#Its aunt sponge if anyone was wondering

[dicaeopolis]

had to look up the names of james' aunts from james and the giant peach crying and sobbing cuz I was at work couldn't google anything and could have sworn by me mum they were named Aunt Spliff & Aunt Spiker

#.txt #Its aunt sponge if anyone was wondering #I was like. He would not of done that. #But also like its roald dahl he fucking would of

[agent-yolk-writes]

Friends Like You and Us - Venom!Reader - Ch. 6

I really gotta post this after I updated it on AO3 goddamn

In today’s episode: The gang puts too much thought into planning, you have terrible codenames, and you wonder if the circus is in town.

Don’t forget to reblog so others can see it! If you want something featured, don’t be afraid to drop an ask. We’re almost around the halfway point and it’s all downhill from here. Get your thoughts in now or forever hold your peace,

AO3 Version | Masterlist (TBD)

After scrambling to figure out a plan and translating interdimensional slang, the plan goes as follows:

1. You enter the building with Ham in a backpack. Peni has hooked all of you guys with little telecommunicators that can fit into your ear. They look like they can be passed off as the cool new earbuds you’ve seen your classmates wearing.

1a. Peni, SP//dr, and Noir will be outside as backup should anything happen along the way.

2. Get through the guards by showing your ID, which indicates a trusted employee of the building, Mary, has granted an outsider, you, permission to enter the building and their individual office. That’s it, that’s your only access.

3. While you do what your aunt asked you, Ham goes in the vents and finds a way into the Alchemax section upstairs. There he’ll find anything that could help figure out what happened to Spider-Man.

From there, depending on the situation, it could go two ways.

4a. Ham retraces his footsteps in the vents and gets back to your aunt’s office.

4b. If Ham needs to be recovered, you’ll “accidentally” stumble into Alchemax, claim you’re trying to find the bathroom, to retrieve Ham and any data he managed to recover.

5. Leave without raising any suspicions, if possible.

A simple plan in five or so steps. You’re taking the usual subway route to her office with Ham squished inside your mini backpack. It’s uncertain what Peni and Noir are doing above ground, but you could imagine them hopping between buildings in a cool montage like that cool cartoon of those ninja lizards. Thankfully this cart was almost packed to the brim, so no one can see, Ham included, tendrils wrapping around your hand and giving a comforting squeeze as if someone was actually holding your hand.

You got this. We believe in you.

I...I dunno. It sounded too easy in my apartment.

We can handle anything that comes our way.

“I sure hope so.” You muttered, glancing at the people close by to see if they’re looking at you. Swinging your bag around so it’s hanging in the front, you subtly zipped open the bag to look at the cartoony companion. At the sign of first light, he hisses at the sudden stimulation by squinting his eyes for a few seconds.

“Are we there yet?” He asks, a bit bored.

You glanced over at the display showing how many stops are left. “Not for another stop or so. How are you feeling in there?”

Ham sighs at the response. “I knew I should’ve brought something to read.” He pulls out a sleeping mask and puts it over his eyes.

“It’s either this or waste SP//dr’s fuel but doing about three trips back and forth.” You could feel some glances over your way, so you lower your voice a bit. “Anyone with a phone is going to post it on Twitter and we really don’t want that. Especially if it’s going to be on Insider Edition tonight.”

Your communicator buzzes to life, even with all the concrete around you.

“Actually, it’s powered by the psychic link between me and my spider friend in the suit.” Peni corrected you.

“There’s a spider...in the suit?” You said with genuine surprise.

“Hey now, you didn’t ask.” Well, she has a point there. “Oh heads up, here comes your stop.” As if on cue, the overhead speaker announces your stop. It doesn’t help your heart kicking up a notch in anticipation. A thousand scenarios are running through your head as you tried not to give Ham a whiplash putting your bag in its proper place. You even straighten out your blouse as you exited the subway train. Despite only being bonded for a week, it felt strange wearing clothes outside of your symbiote. All there’s left is to pray to your not-so empty head that everything can and will go right for a simple infiltration.

~

“This is Black Spider. I’m in position.”

“Spider Pig here. Let’s get this show running.”

“Mecha Spider is ready when you are!”

“This is Classic Spider, cruising for a bruising on the bench.”

…

You should’ve opposed to using codenames. This is an in and out, not an actual heist. If anything, you could’ve at least used different spiders to call each other by. It’d make sense if you refer to yourself as, for example, Black Widow rather than Black Spider. In the end, it’s all apples to pears.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled on the ID card you knew was on you just to make sure it's really there. It doesn’t go bad for another year, so they can’t stop you by saying it’s expired. If one of your aunt’s coworkers spotted you, then the suspicious glares from security will weaken. They swap floors every six months or so for security purposes. You haven’t been in the building proper since...ten months ago. Hopefully, that retired Sergeant got mobilized to the main floor. If he got moved to Alchemax, then you’ll have to pray for Ham’s safety-

Said spider-pig poked his head out. “What about my safety?”

“Nothing.” With Venom’s help, your arm pushed your smuggled package back into your back of the cramped bag. With Venom’s sixth sense you can almost feel Peni and Noir staring down from the roof of a neighboring building. “Let’s go.” With a shaky step, you begin your ascent up the stairs and entered the revolving door.

To your left, you see the guest desks and the CCTVs in an open room behind the woman at the desk. She had her head down, so she’s probably on her phone. Directly in front of you is the series of elevators being guarded by a single security guard, a glorified elevator worker if anything. You vaguely remember him, but it might not be the same vice versa. Through the handful of people coming in and out, you make your move to the first elevator open.

Your aunt’s workplace is one of the higher floors, so it’s going to be a while in this metal death trap. It became empty quicker than you expected, not that you don’t mind.

“What’s your status Black Spider, Spider Pig?” Peni said through the communicator.

“Entering the building was a success, no complications so far.” You whispered back. You try not to stare at the camera you know is staring at you in the corner. ”Pretty much going to be a smooth ride up.” Was the last thing you said before said smooth ride came to a halt at a different floor.

Oh no, someone else is coming up.

If you don’t make eye contact and shuffle to the side, maybe they won’t-

“Oh look, it’s you.” Oh no, it’s her.

You forced your eyes to look at one and only Stacy Adams from your school. She’s a senior, just a year above you. She’s one of the most popular people in your school and like every high school movie out there, she thinks she’s the queen of the institution. The only reason she could be here is that senior intern experience your school offers where seniors spend three of the five day school week learning. To your chagrin, it looks like today is one of those days.

She hates your guts for some reason. You couldn’t recall what you did to piss her off. Maybe she got jealous of you a guy that just so happens to be a friend of your friend. You did, however, ate her boyfriend aka the top varsity football player bound for Ohio State, so there’s that. In your defense, he attacked you.

We should eat her as well.

Shush, you.

You eyed the security camera in the corner.

Not yet.

“Hey, Stacy...weird meeting you here, huh?” You mustered up whatever you can to pretend you’re happy to see her.

“It’s weird meeting you here.” She shoots back. “Should I report you for skipping school to trespass?”

“Unlike your daddy’s money, I actually know people here.” You replied before you could process it. So much for putting up a fake front.

Stacy, of course, wasn’t having it. “You don’t need to know people if they’re hiring a fucking clown.”

“A fucking clown? Oh wait, is that who you’re seeing after Kyle basically ghosted you? Wooow Stacy, how faithfu-“ You didn’t get a chance to finish it when a handmade sharp contact with your cheek. You weren’t sure if the sting was from the palm or the sharp nails she raked across your skin for extra damage.

Your heart was beating so loud in your ears. Whether it was Venom’s boiling rage or your own, it almost affected the next step you were about to do. If it wasn’t for Peni bringing you back to Earth with, “-ck Spider, is everything alright in there?” in your ear, you would be deep in bloodshed.

Instead, you calmly removed your earpiece and stuffed it into your bag. You hope she notices the unhuman bend of your arm.

“Look, I don’t have time for you.” You said lowly, voice borderline a growl. “I’m going to do my thing, you’re gonna do your thing, and then you’ll continue to pop your gum loudly every time I even blink in your direction. Got it?”

Stacy stares at you like you grew two heads on the spot. Your cheek tickles a bit as Venom heals the scratch marks.

She started sputtering some nonsense to try and get something in before the elevator finally slowed down to your aunt’s floor. Time to finally get out of this cramped box.

But first…

As you took a step out of the elevator, you couldn’t help but turn around to face her one last time.

“Oh, by the way…” You said with a growing devious grin. “Kyle’s brain was absolutely delicious.” Venom couldn’t help but join in at the last second, but it got the results that you wanted. Stacy tried charging at you but the closing doors were quicker. You could hear her banging at the door all the way up. Ah, you’ll remember the face she made. You wonder if her boyfriend had that same expression.

