was almost puppy like and it’s grossly cute leading him to wonder if you’d ever show such similar behaviour to him.

Peter than looks up in a spark of interest but yet there is reasonable hesitance in your inquiry for the simple reason that it is after Fury of all people.

“A-are you sure that I could hear something that could potentially embarrass Fury?” but you could easily tell that despite Peter’s obvious hesitance he was very curious about your inquiry which had even made your playful grin turns into a much more broader one. So place your arms around his shoulders bringing his body closer to your curiously throwing your to the side in false “hesitance” which he could only presume that your weren’t going to tell him the “dreadfully embarrassing” secret about Fury.

“Oohh I don’t know kiddo are you sure you want to hear the secret? I mean you weren’t exactly listening to me earlier when I had shown such selective kindness to one of my favorite heroes” you joyously respond and upon Peter hearing you tell him this you can tell that you soon brought him out of his emotional turmoil.

“W-what come on tell me please? I wanna kn- wait I’m your favorite superhero?” Peter happily questions you in response to your teasing and while Quentin secretly watches you too interact with another he soon come upon the realisation that you and Peter are rather puppy like around one another, it was endearing almost. You smile hearing him gleefully ask you this question which makes you more than happy to see that Peter is back acting like his usual self so you decide to give him the response that he so “desperately” needs to hear.

“Well little one what most people don’t know about Fury is that he’s more of a cat person and truthfully speaking he isn’t too fond of dogs finds them too be to “rowdy” for his liking and do you know the history of that scary ol’ scar on his eye right?” you say whilst grinning and Peter’s eyes widen in anticipation and you can easily tell that he’s on the edge of his seat.

“Y-yea I remember I think a close friend of his betrayed him and it explains his paranoia or something like that right?” he hurriedly responds to you. You then smile with a twinkle in your eye and Quentin swears that everytime you send someone a smile it makes you glow even more.

“Wweell….” you drone on making sure the silence is even more comedic once you soon tell him and you notice how Peter’s widen even more in anticipation.

“It was a cat...a ferociously hungry alien cat named Goose” you plainly tell him and upon hearing this Peter’s once eager demeanour changed into something more or less dumbfounded and the only response that he can properly produce was by turning his head to the side and simply saying “Heh...really?” and you had soon answered with a simple “Yup” punctuating on the letter “p”. After a short moment of silence both you and Peter double in a fit of laughter enjoying the short semblance of normalcy in yours and his chaotic lives but as yours and his shared joy dies down you pull Peter in for a much needed hug.

“I know things seem very complicated right now especially with the Elementals but please don’t guilt yourself into choosing a life you're not ready for and yes Tony did choose you but the last thing that he could ever want for you is to grow up too fast in a life you’re not ready for. Tony wanted you to grow up living with some type of normalcy hence “friendly neighborhood spider” and please don’t worry about the Elementals let us take care of it we’ve handled similar situations to this with a shortage of heroes before this time isn’t any different and besides I have backup myself so please don’t lose any sleep over it” you say with the utmost care.

Quentin feels giddy upon hearing you tell Peter this because you’re practically doing his job for him which means that Peter is going to practically wrap those glasses wrapped in a beautiful gift box to him and be on his merry way to being a “regular” hormonal teenager. But as Quentin looks at your face he can’t help but notice how genuinely caring you are for Peter’s well being and it’s heartfelt watching the kid achingly cling onto you being so understanding of his “teenage dilemma”. While this may be a heartfelt moment shared between you too with Quentin watching firsthand, he can’t help but feel “somewhat bad” for this whole entire thing being a complete illusion leaving him too wonder if it’d be any different if all three of yours “friendship” or “relationship” were actually built on mutual care and trust. Sadly that isn’t his reality, he didn’t have superhuman abilities like Peter nor did he have super soldier serum running through his veins like you did all he was the brains and the ferocious thirst to receive the respect and admiration like Tony had. Unfortunately, Quentin’s silent reflecting was abruptly cut off with that damn question from none other than Peter Parker himself and even as he thinks back to that night Quentin can still feel the icy rage seeping through his very pores.

“Um if you don’t mind me asking...who’s your backup” Peter nervously yet hopefully asks you and upon hearing you hearing his curious question your eyes widen in shock and a tomato red blush soon spreads across your face like wildfire which only encourages Peter too push even further much too your clear dismay.

So you nervously step back from the kid tilting your head to the side in a concerning manner batting your eyes in question. “Peter don’t you have to go to bed?” you curiously ask him in with a slight force in your tone which causes him to rapidly blink his eyes in sudden realisation at your statement but despite this he was still obviously going to press on.

“Oh come on just tell me who’s your backup please? I promise I’ll head out as soon as you tell me” Peter pleadingly begs you sticking out his bottom lip for extra effect somehow thinking that it’d work on you which only causes you to breathily laugh at this action. So you soon than respond to this by scruffing his hair much to his chagrin and to your enjoyment but the air soon gets a tad bit serious when you pull him by the shoulders facing you.

“Ok ok I’ll tell you but I’m trusting you to keep it a secret from others because not only because your my favorite superhero but also because I know you won’t go tweeting about this spreading my business out there” you sternly tell him. Peter than rapidly nods his head in agreement promising you that he’ll keep that promise to you with a joyful smile slowly creeping his face and Quentin can only presume that Peter is quite happy with the fact that he’s your favorite superhero.

“His name is Bu-” but your soon cut off when your phone starts to gently blink interrupting you from what you were about to tell Peter but he soon catches on to what you were about to say.

“Wait wait...your backup is Bucky Barnes? Captain America’s best friend HOLY COW are you serious?!” he excitedly whisperingly yells out in the open which you to gently laugh while shaking your head. Peter then turns his body away from yours giving him moments to process this shocking new information leaving smirk even more knowing what he’s soon about to say concerning him and Bucky, he then turns his body back to yours with a proud yet eager smile on his face. “You know I be-” but you cut him off saying “Yes, yes I know you “beat” him and Sam in a fight once and I did find it to be rather funny” you say while smiling. Peter’s excitement still persists with excited yet hurried questions knowing fully well that you could send him back to his motel at any given moment.