~

Ham decided to pop his head out once you used your aunt’s card to get into the bathroom. He had a sponge lodged into his ears that managed to take out by pulling it out of one ear with a comical pop. You’re too

“Geez, took you long enough. Thought the catfight was gonna take foreeeever.” He complained.

“Well sorry for having enemies, I guess.” You replied as you readjusted your communicator. “This is Black Spider. Um...Sorry that I went AWOL there. Bumped into a rather unpleasant classmate of mine in the elevator.”

“About time! Thought about going in there thinking you croaked.” Noir’s voice crackled through his mic.

“Weren’t you able to hear anything from Ham’s mic?”

Peni answered your question with, “The microphone is designed to cancel out any background noise so whoever’s talking into it can be heard. You’ll never find anything better for noise cancellation!”

The wonders of the future could not be thanked enough.

You pushed Ham’s head back in the bag at the sound of the bathroom door unlocking for someone else. This is your cue to leave and head to your aunt’s office.

The first phase of the plan is now successful. Now that the second part is about to be achieved, you’re looking forward to the idea of getting away without being caught. Well, you almost did, but that doesn’t count in your books.

It should be smooth sailing from here, right?

...Right?

#spiderverse #spidersona #x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse x reader #spiderman into the spiderverse & reader #spiderverse x reader #venom x reader #venom & reader #venom symbiote x reader #venom symbiote & reader #venom/reader #venom symbiote/reader #reader insert #my writing #friends like you and us

[lahallucinations]

hot and cold

A.N: the tater/aunt judy fic nobody asked for. except maybe @garden-of-succulents

based on this ask: x

“Come on, Mama you have to know of something that’ll help.” Bitty was well near whining now.“Darling you know as much as I call my recipes magic, they can’t magically heal a broken leg. Can’t even heal a broken heart.” “But Ma, he’s been here two weeks already and I know he’s in pain but I want some space. He’s hanging all over Jack like those puck bunnies do.”“Bitty, you should trust Jack and darling,  oh, I can’t believe I’m saying this because Judy is usually about as helpful  as a horse in a hospital but Judy might have a recipe for recovery.”Bitty almost gasped. This was never a thing that he expected out of his mother’s mouth. The rivalry between Judy and Suzanne had existed for as far back as Bitty could remember but he did love his aunt. When he was a kid, his aunt would watch musicals with him on a crappy old VCR while his mom was usually too busy for that. She bought him DVD’s of shows that had become part of the way he saw the world.He wondered if his mom ever blamed her for Bitty turning out gay. She’d never say that, the Bittles weren’t like that but there were subtle looks and innocent comments that said more.Bitty rung Judy after that and caught her up on the situation.She laughed. “Doll, do you think sugar can cure medical problems?”

“If not cure, it can make them heal faster. Aunt Judy, you and I both know that food is powerful and I really want my boyfriend to myself.”

“Huh, well, there is an apricot jam my grandmother used to make. Let me find the recipe, but I’m telling you now, I’m not sure this’ll work.”“Anything is better than that lug of an man all over Jack without letting me have a minute alone.”“I mean, honey, it’s not a bad problem to have. I certainly wouldn’t complain if I had a hunk of an NHL star on my couch.”“So it didn’t work with Daniel?”“Handling a real woman ain’t for everyone Bits.” Bitty hummed in response. They then said goodbye and he hung up. Apricot. He sure hoped the recipe worked.It was a few days later when Bitty brought the jam to Tater who was lying on the couch. “Here try it with some shortbread cookies I whipped up.”Tater ate almost an entire plate.“I’ve gotta say B. You’ve outdone yourself. This is delicious.”Bitty smiled. He might be annoyed at Tater but he was still his friend. “Hey get some sleep okay.”“And it doesn’t hurt?” Jack asked.“Nope. I don’t know what happened.”“What’s going on?” Bitty said.“I don’t know what miracle happened but Tater can walk, eh?”“What?”“Yeah. Watch,” Tater said as he moved his leg around.“Ohmygoditworked.”“What?”“I asked my aunt if she knew of any recipes to help you heal faster cause you know I couldn’t see you in pain,” Bitty was lying through his teeth but white lies made the world go around, “She gave me the recipe for that jam you had yesterday. I didn’t think it would actually work.” “I have to thank her, oh my god. I kept dreaming my hockey career was over. Can you give me her number, I want to thank her.”“Uh... I’m sure it’s fine. I’m just glad you’re back on your feet.”“B. My mother would kill me if I didn’t properly thank her. What does she like? Should I buy her something? But that’s not personal. Should I bring her some flowers? What does she like?”“Tater! She lives in Georgia. I’ll just pass on your thanks.”“I don’t want to be rude, I think I should visit. This is a big deal for me B.”“I mean it is the off-season and we could go with you?” Jack asked.“No, it’s fine. You two are busy, I’ll go myself.”Bitty wasn’t sure what was going on then but Tater was packing, booking plane tickets and that afternoon he took an Uber to the airport. Bitty had called his mother to tell her but he still was unsure about telling Judy, Tater had wanted to surprise her but he still thought it was better if she knew.He ended up doing and after an excited chat with Aunt Judy, Bitty went and collapsed into Jack’s arms. .....

истощениеExhaustion. That’s all Tater’s body had felt like for the past week. The pain seemed to rest deep in each bone of his body. He had almost yelled at the doctor, if only one was broken why did he feel like he had been run over everywhere, multiple times.The doctor had some bullshit about his body adapting that Tater half listened to but currently he felt invigorated.His grandmother used to make him Solyanka, to warm him up during the winter and she always said that warm food made with love, could fix everything. Judy had proven that to be true. A few hours later standing at her doorstep, he wondered whether he should be nervous. Most people would be, but Tater was always ready for anything. He knocked.A woman who had the same light hair as Bitty opened the door. She looked warm and Tater noticed the way her brown eyes twinkled.“Hello, I’m Alexi. Bitty’s friend. This is going to sound crazy but-”“Oh, I know who you are. I have to say Bitty getting me into hockey was amazing. You’re a wonderful player to watch, Mr. Mashkov.” “You knew I was coming?”“Yeah, Bitty didn’t want me to be caught off-guard.” Tater entered the house which smelled like sugar with a hint of lemon. “Oh no please call me Alexi, I came here to thank you, honestly I owe you a lot.” “Darling you owe me nothing, have a cup of tea with me if you really want to thank me.”“I have a gift for you, Keemun tea, it reminds me of home. Though I’ve seen the way Bitty eats, you might need a kilo of sugar to get it down.” Tater grinned at Judy. “Yes, that boy does have a sweet tooth. Let me get you some jam to go with that.” “I thought that was a Russian thing.” “Well, the Russians do know how to appreciate the finer things in life. You want some sponge cake with your tea? Or a biscuit?”“I’m okay with just the tea.”Ten minutes later, tea hot and piping and biscuits waiting to be devoured, Judy said, “So Alexi, tell me is it true you had to run away to play hockey?”“I don’t want to bore you with that.”“I doubt that is a boring story Mr. Mashkov and I promise I will interrupt you if I start falling asleep. Now go.” And so Tater did. He told her stories of his childhood, playing hockey with his dad and uncle and how much that shaped him. She surprised him then and asked, “Is he who put the drive in you?”“What?” Tater didn’t really understand what she meant.“Darling every time a parent discovers that their kid has talent, they turn into goddamn Simon Cowell, trying to make their kid into a star. My parents thought my sister was pretty and boy did they have a field day with that one. They put her in pageants, competitions you name it.”The realization dawns over Alexi. “Bitty’s mom was a beauty queen?”“Oh yes, she was Miss Georgia too. But that’s what I mean by drive, did your father do that for you?”“No. My father he liked rules. Stable. You know. My mother had dreams for me, she was a singer. She taught me how to dream big to take things, because nothing in life will ever be handed to you.”Alexi felt strange, sharing so much. He had only said two things but it felt more open than he had been to anyone in a long time. Sometimes he felt himself become the hockey robot. Giving the same short responses to journalists, fans and recently even friends. Judy poured him another cup. And they talked, their lives were as far apart as they could be. From the cold that could settle in so deep, you wondered whether blood was even able to run through veins anymore, to the heat that cooked you as if you were a rare steak on a barbecue. Their conversation hit deep points but also had its levity. Sometime during their third hour, Alexi brought up learning English through daytime TV.They spent the next hour watching Dr. Phil and then another Judge Judy.Towards the end of the afternoon Tater gets ready to say goodbye and promises to visit soon.“Oh, but you don’t have to spend time with an old lady like me out of obligation, go and live your life. I’m sure you have more exciting things to do.”“I like spending time with you. You’re a genuine person in a world where there aren’t many.”“You too sugar, you too.”“So it’s settled, I’ll be right here tomorrow?”“Actually tomorrow is the farmer’s market. Do you want to experience it? Because it is an experience.” Judy smiled through the sentence.“It’s a date.” Tater said as he left and Judy smiled wider than she had in many years.A part of her felt like a giggling schoolgirl again as she called her sister, partly to tell her that Bitty had wonderful friends and partly to squeal about the NHL star who she had plans with. She felt a rush of excitement, Alexi was a star, but he was also an anchor in way most people could never be. She wasn’t sure whether the had a future but she was eager to find out.

#what do i tag this as #alexi mashkov #aunt judy #omgcp #sorry or your welcome depending on how you feel about this

[isntthisenoughwhatwouldbeenough]

Christmas With You (Philip x Reader)

A/N: Hello Lovely Wonderfuls! I hope you’re all doing well! Here is a Philip x Reader with a Christmas theme and the Hamilsquad, as requested by @crazypup110! I hope you enjoy this! I know its a little early for Christmas, but I loved writing this one! As always I wish all of you the happiest of days and a wonderful weekend!

You squeeze Philips hand tightly and bite your lip nervously, as he raises his other hand to knock on the door.

“Babe,” he laughs, giving your hand a squeeze. “They are going to love you, I promise,” he kisses your hand and smiles reassuringly. “Everything will be okay.”

You take another deep breath, you turn to look at him and smile softly.

“If you say so,” you let go of his hand to brush a loose curl out his face. “I just want your family to like me.”

“Everyone is going to love you, there’s no way the couldn’t,” he kisses your knuckles. “You’re the most wonderful person I have ever met, and the best thing to ever happen to me. These past six months have been the happiest days of my life, and I love you.”

“Babe,” you caress his cheek and press a soft kiss to his lips. “Okay,” you take a deep breath and giving him a bright smile. “I’m ready.”

He smiles brightly at you, and knocks. A woman with long brown hair and an excited smile opens the door.

“Philip, sweetheart!” Her smile grows as she embraces Philip. She releases him and kisses his cheek.

“Ma,” he groans in protest, but the smile on his face says he didn’t mind that much.

She turns with a kind smile towards you. Holding out her arms in a welcoming hug.

“You must be (Y/N),” she gives you a squeeze and you quickly decide that you adore her. She pulls away, her hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m so happy to finally meet you.”

“Are you going to let anyone else meet her, or is she going to stand outside all day?”

You see a man with dark hair, glasses, a goatee, and smirk on his lips, standing a few feet behind her. She looks at you and rolls her eyes, but smiles as she turns back to him. You can see her stick her tongue out at him and you giggle. Philip shakes his head and chuckles.

“Come in, come in,” she ushers you in.

“(Y/N), this is my husband, Philips dad, Alexander,” she introduces him.

He holds out his hand with a warm smile of his own.

“Very nice to meet you, (Y/N),” he shakes your hand. “Pip here has told us a lot about you.”

“All good things I hope,” you smile.

“Of course,” he turns to Philip with his arms open. “Its good to see you son.”

Philip steps into the embrace, hugging his father tightly. They pull away smiling at each other. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side and smiling at his parents.

“Where are my”-

“IS THAT MY FAVORITE NEPHEW!”

A man who looks shockingly like Philip, burst into the room, grabbing him in hug.

“Hey, Uncle John,” he laughs.

“(Y/N), this is”-

“The kid has finally arrived, huh?”

A tall man with a beanie walks in, a huge smile on his face, heads straight to Philip giving him the ‘man’ hug, slapping his back, before stepping back and rustling his hair.

“Come on, Uncle Herc,” he groans, while the man just laughs.

“Ah, petit Philip,” another man, taller than the last one enters, walking quickly to Philip, locking him in a hug and kissing his cheek.

“Hi, Uncle Laf.”

You stand closer to Mrs. Hamilton trying to stay out the way. She laughs, and wraps an arm around you.

“Don’t worry dear, they’re not this rambunctious all the time.”

The three men turn at her words, and you grow nervous under their stare.

“And who’s this, Pip?” His Uncle John asks smiling at you.

“This,” he steps away from his uncles and takes your hand in his, “is my girlfriend,  (Y/N).” He smiles proudly wrapping an arm around you.

“What?!” John exclaims.

“Pip, brought a girl home,” the tall man says, placing a hand over his heart.

The man with the beanie just started to slow clap, until the other men followed.

You looked up at Philip, a bemused smile on your face. His hand was covering his face and he was shaking his head. You start to laugh as his father joins in, and even his mom.

“Ma, come on,” he throws his hand in the air as he blushes.

“Am I the first girl you’ve brought home?” You look up at him smiling.

“Maybe,” he shrugs his shoulders, not looking at you.

“Pip,” you say sweetly. You kiss his cheek, which causes a few whistles, that make him blush more while you giggle.

“Is dinner ready yet, ma?”

She laughs, and nods her head.

“Yes, my darling boy, dinner is ready,” she pats his shoulder. “Let’s all head to the dining room.”

You all enter the dining room, where you meet Philips sisters and brothers, his aunts, who you quickly knew you liked, another uncle, and his cousins.

The dinner was very lively, considering how many people there were. The loudest of the group were, without a doubt, Philips father and his uncles. You couldn’t stop laughing with the stories they were telling, and jokes they were making. You were enthralled by his family, they were kind, lively, and just wonderful.

Once everyone was done, you offered to help Mrs. Hamilton, who insisted on you calling her Eliza. She smiled fondly at you, and shook her head.

“Thank you, dear, but the boys will be taking care of that,” she winks.

You think she’s joking, but all the men stand and start picking up plates, bowls, and utensils. Philip takes yours, kisses your head and winks at you. You sit there, somewhat shocked.

“Come on, sweetie,” Peggy taps your shoulder. “We’re going to watch a movie, while they clean up.”

“Has it always been like that?” You ask, as you sit on the couch.

“Oh, no,” Aunt Angelica laughs, “that started some years ago. We realized how unfair it was that we did all the cooking and then had to do all the cleaning.”

“So,” Aunt Peggy continues, “we decided to make the boys do it,” she shrugs. “They didn’t really complain.”

“Not that they’re allowed, after eating such a delicious meal,” Eliza smiles, laughing, and you laugh too.

“The only thing we have to worry about is them starring some soap or sponge fight,” Angie, Philips little sister, says with a chuckle.

“I don’t worry about that,” Eliza waves her hand. “Laf will keep them in check and my kitchen in tact.”

“Not Mr. Hamilton?” You ask with a smile.

“Are you kidding, Alexander?” She scoffs. “He’s the most rambunctious of the group, he’s the one that starts it,” she laughs, shaking her head.

They all start to tell you stories about all the mischief the men had gotten into since they were younger. You laughed along with them, eyes going wide with shock, hearing a few of the stories.

“What are you ladies, laughing about,” Mr. Hamilton comes in, sitting next to his wife and kissing her head.

“We were telling jokes about you,” Aunt Peggy smirks.

“Shut up, Peggy,” he grumbles, snuggling into Eliza.

Philip comes in, taking a spot next to you and wrapping you in his arms. You smile, and lean into him.

“Are we doing Christmas karaoke or what?” Uncle John asks, smiling brightly.

“Let’s do it,” everyone cheers.

You giggle as his Uncle Hercules and Uncle Laf do a charming rendition of Last Christmas. His Aunts decide on Jingle Bell Rock, while his Uncle John and Mr. Hamilton go for Rockin’ Around the Christmas tree, complete with a dance, that has everyone laughing. Eliza decides on Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas, that almost makes you cry. Once she fishes she turns to you and Philip.

“What do you want sing, sweetheart?”

“Oh, no, no thank you,” you shake your head. “I’m really not a great singer.”

“Neither are we, dear,” she smiles sweetly.

“Come on, babe, I know exactly which song we can sing.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the front of the living room. You take a deep breath and see the song flash across the screen. You turn to him and smile. Baby, It’s Cold Outside.

I really can't stay (but baby, it's cold outside)

I've got to go away (but baby, it's cold outside)

You start, smiling with every word. Philip smiles brightly, happy to be with you.

This evening has been (been hoping that you'd drop in) So very nice (I’ll hold your hands, they're just like ice)

He takes your hand in his, kissing your knuckles.

My mother will start to worry (beautiful what's your hurry?) My father will be pacing the floor (listen to the fireplace roar)

You take your hand from his, shaking your head, playing along with the song.

So really I'd better scurry (beautiful please don't hurry) But maybe just a half a drink more (put some records on while I pour)

You pretend to turn away, and he grabs your hand, pulling you back.

The neighbors might think (baby, it's bad out there) Say what's in this drink? (no cabs to be had out there)

He hands you a glass of eggnog, making everyone laugh, as you continue to sing.