“H-how do you know Bucky?” he quickly asks you but this innocent question causes the tips of your ears to grow red much to his enjoyment and your dismay due to the fact you do have to tell him so you let out a nervous cough mentally preparing yourself for what your about to say.

“W-well..” your voice suddenly goes a pitch too high but Peter’s puppy like excitement only encourages you to press on, “Bucky is well...my fiance” and after a short moment of silence Peter’s jaw drop and eyes widen even further forcing you to happily realise that you had done your job in making him forget his woes even if it was for a short moment. So you gently turn Peter to the exit door calmly telling promising that you’ll tell him even more about you and Bucky’s relationship knowing fully well that the kid would want to hear every single detail but most importantly you do have a call, well his call, to answer too. But before Peter can make a proper exit he quickly turns around holding one finger up in the air getting ready to ask one more question but not before you gently place both hands on his cheek guiding his forehead to your lips leaving a familial peck on his forehead as a way of not only telling him too you care but also to please head back. So Peter then nods his head in a placating manner but not before giving you an appreciative hug and giving thanks for you giving him and an ear to listen too as well as a much needed shoulder to lean on.

Soon Peter webs his way back to his motel with a broad grin still on his face giving full opportunity to answer the call that you have been patiently waiting too answer but as you soon open up your phone all you see is one missed call and a text message promising a much needed reunion.

“I’m up on the roof honey” - Bucky

And reading this only brings a giddy smile upon your face as you hurriedly go up the stairs to meet your dear fiance.

But now. Now as Quentin seemingly idly standing holding his drink watching his colleagues celebrate the easy completion of the first phase of their long awaited plan, he thinks of multiple ways that he can get that old geyser Bucky out of the picture to get to you, his rightful unexpected prize. Quentin wants to be angry and yell and scream at his colleagues for not taking Bucky into account but much like you, an unexpected factor, in his story the same thing applies to Bucky as well, he’ll get you even if he has to take out that kid as well as Bucky in his conquest.

@deputyrook THIS IS FOR YOU <3 HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!!!

#marvel #bucky #mysterio #spiderman #bucky barnes x reader #spider man far from home #slight spoilers #unrequited affection #captain america civil war #captain marvel #nick fury #tony stank #iron man #tony stark #steve rogers #captain america

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thepucegoose · 5 years

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Starsky is Canonically Jewish - A Moodboard & Analysis

A detailed exploration of all the Many Many aspects in the canon that point to Starsky being Jewish can be seen under the cut + bonus headcanons!

So I was looking at Starsky’s fanlore page and the discussion there talks about hints within the canon that Starsky may be Jewish. As one commentator notes, “There is plenty of mild justification for Starsky being Jewish”. Tbh, I’d say that, whilst subtle and never explicitly addressed, there is far more than just mild justification to suggest that Starsky is Jewish, and that he is in fact canonically so (and also I found the menorah they were talking about and I felt like I was on Myth-busters, which I’ve never seen but I imagine they mainly investigate fandom hearsay regarding background menorahs and other such suggestions. I’m insanely proud for having found it please appreciate because it took me a Very long time to, although I’ve found in researching this that there was at least one screenshot of it online here from 2011 :D).

TV Tropes has Starsky down for the Ambiguously Jewish trope and whilst I definitely agree that Starsky fits this trope description, I would say that there really is nothing ambiguous about it. There are just so so many aspects that come together. This boy is just canonically Jewish!

(Disclaimer: I’m not Jewish. Although I am very much considering converting and I’ve been studying everything I can about Judaism for well well over a year or so now, as well as attending services through whatever means I’ve been able to, I am by No Means even remotely close to being knowledgeable on the topic. Still, I figured there were some things I’d noticed whilst watching that hadn’t been mentioned that I wanted to bring up, and I also wanted to pull together observations by others into one place because I’m always hyped for canon representation and creating coherent resources. Extensive Research Is My Jam. If I’ve got anything wrong; said something in an uncomfortable way; talked where it wasn’t my place to talk; made assumptions I shouldn’t have; or like, said/done literally anything else that feels even slightly off then Please Please say and I’ll do everything I can to sort it!!)

Reasons why I reckon Starsky is canonically Jewish:

For one, Paul Michael Glaser is Jewish and if William Shatner being Jewish is good enough for my Jewish!Kirk headcanons then it’s sure as heck good enough for my Jewish!Starksy headcanons. Furthermore, according to Wikipedia, both Leonard Goldberg and Aaron Spelling are Jewish, and a good many of the writers have Jewish surnames too, though I can’t find out much about them specifically. Due to their fame, and therefore extended biographies, Wikipedia does specify that writers Michael Mann, and Fred Freiberger are Jewish. Joe Naar, who produced the show, was also Jewish, and used to joke that his style “was born out of being a short Jew with a huge chip on his shoulder.” Rick Edelstein was hugely involved in the writing of the later series and you can really see the influence Judaism has on his work, as is evident in his more recent short story, Bodega. He also ended his short video supporting Obama in '08 with "l'chaim, to life".

Essentially, I think Jewish people were involved in all levels of production within the show - from the writing, to the acting, to the direction, to the production - and this can be seen in the varied means by which it’s suggested that Starsky is Jewish himself. As such, suggestions that may have been seen as accidental otherwise can then take on greater significance, whilst the more explicit examples take on more emotional weight.

Why, then, would it not be more explicitly stated that Starsky is, and was always considered to be, Jewish? I read a really interesting post the other day about how Jewish people in Hollywood often felt unable to include Jewish characters/actors/themes in their work out of fear of seeming too “tribalistic, or insular, or that Hollywood was (as it was in the antisemitic imagination) a ‘Jewish’ front”. Obviously, I can’t comment from a Jewish perspective, but when I was younger I felt similar pressure in regards to including queer characters. As such, I think it’s really exciting to see the very explicit references to Starsky being Jewish, even if they aren’t clearly obvious to a wider audience not actively looking for such references.