I wish I knew how (your eyes are like starlight now) To break this spell (I’ll take your hat, your hair looks swell)

You put the drink down, turning to him. He runs his fingers through your hair, singing his part.

I ought to say, no, no, no sir (mind if I move in closer?) At least I'm gonna say that I tried (what's the sense in hurtin' my pride?)

You shake your head at him, lightly pushing him away. He holds your hand, spinning you around and pulling you into his chest.

I really can't stay (oh baby don't hold out) But baby, it's cold outside

 You finish the rest of the song, and he kisses you quickly as he dips you. His family cheers, as you blush.

The night wears down, as everyone sits around the living room, talking. Your laughter continues as Philips Uncles seem to become more exuberant with each passing minute. Eliza shakes her head as her husband challenges his best friends to ‘sword’ duel, with his younger children’s toys. You laugh as they readily agree and run around the house like children.

“Are they always like this?” You giggle.

“I would say no, but I would be lying,” Eliza chuckles.

A little while later, you and Philip decide it’s time to go. You get up to say goodbye, Aunt Peggy and Aunt Angelica hugging you first, a round of siblings, and then the Uncles.

“Just so you know, we’re really proud Pip brought home, such a nice girl,” Uncle Hercules says, giving you a warm smile.

“Oui, we couldn’t have imagined anyone better,” Uncle Laf smiles.

“Pip, picked a good one, that’s for sure,” Uncle John smiles kindly. “Take care of him for us, huh?”

You nod, smiling warmly at each of them and giving them hugs.

“Thank you, for being so kind to our family,” Mr. Hamilton smiles at you. “I know we can be a lot, but I have to say, I think you fit in perfectly.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he nods, “I couldn’t be more proud.”

“Thank you,” you smile, giving him a hug goodbye.

“Here’s some left overs, sweetie,” Eliza comes, bringing you a container of food.

“Oh, Mrs. Ham”-

“Eliza,” she corrects you.

“Eliza,” you smile, “you really didn’t have to.”

“Nonsense, I’m happy to,” she hugs you tightly, and you hug her back just the same. “I’m so Thankful that my son found such a wonderful girl to be with,” she pulls away, smiling softly.

“Me too,” Philip appears next to you, smiling proudly.

He says goodbye to his parents and you walk out hand and hand, to the car. You both get settled in, and as you start to drive home, you notice his big smile.

“What?”

“I told you they would love you,” he takes your hand and kisses it once more. “How could they not.”

“Well,” you smile lovingly at him, “I loved them, too.” You kiss his hand. “I’m so happy I got to meet them.”

“So am I, baby,” he smiles. “I’m even happier they got to meet you.

#philip x reader #philip hamilton #hamilton imagine #alexander hamilton #eliza x alexander #eliza schuyler #Angelica Schuyler #peggy schuyler #Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette #John Laurens #Hercules Mulligan #hamilsquad

[nuclear-reactions]

Your most recent companion reactions got me to tear up 😭(especially Boone and Veronica jfc) amazing work! Maybe for something a bit lighter(or not...?) companions react to the Courier showing up with a child they found? (You can ignore the request this was mainly so I could pay you a compliment 🙏)

Arcade- He’s neverbeen good with kids. He found them fascinating, considering they wereliving sponges that were learning how to exist and absorbing theinformation around them, but he had never gotten the hang of actuallyinteracting with them. A few single parents would come to Followersnow and then; he would pawn them off on the nearest doctor beforethey tried handing their shrieking ball of cells to him. So when Sixpresents him with this thing, this drooling, floppy, completelyrelying on him not to accidentally kill it thing, he can’t stophimself from recoiling. Six arches a brow at him. “Really? Are youreally afraid of a baby, Arcade?” He wasn’t afraid of the baby persay. More he was afraid Six wanted him to hold the baby. And whenthey pushed it into his arms, that transformed into fear of droppingthe thing on its soft little head and permanently damaging itsdeveloping brain.  It wouldn’t even be his fault, babies squirmed.They actually craved death. He kind of did too when Six left theinfant in his arms and started walking away. “Six. Six? Six, pleasedon’t leave me with-” And the elevator doors close behind them. Hetries shifting to push the call button, but the slight movement makesit groan and roll in its security blanket, which nearly sends ittumbling out of his grip. He stands there petrified for the nexthour until Six’s return.

Boone- He isperhaps the most uniquely qualified person to deal with their newvisitor. After Carla told him she was pregnant, he’d gone out of hisway to find every parenting book left in the Mojave. He’d toldhimself then, if he knew what to expect, it wouldn’t seem soterrifying; which at the time, it was. Most of the Old World oneswere pretty useless, but some folks had written new ones dealing withprotecting an infant from radiation, how to keep them quiet whengoing through feral infested areas, and rather horrifyingly, how muchslavers, tribals, and even the Legion would pay for healthy ones. ToSix and pretty much everyone else’s surprise, he is the only one thatcan get them to calm down when they start to cry. He cradles themjust like he’d read, nestled under his chin with a hand supportingtheir neck and head. He breathes in deep and slow through his nose.He’d always imagined this was how his own child would smell. It takeshalf a day before he even lets anyone so much as touch the babywrapped up against his chest, and even then, he glares daggers atanyone that causes them any discomfort. He’s quick to critique otherpeople’s baby holding form and watches over the little one like ahawk.

Raul- Growing upin a close knit household of a younger sibling, baby cousins, andparents all too happy to dump their bawling bundles of joy on someoneyounger to have time with other adults, Raul is no stranger to childcare. He’s also the only person in Six’s band of misfits that canstand to change diapers or really knows how to do them properly. Inevitably this leaves him with the unpleasant aspects of havinga baby around. Mostly cleaning up shit and spit up. But he doesn’treally mind. Especially when their little fingers wrap around one ofhis rotten digits and holds on tight, staring up at him with bigliquid eyes and an implicit trust in their gaze that he hasn’t beenafforded in a long time. To be in the glow of absolute innocencenearly brings him to tears.

Veronica- She hada way with kids. The youngest of Initiates loved her, and she lovedthem back. They hadn’t grown up into assholes yet so their companywas about the only kind she really tolerated with the Brotherhood.Children and animals gravitate to her- people had told her it was herpersonality and good heart. She thought that child at heart charmworked on babies too, so she swept it up without hesitation, and waspromptly met with a shrill scream. The scream grew louder and thecheeks redder when she tried making faces at them to calm them down.No amount of cooing or bouncing or belly raspberries could get themto stop. They squirm and kick so much she has to hand them back off,flustered and bewildered. How could a kid not like her? She’s thecool aunt! Every young Initiate had described her like that. Theutter betrayal… She eyes anyone that holds the baby with envy,secretly dying inside. “I’m the cool aunt,” she whispers quietlyto them after they’d been laid down to sleep, “I’m your friend?Friend, huh?” The second she tries tickling their belly, theyalmost start to cry, and she quickly slinks away, accepting defeat.

Cass- It’s notthat she hated babies- well, kinda. It was hard to develop an opinionon someone or something she hadn’t really been around much. Babieswere a rare commodity in a wasteland that blasted any viable eggs orsperm a person had with radiation just about every day. When Sixwaltzed in with a baby of all things, she really didn’t have much ofan opinion. As long as she wasn’t the one taking care of it, theycould bring home a Deathclaw for all she cared. One thing she wasn’treally prepared for was the crying. She knew one thing about babies,that they cried, but god damn, she didn’t think they cried this much.Sometimes it looked like they weren’t going to take a breath with howred and sweat they would get. It didn’t take long for this to get onher nerves, so she snatched up a bottle of whiskey and stomped overto Six as they held the little banshee. Dabbing a few drops on one ofher fingers, she stuck it in the infant’s mouth when it opened wideto let out another ear piercing scream. “Cass, what the hell-”“It’s some Old World thing, s'posed to make them shut the hell upor somethin’. It’s kinder than throwing them out the fucking window.”And, after a few seconds of nubby gums chewing on her finger, she wasfinally rewarded with blessed silence. Only problem was, once theyshut up, she wound up stuck with her pinkie trapped between atoothless, surprisingly strong baby jaw, and had to stand there whiletheir wriggly little tongue sucked every morsel of alcohol off herskin.

Lily- It takes alot of lecturing (“You swear you won’t squeeze them too hard?Promise you’ll be gentle.” ) before she’s even allowed to hold thebaby. They’re small enough that her hand alone completely dwarfstheir little form, and they almost fit entirely in the palm of onebig paw. They look up at her, almost begin to cry, but a bit of softcooing stops them in their tracks, and they stare up at her inwonder. “Aren’t you just the sweetest little thing?” She bringsthem up to her face, and everyone in the room tenses, moving a stepforward. A happy giggle breaks out and a resounding sigh of relief goes throughthe Lucky 38. The baby pats her exposed teeth and grips at thewrinkled edge of her lip. “You’re Granny’s little angel, aren’tyou? You’re not scared of your old grandma.” They weren’t. Not evenLeo intruded on the moment as the child explored Lily’s features andshe did the same in return. Veronica can’t help but seethe thatbetween the two of them, she lost baby privileges to the Nightkin.