Paul Michael Glaser also played Perchik in Fiddler on the Roof (1971) - which I mention not only because it shows Glaser playing other Jewish roles, but also as a recommendation because I Love My Hyped Wee Jewish Communist Revolutionary Boy. Glaser talked about how Starsky was a culmination of other characters he’d played prior to Starsky (DVD extras) and I think this is quite evident in Starsky and Perchik’s respective behaviours. As a nod to this, the middle top picture is (apparently) from a Jewish Labour Bund publication. This is something you can learn more about on its Wikipedia article here, and there’s more interesting things about The Bund here and here as well!

As we all know, Starsky calls Hutch the Blond Blintz (to his Puce Goose) :D Here’s a recipe for blintzes from myjewishlearning.com - they’re like pancakes and it’s an Ashkenazim custom to eat them on Shavuot. Also I love the scene in The Set-Up: part 1 where he first calls Hutch the Blond Blintz and Hutch is like???? and Starsky just says Blintz very definitively and with no further explanation and Hutch is just like,,, u kno what,, I’m just going to roll with this.)

I basically just really love this because it’s an example of Starsky being very openly and explicitly involved in Jewish culture, not just when he says it in The Set-Up, but also in Starsky’s Lady, when playing with the kids, especially as there aren’t a lot of references to things that carry on across multiple episodes.

I also like the way he pulls everyone else into his reference of it very un-apologetically; it feels very in character. There’s a picture of a blintz in the left column of the middle row! (Also, I feel like,,,, there might be some,,,, Freudian Implications to naming your partner after a rolled pancake filled with cream cheese that gets released when eaten?? @jimmyandthegiraffes fite me.)

Whilst Hutch looks at a glow in the dark cross being sold by Huggy in Jojo (written by Mann), Starsky picks up a mezuzah, which are put up at gateposts and door frames in Jewish homes - here’s a video about it :D The picture in the left-most bottom corner is Starsky inspecting this mezuzah. I really like this scene because he goes straight to it and seems to be considering it with very real interest. This is interestingly contrasted with Hutch picking up the cross, which isn’t the only time the show appears to draw a distinction between their respective cultural and religious heritages.

I think that really responds to some of the stuff William Blinn has said about their casting and how thrilled they were to have two actors playing characters from such different backgrounds whilst having such great chemistry, and how that really helps form the magic of the show even (DVD extras). I think their respective choices really help to demonstrate how assumed it was that Starsky Would naturally pick up a mezuzah, in contrast to Hutch’s cross.

The menorah (or actually Chanukkiah if we’re going to be really specific about it) in the background of Starsky’s apartment in Foxy Lady and in Blindfold. For so long I thought this was a myth but!! it’s not!!!! You can see it in the right hand column, middle row :D With the greatest thanks to the canon compendium for pointing out the episodes it appears in and also for like, literally everything else - it’s genuinely just the best fandom resource I’ve seen. I love this because I think, asides from a Magen David (Star of David), I think a menorah is one of the most well known symbols of Judaism and I think it’s really rad that it’s something the crew thought consciously to include, even if it is a largely not shown background detail. Again, it’s subtle but explicit which is why I would argue that Starsky is canonically Jewish.

It’s also worth remembering that even though it’s in an area in his apartment that doesn’t get shot by the cameras except on a few occasions, it Is a part of the apartment that’s Really visible from like, every direction and is right across from the front door. I’ve got another screenshot below from Blindfold that puts it more in context of where it is. I think this is really cool!! It’s obviously something he considers a big enough part of his life to keep on display year round and it’s something instantly recognisable and visible for anyone coming into his house (Foxy Lady came out on March 1st and Blindfold on October 21st, neither of which are around Chanukkah, if you’re going by episode air dates).

Speaking of the Magen David :D As can be seen in the episode Little Girl Lost, Starsky has a couple of blue six pointed stars on his dash under his Christmas decoration, as you can see in the top left hand corner of the mood board. I think this is really cool because Starsky is obviously very hyped for Christmas in this episode, hanging reindeer from his mirror and singing Christmas songs and being really hyped for presents, and this could be used to suggest that Oh No He Can’t Be Jewish He Likes Christmas, but not only does he only engage in secularised aspects of Christmas (in contrast to the nativity scene at Kiko’s house), there’s the very conscious inclusion of these stars. All the scenes in the car are set during Chanukkah, which ran from 16-24th December in 1976, and the stars are blue, which, along with white or silver, is often used for Chanukkah decorations and is traditionally associated with Judaism. Basically this remains in keeping with the subtle yet very conscious inclusion of Jewish symbolism, easily missed by those not thinking to look for it.

Also I know heaps of Jewish people that enjoy the secular aspects of Christmas, particularly if the holiday has meaning for their friends. In Starsky’s case this might be more because he wants to annoy Hutch and he likes bickering or perhaps because he’s upset by Hutch’s increasing cynicism and wants Hutch to feel happier. Or because he wants a new caboose for his train set. Probably that.

In the bottom left hand corner you’ll see a picture of Paul Muni, born Frederich Meshilem Meier Weisenfreund, Meshilem being his Hebrew name. I just like that Hutch suggests Starsky’s mother called him Rudolph Valentino and Starsky corrects him saying she “said I was more of the Paul Muni type”, suggesting the actor she compared him to was actually a notably Jewish one (Paul Muni references can be found in Lady Blue, as written by Mann, and Silence). Again, I think the contrast between Hutch suggesting a gentile actor, and Starsky raising a Jewish one instead is interesting, as well as highlighting Starsky’s mother’s engagement with, and perhaps predisposition towards, Jewish culture.

On it’s own this is perhaps more of a curiosity, maybe too much opportunity for coincidence to really warrant too much attention, but Dobey also chooses a Jewish comparison in The Velvet Jungle when he says, “who do you think you are, Starsky, Milton Berle?” So here we have two instances wherein the comparisons drawn with Starsky are with other Jewish personalities.

In Terror On The Docks (written by Freiberger), Huggy apologises for not bringing an ill Starsky chicken soup, instead bringing mustard green broth which, “where I come from is just as effective”. This might not have much significance in and of itself, except that literally just 2 episodes later, in Shootout, Sammy Grovner makes a joke about chicken soup being Jewish penicillin. In addition, Huggy’s reference to his own culture’s cure-all suggests that chicken soup would have been the culturally appropriate first-choice for Starsky. As such, I’ve included a picture of matzo-ball chicken soup in the top left hand corner.

Also, in The Game, Hutch says in regards to their soup related upbringings that, “we obviously had different mothers” and Starsky says, “yeah, mine was chicken soup, yours was,, clam chowder”, which isn’t really that important except that the show likes to highlight their different cultural upbringings and once again they’re doing so by referencing something that is widely culturally understood to be Jewish, having already explicitly stated it within the show to be so. (I could write a whole dissertation about cultural soup references in Starsky and Hutch, but I’m not going to. Just note that there are a weird amount of them.)

We see in Running that Starsky calls his mother every Friday evening. I think this is really interesting because, if they were both observant orthodox, they wouldn’t be using electricity on Shabbat. I mean, duh, Starsky is Not observantly orthodox but this scene shows that neither is his mother. Any yet, the time they’ve picked to talk each week is on Friday evenings, when many Jewish families come together for Shabbat dinner. As such, I think this shows how Starsky’s Judaism holds a place within his life and his routines, as well as suggesting what tradition he may have been brought up in. I personally headcanon conservative, but Reform works too!

As the fanlore page says, “Starsky looked stunned when Nancy's mother asked him if he were Catholic in 'Terror on the Docks,' to which he replied he was not.�� This scene is a really interesting one to watch for this (and, again, was written by Freiberger), and whilst this merely shows that he’s not Catholic, his confusion and bafflement suggests just how surprising this question is to him, and his discomfort is evident as he laughs awkwardly. I think this is an experience many minorities can attest to, and he’s feeling the unease that comes when you’re put under pressure to reveal a part of your identity that may well be not received well.

In terms of the canon, I think the way in which this is played is so in line with the concept that Starsky is Jewish that it really suggests that this was something in clearly in mind in regards to his characterisation, at least by a number of the people working on the show.

In terms of headcanons, I like Starsky’s bewilderment here because it seems like he straight up just thought it was obvious that he was Jewish, and so it offers an in-universe explanation for why he never says “I’m Jewish”, rather than the external explanation regarding the fears surrounding creating explicitly clear Jewish characters in the 1970s.

It is interesting, in universe, that he doesn’t then say, “No, Mrs. Blake, I’m afraid I’m Jewish”, but I think this shows Starsky’s reticence to talk about his background with strangers, despite his comfort proudly talking about blintzes with Hutch and Terry. This is frankly just understandable, given the existence of antisemitism and Mrs Blake’s evangelical Catholicism, and again offers another explanation for why he never says I’m Jewish, wherein everyone he feels comfortable knowing already know, so there’s no need for him to say that.

(This said, @jimmyandthegiraffes and I headcanon that he just explains everything he doesn’t know with the fact he’s Jewish, even when it’s totally unrelated, *queue Starsky’s sage voice* “Ah see, I wouldn’t know whether those out of date eggs are safe to eat because I’m Jewish.” - Hutch is going to throw something. Also saying he can’t eat something healthy Hutch has made because it’s not kosher, whilst eating something obviously treif, which I made a post about here.)

We also see Starsky’s reticence to talk about his background with antagonistic strangers/suspects in The Committee, “Starsky? What is it, Polish?” “Something like that.” And yet, in Starsky And Hutch Are Guilty we see Starsky talk with Sharon, with whom he obviously feels comfortable with, about his home cooked goulash, “My mother gave me a recipe straight from the old country.” Again, this shows an in universe explanation for why we never see Starsky talk about his background explicitly, as those who he feels comfortable knowing already know.

This line is also interesting as it suggests information about Starsky’s heritage that pretty clearly implies a family with an immigrant background; this again would be in line with the experience of many Jewish people in the US, particularly when considering Starsky’s roots in New York as many families settled there fleeing pogroms and persecution. I headcanon that Starsky’s father was killed just after his 13th birthday (and his Bar Mitzvah) and moved to Bay City the summer after (this is taking Glaser’s birthday as Starsky’s for consistency).

This would mean Starsky lived in New York 1943-1956. The Jewish population of New York was at its peak in 1950 at 2 million. Still today, New York City is the largest community of Jews in the world within a city proper, including Tel Aviv. I think it perhaps goes without saying that this was and is particularly true in Brooklyn. I’ve seen lots of fics argue about where about in New York Starsky is from (with one claiming New Jersey which was pretty left field). The closest connection to New York that I have is that I grew up on the outskirts of the city it was named after. If you ever want to visit York, it has a lot of chocolate museums and a nice Gothic cathedral and a bad connection with Jewish history. I’m on a tangent. My point is, although I can figure Yorkshire accents, I’m not especially good at figuring out the nuances of New York accents so I leave it up to you lot, and on the whole people tend to suggest that he has a Brooklyn accent. We also know he has swum at Coney Island, and that the sea there tastes better than on the playboy island (Murder on Voodoo Island: part 2).

What we do know is that Starsky grew up on 84th Street (Targets Without A Badge: part 2) although there do seem to be a Lot of 84th streets in New York. We also know that if we are agreeing on Brooklyn then 84th street runs through Bay Ridge, Dyker Heights, and Bensonhurt. I figure Bensonhurst works best because, even though it’s a very Italian neighbourhood now, until the 50s it was a Jewish/Italian neighbourhood, which works with Starsky’s grandmother’s flat above the Italian restaurant (Shootout). It also works with the implications surrounding Starsky’s family and the mob (The Set-Up: part 1) as the Bath Avenue Crew operated in Bensonhurst. The mob thing is also interesting when considering Starsky’s Jewish heritage. There’s a painted Bensonhurst shop front in the bottom middle of the mood board which has been kept the same since the 1950s when Starsky could have been living there!