ED-E- Tiny handsgrab at every nut and antenna on the eyebot’s frame, and sticksanything it can get its grubby mitts on in its mouth. ED-E has neverreally seen one of these before. He gives curious blips and pokes itgingerly as he hovers around it. It bats at him and laughs shrilly.Whenever he plays back a song or a sound clip from his databases,they stare at him. He quickly learns this is a good way to get hislaser barrel out of their mouth, and that it quiets them wheneverthey begin to wail for inexplicable reasons.

Rex- He laps attheir round cheeks until he’s covered their face in slobber. Theyshriek with delight and grab at his muzzle, pulling on his upper lip and whiskers,grabbing at his ears. They laugh and wave their arms when he runs ina circle or barks. He decides instantly he loves this little thingand takes to sleeping curled up near it, even when it gets thehabit of wrapping its mouth around the top of his glass encasedcranium and slobbers him up in return.

#something nice for once! #and also thank you for the kind words! #fallout new vegas #arcade gannon #craig boone #raul tejada #cass #Rose Of Sharon Cassidy #veronica santangelo #ED-E #rex #reactions #companion reactions

[paranoiakrp]

         CITIZEN FILE RETRIEVED: NAM BITNA ...

STATS

name / nam bitna d.o.b. / 11.11.94 age / 24 pronouns / she/her job / freelance audio technician & psychic shop receptionist societies / here groups / vlog › audio tech

WHATS YOUR WEIRD?

the sound.

growing up is loud.

it’s a cramped house full of three generations worth of people and it’s racing to fill your plate at dinner because there might not be enough for everyone; it’s creaking floorboards and thin walls and screaming in the night and - swearing to every god and deity that you weren’t making it up when you told the story of the night before over breakfast. it’s a glowering black figure in the corner of her room that keeps her up at night. it’s crying herself to sleep when the bills are overdue and her night light doesn’t shine and her only source of light is the glow of the moon. “shh,” says her father, tells her to cover her ears and shut her eyes, count backwards from ninety; that things are never as bad as they seem.

when she’s ten, her dad scrapes together enough to buy her a walkman at a pawn shop during an obligatory trip into town. the first song she hears through the clunky headphones that go with it, on a blank cassette that she can’t pry out, is something beautiful. it’s in old korean and she doesn’t understand a word of it but she plays it to the end and then again and again, stares into the corner where the black blob lives and watches it move. she stares and she stares, but it’s not half as scary when she can’t hear the groan of the house and the brush of wind on the trees outside her window, the big empty whispers of the souls that live in the walls. she feels safe. it’s the first time she sleeps through the night and from that point forward bitna is never seen without it - her walkman, black and bulky and covered in residue from stickers stuck on and scraped away by its previous owner, the cassette that doesn’t budge. the songs, sometimes voices, that never end, the batteries that never seem to need a change.

everyone other than bitna and her father that’s ever tried to take a listen says one thing -

it’s quiet.

“shh,” says her father.

he dies. she doesn’t listen to it much anymore. she’s scared of what she’ll hear.

WHATS YOUR STORY?

TAPE #001, TRACK 0:

seven wonders, fleetwood mac.

bitna’s mother, songhee, is the daughter of a politician, she’s well-off and high up in the hierarchy of junae’s youth. she’s beautiful, intelligent, the kind of girl who can have any man she set her sights on but she throws it all away to become a poor man’s wife. enter romeo. bitna’s father, hanbin, who comes from rags, a long line of workers that struggle to make ends meet and keep food on the table; he makes extra pocket money on his own by busking around the town with his homegrown magic tricks that he never shares the secrets to but lacks drive and ambition. he never leaves the library once he’s in it, rarely even to shower. he bites the peels off his oranges, hands sticky with juice and filthy with dust and residue.

they’re not supposed to meet, should’ve never crossed paths to begin with, but in true romeo and juliet form: they do anyway. it starts as a run-in near town hall and turns into them meeting weekly, in the outskirts of town when the night is pitch black and inky enough that their shadows don’t give them away. they trade secrets and the little bit of knowledge they possess to the tune of cicadas and festival excitement.

bitna: is conceived on a fallen log in the forest, fitted with a discolored gingham blanket, the scene lit by fireflies and the stars in the sky. her mother always makes it sound more romantic than the thrust-and-go it’d really been, a rushed moment of passion after they’d promised to run away together - into the horizon, over the mountains and beyond. it’s funny then, that bitna’s born where they both had been raised: in the quiet, sheltered middle of bumfuck nowhere.

they get married young and they struggle, make empty, endless promises to make it out and somewhere bigger for bitna’s sake, but they never do.

god, they never do.

TAPE #015, TRACK 6:

boogie shoes, kc & the sunshine band.

she grows up in a house packed full with her grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins and her mom and dad, and it’s an overwhelm of sound.

she picks up on every shift in tone and pitch, catches every impact and imbalance. she thrives on sound, the way it feels when it’s low and rumbling, the shrillness of it when it’s so high you can only feel the rattle of it in your eardrums and the air. she’s born screaming her head off, says her first words early and loves the sound of her granddad’s vinyl records when it’s close to bedtime and she’s slow to soothe.

it’s a cruel kind of irony then that, with how sensitive she is to the audio of the world around her, she’s born deaf in one ear.

they can’t afford a hearing aid, least of all when she’s still growing, so she finds other ways to hear with clarity, certainty. it starts with sitting in her grandparents’ lounge room and pressing her tiny hands against the speaker of their well-loved record player and evolves into her learning how to use audio software and watching the fluctuations of the waves on the screen of the family’s brick computer with a carelessly (and excruciatingly) torrented program that did, in fact, have a virus just like her older cousin had told her it would and did (in fact) crash the system altogether. she takes thrifted speakers apart to see what’s inside and follows her dad to junk sales to find scrap pieces of old electronics to make them better. she hates junk sales but it almost feels worth it for the way her hair stands up on end around certain items, certain homes and alleyways, when neighbors ask her for help with fixing their set-ups, when she’s known as a mini audio tech guru as young as she is, despite her disability. almost worth the voices, the noises again. almost.

kids are rude about it sometimes and, when they’re old enough to know better and not care, make a show of walking around to her left side to talk shit. (about her daddy being weird and her mama being a peach that fell real far from the orchard - it’s all things they’ve heard their parents say about them, things that keep them from having playdates with bitna, things that make her cousins walk ahead of her on the way home. things.)

her fist serves as a decent reminder that she can still hear with her right ear and manages to shut up the terrible few before it becomes a bigger problem, but she drowns it out with her headphones and the eerie, nameless music her walkman plays, anyway. she doesn’t hear much else. she doesn’t need them.

(she doesn’t.)

but bitna, a natural sponge, collects friends and enemies with every breath she takes - unapologetic and ambitious and deluded into thinking that she’s better somehow. (she goes to the same school (church, doctor, grocer, park, lake) that everyone else goes to, looks nowhere but up and wonders what better is,) keeps mostly to her work and her plans - anticipates, really, to be the exception to the frightening notion that nobody in junae makes it very far away from town. her grandmother tells her that people almost always come back, that there’s something in the water and the air. ask your daddy, she always says. bitna never finds the time.

but she is one of a hefty handful who make it out. she goes to college in the big city long enough to start a life and get a degree but winds up right back where she’d started when her dad dies.

it’s sudden. loud.

she gives up a tech job opportunity in seoul to help her mother pick up the pieces of her heart and plan a tasteful sendoff; watches her cousins move out of the stupid house they’d all grown up in at their own leisure, starting their lives as functioning members of the community - seemingly content with going absolutely nowhere.

her mother reconnects with her parents in her agony, old and retired and withered down by life and then she’s gone, too - in the middle of the night on a patch of grass in the forest. bitna doesn’t waste time wondering what she’d been doing that far out of town in the first place and grieves the loss of both her parents in such close proximity. it doesn’t make any sense.

she could leave but she stays behind to keep her father’s parents company. it’s what she tells herself, at least, when she struggles to find a place for herself in the home she’d worked so hard to leave, lost without the anchors she’d always counted on being there. poor and thrust into independence, really, with no net.

it makes her angry, bitter. she simmers and - she ponders. the lack of surprise surrounding her parents’ deaths from anyone else rattles her: the way her father’s best friend can’t look her in the eyes; the way her maternal grandparents screw their mouths up at the mention of how her parents had met, don’t dare to look at bitna lest they be reminded of what she represents; her uncle burns her daddy’s journals in the backyard, locks his foggy glass jars in the attic and nails the door shut.

they’d known, then.

she finally finds the voice to ask the questions she’s always been meaning to ask and the answers are gone, buried with her parents in junae’s cemetery. or, kept, rather, by the only other people they’d dared to tell.

she wishes she’d been one of them.