This has all been largely (or wholly) tangential, but essentially my point is that what we know of Starsky’s heritage chimes pretty neatly with the experience of many Jewish Americans, which again ties in with the argument that Starsky’s Judaism was something held in mind by those involved in the creation of the show.

Another thing I found interesting was in an article I was reading about Paul Simon, born less than two years before Glaser. In regard to Simon, Donald Fagen says, “There’s a certain kind of New York Jew, [...] almost a stereotype, really, to whom music and baseball are very important. I think it has to do with the parents. The parents are either immigrants or first-generation Americans who felt like outsiders, and assimilation was the key thought — they gravitated to black music and baseball looking for an alternative culture.” Simon responded to say that this wasn't too far from the truth. Obviously, Starsky enjoying baseball does not at all mean anything about him being Jewish, but it does fit in with his Jewish New York upbringing, from his father taking him to see the Yankees and him collecting baseball cards (Vendetta), to his enthusiasm with Pete (Little Girl Lost).

It is worth noting how this enthusiasm for baseball seems to be something that Starsky engages in far more than Hutch, which is interesting given Soul's history with the sport. (I feel like they definitely could have done more with the fact that David Soul was a good enough player to be offered a contract with the Chicago White Sox). Perhaps this wasn't pursued because a passion for baseball was thought to be more in line with Starsky's upbringing, versus Hutch's Sea Scouts. Again, this maybe suggests a certain narrative held in mind regarding Starsky’s background and how it influenced his characterisation.

Curiously, any Yiddish on the show is typically said by Hutch rather than by Starsky. In Vendetta, Hutch says to Artie Sorkin, “Fagin, faigeleh. What’s the differences? You’re vermin.” Faigeleh meaning homosexual. Also, as the canon compendium notes, “Hutch calls his houseplant ‘Meschugah Mantherlus.’” ‘Meschugah’ means crazy in Yiddish. “‘Mantherlus’ doesn’t translate as anything but is probably an inside joke and supposed to sound Latin.” (Ballad for a Blue Lady, co-written by Glaser.)

Largely I just found this interesting, but I did read a really cool study talking about the use of Yiddish in the American vernacular and one of its many findings was that gentiles with close Jewish friends were, unsurprisingly, more likely to use more Yiddish terminology. Also, unrelated but super fascinating, LGBT+ people were more likely to use Yiddish too.

On the Jewish immigrant experience, in Partners Starsky tries to get Hutch to play Pinochle with him, claiming "you love Pinochle", suggesting this is a game they frequently play together. Pinochle used to be a favourite card game of Jewish and Irish immigrants. I get that at this point I'm probably clasping at straws but I'm going for as comprehensive as possible, and I think it creates a good story about Starsky playing it with his family and later teaching it to Hutch.

It is interesting how Hutch is possibly shown to be engaging with Jewish culture in regard to both his use of Yiddish and his love of Pinochle. This may well be because Jewish culture permeates American society, after all it's Soul we see say the Yiddish "putz" in the bloopers. But it is slightly interesting that these were lines given to Hutch, perhaps for plot purposes, or because the writers were choosing to include their own culture and ways of speaking in a way that is safer through the evidently gentile Soul rather than the conspicuously Jewish Glaser.

There are other instances of Judaism in Starsky and Hutch that aren’t necessarily pointing to Starsky being Jewish but that are notable. Huggy Bear and the Turkey starts with Starsky and Hutch undercover in Caplan Laundry, where Hutch seems to be undercover as an orthodox Jewish man (and Starsky his wife? Seemingly? They certainly uh, go for it in the bloopers).

Caplan/Kaplan is a surname found in a number of cultures but it is a common Ashkenazim surname which also makes me headcanon Officer Minnie Kaplan as Jewish because we all want more Jewish headcanons in our lives and I think it puts her friendship with Starsky in an interesting context. (Marki Bey more like Marki Bae)

Again, it's Hutch we see taking on the more visibly Jewish role, although this does not go to negate Starsky's own Jewishness, as this may well be understood to be his influence on the friend he spends significantly more than 75% of his time with. Also, it can be assumed that Starsky is undercover as a Jewish woman as he appears to work at the launderette.

Obviously A Body Worth Guarding is the episode that deals most with Judaism as the Jewish protesters are a central plot feature. It’s interesting that Starsky’s involvement with them is largely hostile, however, I think this is more to do with the circumstances. At first he believes they’ve hired muscle to hurt Anna so he goes in hard which means the Jewish Organisation for Action respond with a more hostile approach. And yet, he’s completely on-board with dropping the JOA lead and following the fascist one as a result of Kauffman’s logic that attacking Anna would only lead to more antisemitism, which despite being a sound argument had no actual evidence to support it. From this point Kauffman is still resistant to working with Starsky which means Starsky maybe is more heavy handed in his approach, but it is on order to get Kauffman to help him follow the fascist lead. Once the job has been done he seems a lot softer towards the JOA and genuinely thankful for their help.

Essentially, the episode is noteworthy but Starsky’s reaction to the JOA tells us not so much about his own personal beliefs and upbringing and more about how he approaches his job. I do think it interesting that he believes Kauffman’s logic and subsequently drops all suspicion of the JOA and instead trusts him enough to bring him in as help.

Also Huggy calls the JOA the “desert people” which might just be Huggy’s turn of phrase but I think it feels more comfortable if Starsky is Jewish as it’s more like banter between friends then.

In spite of all these very purposeful allusions and references to Starsky’s Judaism, in Savage Sunday he complains about having to work on a Sunday, the Christian sabbath instead of Judaism’s Shabbat. And yet, I don’t believe this undermines Starsky’s Jewish presentation as it seems that his complaints are more that he expects to have Sunday off because he is in a Christian society which usually allows him a break on a Sunday to which he can look forward to. When he’s complaining about working on a Saturday in Jojo (written by Mann), Hutch says, “Could be worse, could be Sunday”, to which Starsky replies, “Come on, Saturday’s bad enough”, bemoaning all the sports that he could be watching instead.