TAPE #054, TRACK 9

soda city funk, tim legend.

it’s two years of this.

bitna, though a typically optimistic (read: fatalistic) and (mostly) (sometimes) (tries-to-be) warm individual, falls into a depression perpetuated by the lack of forward movement in her career, which serves as a convenient cloak for her anxiety over a lack of closure. her simmering bubbles into a boil and she wallows in the heat of it. her wallowing leads to drinking alone and late nights out, drunken wandering around the library for a window to sneak in through, making it as far as the rusted back door before she falls asleep on the steps. other times it’s waking up in the middle of the night and wandering to where her mother’s body had been found. she explores in the cover of the night until she loses her nerve.

she takes odd jobs to keep bills paid and food on the table, lengthy repairs and school assemblies, music for birthday gigs when the going gets tough, a wealthy man’s lap when she’s desperate. it’s all a means to an end.

between job interviews (and bad decisions), she takes a trip to the tarot shop for a reading. she finds herself in this position a lot, lingering in front of the heavily draped doorway with words hanging off the tip of her tongue. usually, she walks away, but something compels her to stay. she goes in with the intention of asking about her parents’ deaths but chickens out and asks for help instead.

it’s two parts desperation for a raft to hold onto and one part curiosity that pulls her in, it costs her a coffee but she feels vindicated when the first card she touches when they begin is death upright.

change and transformation, the woman at the helm assures her, and maybe bitna should be more embarrassed that it takes a woman in a dusty robe and tacky jewelry telling her to let go of her worldly woes to get her to unclench but it works.

in fact, it resonates with her on such a personal level that she starts working there as a receptionist, letting go of the notion of her dream job falling face first into her lap and holding onto a new belief. the cards become law; she cleanses her aura with funky teas and yoga, sits with her worn down walkman and listens until hours turn into days when she feels the need to be on her own. she waits and works and doesn’t stress over the future. (except maybe she does, just more quietly and mostly in her journal,) but it’s the first time in her life that she lets life happen and explores the town she’d never truly given a chance and - it’s almost fate that the like-minded vlog squad opportunity arises when it does. when she’s faced with all of these questions that she doesn’t have the answers to and a desire to find them.  

(it rumbles.)

#pa.app #pa.jang seungyeon #pa.vlog

[hoaryoldbitch]

All My Agony Fades Away (When You Hold Me In Your Embrace)

My entry for day 2 (Bed sharing/cuddling) of Fifteen Days of Valentine.

This has probably been done before, but I based it off one of the first things I ever wrote for Sansa and Jon, right after the season 6 finale, but never published.

The title is from the song All I Need by Within Temptation. That song gives me so many Jonsa feels!

You can also read this fic on AO3.

Rating: Mature

Implied/Referenced Past Abuse

Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.

Sansa felt a shiver run down her spine despite the roaring fire and the layers of furs on her bed. It would never be truly cold in here, in the Lady's chambers. It was why Jon had insisted she take them instead of her own old rooms when she'd finally convinced him to take the Lord's chambers.

Her discomfort had little to do with the temperature. She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up. Winterfell is our home. We have to fight for it. It didn't feel like home anymore though. She'd hoped to feel safe again inside these walls. She'd expected her broken pieces to start healing again once they'd taken their home back.

She wondered how long it had been since she'd had a full night's sleep, trying to remember when she'd felt safe for the last time. Perhaps when she'd been in the Eyrie, before Aunt Lysa had seen Petyr kissing her, though uncertainty and painful memories had haunted her dreams even then.

Even in her most desperate moments, she'd found comfort once in a while: Tyrion's kindness; talking to Margaery; building Winterfell out of snow; having Theon with her when they'd escaped. But after Ramsay, a coldness had settled in her bones that she feared she'd never be able to chase away.

Seeing Jon again had been a flicker of light in the ocean of darkness her life had become. In his arms she'd felt warm and safe and whole again, if only for a couple of moments, but he hadn't held her like that since that first day at Castle Black. Sansa wasn't even sure it would feel the same.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day they'd talked up on the battlements. She remembered the way he'd touched her hair and kissed her forehead so gently. Part of her had wanted to throw herself into his arms again, but she'd been afraid to startle him. More importantly she couldn't allow herself to feel so deeply. When she thought of losing herself like that, it felt as if an iron hand was squeezing her throat shut.

It was too close to dawn when she finally fell asleep. She woke from restless dreams only a few hours later. She was used to the nightmares by now. They didn't overwhelm her the way they had in the beginning, but they still wore her out. Tonight there had been something new though. She tried to force the images out of her head. No, she told herself, he would never do that. Jon wouldn't hurt her. He's my brother.

Your half-brother, Littlefinger's voice warned her. She shook her head. It didn't even matter whether Jon loved her. Father had loved her, but he'd died. So had Mother and Robb, but it hadn't been enough to save her. Again and again, Sansa had put her trust in the wrong people and she'd promised herself never to make that mistake again. Still, if she couldn't even trust Jon, did that mean she would never be able to trust anyone again?

Despite his betrayal, Littlefinger had been valuable to her, teaching her the most important lesson. If you know what people want, you can always use it to your own advantage. She had figured that what Jon wanted more than anything was to be a Stark. So she did her best to make him feel like he was. At least, that's what she tried to tell herself.

She couldn't deny how warm and light she'd felt seeing that smile on his face after she'd presented him that direwolf cloak. And she had actually meant it when she'd told him he was a Stark. Now that the Lords had given him that same acknowledgement, she was at a loss though. It annoyed her immensely that she couldn't figure out what Jon wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sansa," he had told her later that same night, "I know you're angry with me, but I didn't ask for this."

She'd tried to tell him she wasn't angry, but he'd seen right through her. Of course she felt some resentment. It had been as if the lords had not even seen her there. They must believe her unfit to rule. They didn't trust her because of what their mutual enemies had done to her. What's done is done. It wasn't as if Jon could have refused the crown.

And she was happy for him, she truly was, but power would have meant safety for her. Once again that power had been taken from her. Once again she was at the mercy of another man. She wanted to believe that Jon was different, that she could trust him and that he truly cared about her. But even if all of that was true, he wouldn't be able to protect her forever. Sansa knew how the world worked. At one point he'd have to marry her off and she'd have to leave Winterfell again.

She sighed. She could stay here in bed all day fretting over things she was unable to change, but that wasn't going to help anyone. She slid from the bed, pulled on a robe and called her maid to draw her a bath.

***

Sansa spent most of her day dealing with the household staff. Some had arrived here with the visiting Northern Lords, but most of them had suffered through the Bolton regime. Some of them had tried to help her or had at least sought to comfort her. The majority of them had been too afraid of Ramsay to attempt any such thing.

Sansa wanted to hate them, but she understood too well what it was like to live in constant fear. She listened to their stories, comforted them and accepted their expressions of support and loyalty. She had inspected the keeps and other buildings with Jon a couple of days ago to establish priorities in the process of restoring Winterfell to its former glory.

Based on this inspection, she'd listed tasks that needed to be performed immediately. She entrusted these lists to the head staff, setting everyone to work.

***

By the time she had finished dealing with them, she felt exhausted and ready for another bath. It was silly and decadent, but she deciced she deserved a little indulgence after all those months of sleeping in a tent. When the bathtub was filled, she sent the servant girls from her rooms, undressed and sank down into the hot water.

Sansa picked up a sponge and furiously started rubbing her skin. After a couple of minutes, she forced herself to stop. No, no, no, you're supposed to be enjoying this! For months she had been so focused on taking back Winterfell that she had hardly lived consciously, practically unaware of her body.

She tried to relax. It still hurt, though even the ugliest wounds had healed by now. The scars would probably never fade completely. Winterfell would be repaired, but could she? She started stroking her arms and legs, moving on to her belly and her breasts. The touch of her fingers felt lovely.

She let one hand slip between her legs, tracing her lower lips with one finger, finding that sweet spot she'd discovered ages ago when she was still a prisoner in the Red Keep. She remembered lying in her bed at night, circling her nub until she found release. Back then she'd hardly realized what she was doing, only intent on losing herself for a couple of moments, freed from all of her worries and fears.

But she had known well enough it was something utterly wicked. She worked her clit until the pressure snapped and she felt a wave of pleasure tremble through her body, a soft moan escaping from her lips. When she was coming down, a couple of tears spilled from her eyes. Would she ever be able to let a man touch her? Jon touches you, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her.

Seven Hells, what is wrong with me? It must be true, she couldn't kill him, she was damaged beyond repair. What kind of woman would think of her brother with her hand still between her thighs?

***

Jon found her standing in front of one of the doors in the family quarters. "Sansa."

"Jon."

He hesitated for a moment. She glanced up at him. "Will you be joining us for supper?"

She sighed. "No, I'd like to eat alone tonight."

A slight frown appeared on his face. "Of course."

When he turned to leave, she called him back. "Jon."

He stopped to look at her and she met his eyes. "I want you to take everything inside this room and burn it."

His mouth fell open. "This is Robb's room."

I know, Jon, I know. "It was Ramsay's room," she answered. He didn't avert his eyes. To her relief there was no pity in them. She wouldn't have been able to stand seeing that he felt sorry for her. Instead she thought she saw pain and anger. She left without waiting for an answer.

She had her supper brought to her mother's solar, but ate little. After that she retreated to her room to sit by the fire and embroider another direwolf on a new dress. She worked until her eyes grew tired from the poor lighting. She put the dress away into a small chest and sat back down in her chair.

Sansa wished there was some other useful task she could set her mind to, but it was too late and too dark for that. She walked into her dressing room to unlace her gown and put on a warm nightrail. She peeled back the covers on her bed and nestled herself under them, waiting for sleep to take her, knowing it wouldn't.

And if it did, it would only be worse, for with it came the nightmares. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head, but it was too late. Her mouth went dry and her heart started beating frantically. Gods, what do I have to do to be able to sleep?

A memory came to her then, of another night when she'd been terrified, years and years ago. She'd tiptoed across the hallway, sneaking through a door and into another bed, whispering that there was a monster under her bed. A skinny arm had wrapped itself around her shoulders and a sleepy voice had answered. "Don't worry. I'll protect you, I promise."

He had repeated those words the night before the battle, when she'd told him she wouldn't go back to Ramsay alive. I won't ever let him touch you again. For a moment she'd been reminded how safe she'd felt as a little girl and something inside her had started to thaw. She'd believed every single word of his promise, but she couldn't allow herself to hope, so she'd retorted bitterly that no one could protect her.

She wished she could still hide from her monsters in Jon's bed right now. And why shouldn't I? She was not a little girl anymore though. Jon might be her brother, but it wouldn't be proper for her to sleep in his bed. But why should she still care whether something was proper? Septa Mordane and her Lady Mother weren't around to stop her anymore, so she rose, wrapped her robe around her body and padded out of her room and across the hallway to the Lord's chambers.

She knocked on the door. It took a couple of minutes before it opened, during which she considered turning back and abandoning this ridiculous idea. Then Jon was standing in the doorway, wearing only his tunic and breeches, his curls hanging loose around his face, illuminated by the light that spilled from his room. Sansa met his confused eyes. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside to let her in, closing the door behind her. She turned back to him. "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No, you didn't," he said slowly, frowning again. "What's wrong?"

She wrung her hands as she stared at her feet. There's a monster in my bed. "I - I can't sleep. Can I stay here tonight?"

Jon didn't answer. She looked up, opening her mouth to take her words back, but he cut her off. "Of course. I - I understand."

He licked his lips, his eyes wandering around the room before he met her gaze again: "I have nightmares too."

Sansa gaped at him. How could he know? He cleared his throat, swinging his arm. "You can take the bed. I'll sleep in a chair."

"No!"

He jerked his chin up as his eyes widened in surprise. "I mean - I don't want you to be uncomfortable. The bed is large enough for the both of us."

He stared at her for a moment, his face blank. Finally he nodded. Feeling a blush creeping up her face, she turned her back to him, taking off her robe and climbing into the bed. She waited until she felt the mattress dip under his weight, turning around to face him. He was lying at the edge of the bed, as far away from her as possible. "Please, come closer?"

He rolled onto his side to look at her. "I promise there are no grumkins under the bed."

She blinked. "You remember that?"

He offered her a quick smile. He seemed lost in thought for a couple of minutes. "You always came to me when you were afraid of monsters under your bed. Why?"

She propped herself up on her elbow. "I couldn't go to Mother and Father. I wanted to be a good girl, not a scared little baby. And Robb snored!"

They both chuckled. "And most of the time he'd just grunt and turn his back to me. I tried Theon once, but he laughed at me."

Jon's upper lip twitched when she mentioned that name. Sansa shrugged. "I knew you wouldn't do that. And you never refused me."

He searched her eyes for a moment. "Sansa, can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. "What do you want?"

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Now that we're back home, what do you want to do?"

Why was he asking her that? "I don't know. I just want to stay here."

Sadness filled his eyes. "That's it? The Sansa I used to know had so many dreams..."

She offered him a rueful smile. "That's true..."

But life is not a song, Jon. "I know I can't stay here forever."

"Why not?"

"Because..."

He shook his head. "No, it's settled. You're staying here with me, forever."

She blinked at him. He rolled onto his back, turning his face away from her, and muttered: "Try to get some sleep now, Sansa."

She shuffled closer, putting her head in the crook of his shoulder and placing one hand on his chest. "Could you - hold me?"

"If you want me to?"

He wrapped his arm around her, hesitantly curling his warm hand around her upper arm. She took a deep breath, letting it out again in a sigh. "You smell like home."

She only realized she'd said that out loud when Jon made a vague noise in the back of his throat. Heat flushed her cheeks again, but for the first time in months, perhaps even years, she felt safe and comfortable.

"Thank you," she murmured, closing her eyes and drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

#Jon x Sansa #jonsa fic #jonxsansaff valentines #showverse #bed sharing

[souslejaune]

At ten a.m. the entire congregation relocated

At ten a.m. the entire congregation relocated to the Osu Presbyterian Church. We travelled in waves of sound and dust: The hearse leading the way with its horns blaring like a faulty ambulance; the family thrown together within the confines of two Peugeot 504 caravans; followed by the guests – some on foot, some in a bus hired for the occasion. 

On the bus, the guests sang local spirituals at the top of their raspy morning voices, drawing eyes as the cortège wound its loud progress around Kwame Nkrumah circle and swept down the dual carriageway of the Ring Road. The family was silent. I sat sandwiched between Naana and my mother, my hands stuffed between my legs. Occasionally I glanced in the driver’s mirror to catch my father’s eye and to make sure that my face was as composed as a fourteen-year-old’s should be in a situation like this. I felt no identifiable emotion; every pure emotion was countered by a conflicting one. A giggle of relief burgeoned just below the surface of my grief, a part of me wanted to jump for joy. In the midst of the chaos, I thought of Mr Trabb in Great Expectations arranging Mrs Gargery’s funeral; grateful that we didn’t have anyone like him to push us around. I wouldn’t have refused Joe’s company though. I imagined him saying “she were a fine figure of a woman.” I couldn’t cry. My throat felt two sizes too big. The world felt too small. 

The preacher extolled the virtues of giving. Spoke of the grace that comes from living a selfless life, and then decided to “take advantage of the passing of our sister” to address the “lost sheep” amongst us. “There are no second chances. The good book says it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle…” 

I took a picture of his mouth – a non-symmetric oval with white spittle framing his coloured utterances – and lost myself in the loneliness of things I couldn’t speak of. I thought of the discussions I had had with GeeMaa about my gift – what she preferred to call my sensitivity – and wondered if I had let her down by my unwillingness to embrace it, my isolation when she encouraged engagement. I replayed my encounter with the wide-eyed old man at Kaneshie Market where I went to buy yam for a feast of Otɔ to celebrate my fourteenth birthday. Belatedly. My birthday had come during the school year so I was in the boarding house on the day itself. Still my mother refused to break the tradition that our family had kept up ever since Naana started eating solid food. Generations of my paternal family had done the same thing for years. 

GeeMaa supported her loudly. “You can’t be a man if you haven’t eaten your Otɔ.” Her slanted walk was then smoother. Almost seductive. Her curly white hair was a mute admonition for me not to argue any further. The unblemished ivory of each strand glowed with an inner darkness of a kind that defied logical explanation. 

I gave in with a smile. “As long as you all remember that I’m a man now!” 

Naana stuck her head out from the living room. “Yes, but a little man…” 

They all laughed. My mother holding her side, Naana shaking her head, GeeMaa clucking deep within her throat, mother hen style. Three generations of Oppong-Ribeiro women. Shaking like tambourines, but producing the more melodic music of mirth. 

I decided to lose the battle to save myself from torture. I took the money my mother had placed on the kitchen table and left the house chuckling to myself. The sky had the look of a pale blue cloth someone had spat on. It was difficult to look at. It seemed to be having a joke at my expense too. As I headed out, I greeted Auntie Aba the waache seller and the shoemaker with his rickety workbench. 