This is interesting too as you could easily use this to headcanon him using sport as an excuse to express his frustrations at having to work on Shabbat, especially as it’s Hutch who says, “Could be worse, could be Sunday.”

Note: It was mentioned on the fanlore page that Huggy gives Starsky a wreath of garlic ‘for those of other persuasions’, but, as far as I can tell, the garlic is to ward off vampires of “all the rest of the denominations” when the cross for “any vampire of Christian persuasion” won’t be of help, rather than the garlic being for non-Christian vampire hunters. As always, I’m loving Huggy’s enterprising approach to religion, making sure he covers all bases, but it’s not really a suggestion that Starsky is Jewish, just that he needs to protect himself from non-Christian vampires.

In the same vein, Huggy does say “Shalom” to Starksy (and to Hutch) in Dandruff, though this seems to be more as an aspect of his undercover role as Prince Nairobi.

Essentially, Starsky is frequently presented as engaging with Jewish culture, practices, and traditions, often very visibly so. Aside from the very explicitly Jewish references, Starsky is very frequently characterised in a way that suggests his being Jewish was held in mind, on a writing level, an acting level, a direction level, and a production level. As I mentioned earlier, American society in imbued with Jewish culture and so many of these things may have been purely incidental. However, coupled with the more explicit examples of Starsky's Judaism they may be said to take on greater purpose and subsequent significance. Pretty much across the board, he is understood to be Jewish and whilst these references maybe subtle enough to pass by those not engaged with Judaism or considering it a possibility, this does not preclude Starsky’s Judaism from being a very knowing and explicit inclusion, and therefore canon.

Given all this, I have some headcanons about to what extent Starsky is practising!

We canonically know he doesn’t keep kosher – I mean this boy eats linguine with clams. I have read a fic where Hutch is forbidden from telling Starsky’s ma that he eats bacon or meat with dairy and I really like this as a headcanon. I definitely think she Knows but she lets Starsky pretend he doesn’t because it keeps him happy.

We also know neither he nor his mother have qualms about not being shomer Shabbos, but as I mentioned earlier, we Do see them using Friday evenings as the time they choose to call one another.

We know he doesn’t wear a kippah on the regular, too. And he never says the Sh’ma out loud if he thinks he’s about to die, although I do think he probably says it to himself. Again, I think I’ve read a fic about that. As I reread the ones I have bookmarked I’ll add them in if I can find them.

Other than these examples, pretty much everything else as far as I can tell is fair game, particularly if you’re considering along the lines of Reform, or even conservative, depending on the community. I know a lot of Jewish people who would consider themselves to be actively practicing who don’t keep kosher or who work on a Saturday etc.

About that, as I mentioned above, we know he does sometimes work on a Saturday (and he complains about it). This suggests that he doesn’t necessarily frequent synagogue regularly, particularly as he was frustrated about missing the sport he likes to watch on a Saturday.

However, for one thing, this doesn’t mean he Never goes to temple, and for another, we do know that Starsky very likely celebrates Chanukkah, due to his Chanukkiah. Chanukkah is a relatively minor Jewish holiday and so if he celebrates this it’s likely he also celebrates other, more significant holidays, and high holy days. Maybe he doesn’t go to shul every week, but a synagogue on Yom Kippur is generally full of people who are not regular attenders.

Please imagine this boy trying to fast I bet Hutch would be glad as hell that Starsky isn’t at work lol.

Personally, I tend to headcanon that Starsky moves to greater observance post Sweet Revenge. I think the hospital rabbi is good at playing Pinochle and the two become friends and they have good philosophical debates and Hutch joins in and after Starsky is discharged they want to see the rabbi so they start regularly attending shul and they both find something they can get out of it, especially as I headcanon that they retire from the force I think it gives them a community. For Starsky, I think it gives him a connection to his heritage and his family and maybe his father in particular, as well as a focus on social justice work through the synagogue so that he and Hutch can still feel like they’re making a difference. Tbh, I think that Hutch might find a lot to connect to in Judaism, maybe in the way it’s focused on making a difference in the here and now and not in order to access some afterlife. To be clear, I don’t think that’s necessarily the angle Christianity takes but I think it is how Hutch might perceive it and I think he might find Judaism more grounding in that respect. Also, if he converts then Starsky’s ma would be thrilled that if he hasn’t found a nice Jewish girl then at least he’s found a nice Jewish boy and Starsky will tease that Hutch’s hair is so long he might as well be a girl. I think it would create a really interesting relationship between Starsky’s ma and Hutch where they talk about Judaism and she introduces him to recipes and books and stuff and later Hutch is showing Starsky and he’s like, how come Ma never showed me?! And Hutch is like, she tried to idiot you just got distracted. And they can just, explore stuff together. It’s really soft.

Also, I think they host Shabbat dinners every Friday and it’s really cool because it’s a way that they can stay in touch with the Dobeys after they’ve left the force, and how they can stay close with Huggy when they’re not visiting for tips every other day. Also Kiko and Pete can come and then stay the night and spend Saturday with them maybe to give Mrs. Ramos a break. Minnie can come too and say the prayers!! Plus Paco Ortega and Joey and tbh any number of the other kids they’ve accidentally adopted over the years.

Pesach at theirs is just, the fullest house you can possibly imagine I love it. @jimmyandthegiraffes came up with the idea that there isn’t space for Dobey and the boys are like, oh you’re sat on the counter and he’s like? But there’s an empty chair and place set out here?? And he goes to sit down and everyone is like, nOOoO that’s for Elijah!! You cAnt sIT in Elijah’S plaCe?!

Gosh I love them

Starsky high key calls the new year “secular Rosh Hashanah”

Even though I personally headcanon a greater observance after sweet revenge, there really is nothing at all to say he isn’t at least somewhat practising over the course of the series and even that he is, given the Chanukkiah and what that means about holidays. I like how he keeps it up year round to maybe keep in mind his faith/upbringing/background.

I think it’s interesting that many of the fics that engage with Starsky as Jewish often suggest that he’s not religious, which is of course completely possible. However, just because he doesn’t ever talk about a faith in God doesn’t mean it isn’t present, especially when faith is often something so private and proselytising isn’t a part of Judaism. Personally I think that Starsky does have faith in God throughout the series and after, and this does impact his relationship with Judaism prior to Sweet Revenge as he considers things like the mezuzah and engages with Jewish culture, but that it’s after Sweet Revenge that he starts engaging with his faith more as connected to Judaism and religious traditions, rather than I’m going to celebrate my culture and upbringing and also I have a faith in God. He sees the two as more connected perhaps? and his faith as having a more direct impact on his life.

I really like how Huggy says the thing about the chicken soup too, and the “desert people” line is made a lot sweeter by thinking of him as a cool supportive friend who Starsky has known for a long time and who typically engages with Judaism specifically because it means something to Starsky.

I seemingly have a lot of thoughts on this.

Also, I really like how he calls him blintz, weird Freudian implications aside, especially because blintzes can be eaten at any time but are typically associated with Shavuot and I like the idea that Starsky has really a really fond association with his religion but also with Hutch. I really like the idea that if Hutch converts then the two can stay up all night together, eating blintzes and cheese and Hutch can maybe read aloud for my dyslexic boy.

Essentially, I just really love thinking about this and I think there’s more space for an actively practising Starsky than there’s generally understood to be, religious or not, even over the course of the show. Especially if you consider Reform Judaism. But tbh just give me Jewish!Starsky fics and I’m happy whatever they’re like.

I’ve worked really hard to find each scene I’ve mentioned on my DVDs (this post has taken me literally So Long to write (9 months-ish? it’s my Child) and I’ve researched it far Far more than I do my uni assignments whoops), so you can be sure I’ve checked to make sure each reference is legitimate. If you want to see screenshots of these quotations, or you want to know whereabouts in the episodes they occur, then message me! If you have additional examples or you disagree with me or if you’ve spotted a mistake then share that too!

With all my thanks to my partner Chester who’s put up with me banging on about this and spending Hours and Hours being ridiculously pedantic in the hopes of creating as coherent a resource as I can. They’ve also contributed so much and just they’re rad. I also cannot thank enough the canon compendium for helping me fill in all the blanks and pointing me in all the directions I needed to go in, I Genuinely cannot think of a better fandom resource. Also the first 3 seasons scripts are available here which is a huge help.

tldr; Starsky is irrefutably, canonically Jewish and also I love him

#starsky and hutch #starsky #david starsky #dave starsky #a jewish boy #this took like #9 months #starsky is jewish #this is over 6000 words whoops #my posts

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dansnaturepictures · 4 years

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Seventh instalment to my ten wildlife and photography highlights of 2019 blogs: Rutland for the Bird Fair

On Wednesday 14th August it was great to drive through Rockingham and Caldecott the villages I adore as a gateway to getting to Rutland where we stayed in Uppingham. It was so we could go to Rutland Water and attend the British Birdwatching Fair which it was fantastic to get to do again. As always we went into Lyndon reserve on the first day seeing the Ospreys. It was amazing to see these one of my favourite birds and get such precious times viewing them, seeing them flying and still and five in total more than I can recall seeing often from here. I got a great view of two in a tree too which was a different place for me to see one in as I often see them on posts and nests and it made me think it must be common to see them on a tree in Scotland or Africa. I took the first two pictures in this photoset of the view from the hide and one of the Ospreys. It was also brilliant to see two Great Crested Grebes on a nest, re-enforcing it on quite full water on a wet day and swapping the incubating between the pair. Following on within the year for favourite birds of mine nicely from the nest of these another of Great Crested Grebes I got close to at Lakeside in May. At Lyndon it was also great to see so many Sand Martins very well flying about in front of the hide.

I took the third picture in this photoset of the view from my room on the start our Thursday here. We then went to Lyndon again, seeing Ospreys once more, a hornet mimic hoverfly and after a shower the weather was much brighter and drier than the day before, and it became a golden afternoon of dragonflies at Lyndon an area so good for them dragonflies often playing a big role in my Bird Fair trips due to the reserve strength for them and time of year. This was the year of my life for dragonflies and damselflies with me more engaged in them than other years and taking so many photos of them and getting to see so many special ones and that afternoon contributed to this well. I was so happy to see my first Migrant Hawker of the year as shown by the fourth picture I took that day in this photoset, which was actually my second ever and I saw one later on too so this was smashing. I was so happy to see it and also perhaps more Southern Hawkers than I had seen in one day before. Ruddy and Common Darter as well as Common Blue Damselfly were other ones I saw. After we’d gone all the way to the woodland hide and back to the centre we went the other way for a bit and also saw a Brown Hawker my first this year. This took my highest ever dragonfly and damselfly year list of this year to 19, I have seen 21 in my life so like where I reached with my butterfly year list last and this year having seen all but two and one respectively of the species seen in my life in one year I feel very happy which what I have seen. On the way back to the visitor centre at Lyndon I rolled back magical Bird Fair years when I got a very similar very exciting view of a mammal I did at Egleton the Bird Fair site at our first ever Bird Fair in 2008, the Muntjac Deer. I got two sensational views of this amazing mammal on 15th August, only the second I have ever seen which was a fantastic moment to add to this trip away.

Afterwards we went to Whitwell as shown by the fifth of my pictures in this photoset, where I took in stunning view of Rutland Water and it was so relaxing to have tea and ice cream looking over this place which I really enjoyed. Painted Lady, Small Tortoiseshell and Rutland speciality Egyptian Geese were highlights of my wildlife sightings. On the evening of day 2 away we saw a nice moon and had the honour of another amazing favourite bird encounter for me when we heard Tawny Owl calls at dusk from the cottage we think possibly two calling. This was amazing and something I weirdly foreshadowed by jokingly saying “you might see a Tawny Owl” when my Mum talked about going out late at night here. It followed on nicely from my nocturnal wildlife experience at the holiday cottage in June in Northumberland with the bats flying over.

I came into the Bird Fair on day one of the event and had a really enjoyable day despite wet weather towards the end which is somewhat unfamiliar for me when attending this event every year. The extraordinarily muddy conditions became a memorable theme of this Bird Fair it was entertaining to see everyone so muddy! It could only happen at Bird Fair! I spent the morning walking around meeting different people as well as watching the amazing BTO ringing demonstration which I always enjoy. It was very insightful again and interesting to see so many Blue Tits and Dunnocks caught and ringed. I also went to my first events marquee talk of the year, Mike Dilger hosting ‘How Birders Can Help Birds’ which included a varied panel of inspirational individuals from the chief executive of Bird Life International and the Big Year record holder, as well as esteemed young campaigner Georgia Locock. This got very passionate and engaging a great job from Mike too.

At around midday I headed into my first hide looking over lagoon four. Avocet and Egyptian Goose were highlights to see as well as the Ruddy Shelduck which was a nice brightly coloured bird to see and one that I would remember this Bird Fair for too. It was nice to see a meadow area in full bloom nearby which I have appreciated a lot this year. I then walked down to the bittern hide, where the best birdwatching of the day occurred. I was on my own in the hide a bit until Joe Harkness creator of Bird Therapy came into the hide with a friend. He was a breath of fresh air to meet and so down to earth, I had been taken with his piece in Chris Packham’s talk here last year and his section with him on BBC Winterwatch, his positive attitude towards every bird out there including the many Swifts flying about was lovely to hear. There were lots of hunundines again today too. We all marvelled at the Marsh Harrier in the sixth picture in this photoset darting past us which was spectacular and a memorable moment. I had seen six bird of prey species in the space of a week with this sighting. They also spotted a young Black Tern far out on the lagoon and after they’d left I was thrilled I managed to see it too. This was a great moment for me as one of my birds of the year as my 176th species of 2019. It felt like the unique bird moment of this Bird Fair for me which I get every year of a top species to see that I hadn’t here before. It was actually only my third ever sighting of them it took me until 2017 to see this bird for the first time, and I was definitely going to target it a lot this year as the sighting meant I’ve seen all six tern species I have seen in my life this year along with my often usual common, little and sandwich and the arctic and roseate of my Northumberland holiday.

As the heavy rain set in as shown in the seventh picture in this photoset I eventually wound my way back to the events marque for the climate change debate. This was a really engaging and encouraging one to discuss the crisis and I was impressed with Rob Lambert and the whole panel. The star of it though was Holly Gillibrand who I know from Twitter who answered the questions fantastically and stirred the audience in a brilliant way. She is a credit to her generation, shown nicely by a young girl asking a question of “Why haven’t adults listened?” to the Friday climate strikes and it was very inspiring to see the young generation so passionate and empowered. A really nice day in the fair where I got to enjoy the time in many ways.

We came into the fair on the Saturday and the morning-early afternoon was a mixture of wandering around meeting people and lectures and events. This included our yearly chat and photo with Simon King which was an amazing experience as always he is so down to earth. The first talk was a lecture from Dr Amy Beer about Wild Women which was, and sorry for using this word too much at Bird Fairs, inspirational and really powerful about gender equality within wildlife and nature. Then there was a stretch in the events marque firstly seeing another hilarious Iolo Williams talk he really is like a standup comedian up there as I said last year. Then an epic from Chris Packham and friends, a fired up debate with Mark Avery and Ruth Tingay hosted by a presenter from the shooting fraternity in which great points were raised. The audience really responded in a spited way about terrible raptor persecution in general in this talk, and the amazing young people who came on stage to talk about the environment and school strikes. A short break from the events marque followed in which we met Iolo Williams again who was also delightful once more.

Afterwards we watched Simon King in another thought provoking and spectacular talk him shown in the eighth picture in this photoset . We watched the prestigious ‘Bird Brain of Britain’ as our last event of our 2019 Bird Fair next which is always impressive. On the way to some hides we caught up with David Lindo which was great and in between hides my Mum did her yearly deed of volunteering to release a bird from the BTO ringing demonstration and this year it was a Blue Tit. From one hide overlooking lagoon four we enjoyed seeing the Ruddy Shelduck from the day before with its Egyptian Geese it hangs out with and glorious views in the sun of two Ospreys one shown in the ninth picture in this photoset. We usually see them at Lyndon here however did see one flying over Egleton last year. But we hadn’t seen one at this side of the Egleton reserve for years. At the 360 degrees and snipe hides more great wildlife awaited such as Great White Egret a newer star of this place and two that I have seen at Bird Fairs before Green Sandpiper and Marsh Harrier. I took the tenth picture in this photoset a view on what was a brilliant day at the reserve. We did very well for weather in my whole week off getting some great warm and sunny conditions in amongst a lot of forecast rain which only really dominated two days.

It was another really great Bird Fair for me. I had such a fun time meeting and seeing many like-minded people many of whom I know from Twitter, attending inspirational talks be that on the pulse current political matters or light hearted and watching the BTO bird ringing demonstration. I wanted to say here too the birds I managed to see on the reserves contained some of the usual stars and a nicely unique brilliant other cast of star birds. But to do this alone would do the other wildlife I saw a discredit as I had a brilliant day for dragonflies on our second Lyndon visit, a magical mammal moment too then, some great butterflies seen on the days away just after I saw my 44th and 45th species of the year in home areas and more. This was reflective of the variety of amazing wildlife I saw on one fantastic week off work generally.

#bird fair #august #rutland water #lyndon #egleton #butterflies #dragonflies #birds #birdwatching #osprey #great white egret #black tern #celebrities #climate change #climate emergency #wildlife #photography #highlights

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