“Ayekoo.” 

“Yaaye.” 

Our ritualised greeting required nothing more to be said. I was warmed by the simple call and response. 

I walked with an energetic swing in my stride, staying on the shady side of the street whenever I could. Especially by the cemetery at Awudome with its profusion of well-nourished neem trees. When I got to the market, my feet were dusty. I stamped a few times before going to seek out Sister Joy – my mother’s preferred yam seller. I was almost at her corner when I stumbled and stepped on a tomato. Its sweet juices spread like thinning blood across the dirty floor. 

“Bɛlɛoo ei! Wɔsɛɛ e baa tɔ o ŋga. I pity your future wife.”

A tomato seller had dropped some of her merchandise. I apologised to her and offered to pay for the tomato but she laughed it off. 

“It’s nothing. I was only joking.” 

I smiled. 

“Ayekoo.” 

It was another voice: familiar yet completely new. I turned to see an old man leaning against a pillar with a box of sweets and lollipops. 

I had never seen him in the market before so I frowned before I answered. 

“Yaaye.” 

He smiled. Offered me a sweet. I hesitated, and then reached out. As my hand reached the box he stopped me and closed the box. I noticed two deep scars on his leathery face. He pointed to a hand-sized hole in the top of the box indicating that I should pick a sweet by chance. I reached in. The belly of the box felt like a damp sponge. It was warm and there was nothing solid in it, yet when I took my hand out I realised I was holding a round black-and-white mint. A solid mint. 

“Harmony,” he said. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Harmony. A circle. Black and white. There will be some changes in your family to preserve harmony.” 

He walked towards an exit. 

“What kind of changes?” 

“You know.” 

 I stood in the same spot until a trio of market porters bumped into me. 

“Small, why?” 

“Are you OK?” 

I shook my head apologetically and went to buy the yam. 

At home GeeMaa insisted on cooking the Otɔ for me. Said she was getting old and might not have the strength to do it again. She poured some palm oil carefully into a small pan as the yam boiled, lit one of the gas hobs and put the palm oil on it to heat. She seasoned the oil with onions and pepper and some leaves she picked from the courtyard. When the yam was cooked she put fourteen eggs in a saucepan to boil as she told me stories of more soothsayers and medicine women and men in her family. It was a noble calling; there was more pain in watching others suffer than suffering yourself. 

“That’s what I was taught. It’s not surprising I became a nurse,” she smiled. 

I wasn't convinced. 

She mashed the yam with a pestle and mixed it with the seasoned palm oil. Soon she had an orange mountain of palm-oil-coloured yam, which she put in a large wooden bowl. An edible volcano. Then she took the eggs off the boil. 

I helped her shell them and place one egg for every year of my life on the orange mountain. When the mountain came down, we couldn’t stop licking our fingers. Naana had two eggs and told us that the rest of us would have flatulence because three eggs each was well over our daily protein requirements. Twelve eggs disappeared like alien moons down our throats. We didn’t care how they came out. 

  It was hard to imagine GeeMaa gone within two weeks of that meal. I was angry. I was angry when the hearse left the church to lead us back to Awudome Cemetery. I was angry as I tossed dust onto the roof of GeeMaa’s ambulance. I was angry at the sight of the woman wailing and being held back from jumping into GeeMaa’s grave. Producing sounds so outrageous that the over-abundant bats that rested upside-down in close-by neem trees during the day dispersed – briefly darkening the sky. She sounded like a djama chant, two beats out of step, and one note out of tune. I knew she was a professional mourner. My father had told me at Aunt Dee Dee’s funeral when I asked why she was so hysterical. I would recognise that wail anywhere. I was angry when we returned to our house for refreshments: The catering company blocked off the entire road in front of our house to make space for canopies and chairs. They didn’t care that they were causing a minor traffic jam. They revelled in the society’s acceptance of funerals as a reason to do as you please. Live as you wish. For a moment at least. Mostly I was angry because I hadn’t understood the old man at the market. I was angry because the rectangular-lipped earth had just swallowed the only person I could talk to about my confusion. I was angry because on the morning of her death I ran away and missed her last words. I kept a straight face and said little. I overheard people whispering. Saying I was odd. 

“There’s something wrong with that kid.” 

Of course there was something wrong with me. I had lost my grandmother. And she may have “done her duty on earth,” or “gone to help HIM,” but I wanted my grandmother to be with me. 

Night fell and my spirits fell with it. I went to my room and turned off the lights. 

My father came in and hugged me and cried. 

My mother came in and hugged me and cried. 

I didn’t cry. I just stared at them like I was looking at a painting of life. 

Naana came and sat by me in my bed. Her eyes were like pimples – pointy and swollen. 

“I’m tired of crying,” she said. 

I lay down. “I want to cry. I just can’t.” 

“Why?” 

“I think was my fault.” 

“That’s nonsense. She was old.” 

“But she was strong.” I didn’t say that I thought GeeMaa had become ill because I went to boarding school and stopped chewing my neem sticks. I didn’t say I thought that GeeMaa had died because I had become a man. 

“I know. Did you hear about FatherGrandpa?” 

“No. Is he dead too?” 

“No, silly. He couldn’t come because he was too sad.” 

“Good excuse.” I sat up again. “He didn’t care about her.” 

“No. No. Daddy went to see him; every time he looked at Daddy he would start sobbing. He couldn’t control himself.” 

Naana had a pained expression on her face. I laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. All I could see was an image of FatherGrandpa slapping his left shoulder to kick-start his faulty laughter and finding only tears. Naana pushed my head and laughed too. 

“Daddy said he just has a great capacity for love. That’s why he never stays with one woman.” 

“Poor fool!” 

We laughed and laughed. Then I cried. All the tears I’d carried since GeeMaa died came rushing down my cheeks. Then I bawled. Loud enough for the dead to hear. 

Our parents came back to the room and sat by Naana and I. The walls were covered with photographs and captions I had put up. Naana’s periodic table had gone when she went to live on the university campus. 

“It’s hard…” I tried to speak but felt a fish-bone of grief rising up my throat. By now my whole body was racked with sorrow. I shook like a sapling in a storm. 

My mother held me and started crying. 

My father always cried when my mother cried. 

Naana couldn’t help herself. 

Within minutes we were a wet huddle. A rock hollowed out. GeeMaa took a part of us all with her and left us all with a part of her. I was uncomfortable with the part I thought she had left me. 

“Mum, do you believe some people can read the future?” 

“I don’t know. I suppose there are prophets… Why?” 

“Nothing.” There was nothing to be said.

Uncle Sanjit wrote to the family to extend his condolences.

continued next week… | start from beginning? | current projects: The City Will Love You and a collection of poems, The Geez

#niiayikweiparkes #fiction #prose #proseseries #novel #novel series #ghana

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo, Chapter 16

Warning: yet more Anti-Romanyism!

Chapter Sixteen

Jacki introduced me to Madame d'Arcy, who had welcomed Jacki into her home two months earlier. Madame d'Arcy would've been alone for most of the summer, for her husband and son were in England on family business, and her niece and new husband were honeymooning in southern France. She was grateful to have 'Jacqueline', as she called Jacki, keep her company for the balance of the summer.

Wait, Jacki’s been here for two months straight? Why?! Seeing as Fern has the car and is hogging the technology Jacki created, and Jacki’s stuck in the past because Danisha and Frollo want to have sex, it makes me think Fern and Jacki have some sort of messed up, power-imbalanced relationship here, leaving Jacki stranded so Fern can have fun.

While Claude and Madame d'Arcy were deep in conversation, I took Jacki and Fern aside and finally asked them, "Is this why you didn't want me to come inside? Because of a sweet old lady?" Jacki then explained that the d'Arcys were her French ancestors. "That's the first thing I did when I invented the time traveler; I wanted to research my family tree", replied Jacki, "I guess all that time spent studying quantum physics and advanced calculus paid off."

Again, you could be stopping Hitler. Or at the very least making tons of money off this tech and helping make the world a better place. But yes, by all means, visit your weird old relatives.

Jacki glanced lovingly at Mme. d'Arcy; then, Fern explained further, "We're keeping this to ourselves. She doesn't even know; we can't risk affecting outcomes." I mulled over that last statement, "can't risk affecting outcomes."

But falling in love with an extremely powerful man and changing everything about him is okay. That can’t affect the outcomes of anything. But telling an insignificant old lady that this girl is related to her? That could cause a tear in the time-space continuum!!!!

Fern then went on to explain that was why I was kept in the dark; that is, until Claude Frollo revealed nearly everything. Jacki, looking at Claude, who was now conversing with Kyle, smiled and said, "We had a feeling he'd tell you sooner or later." She tried not to break out in laughter as she moved her eyes from me, then to Claude, then back to me. "Fern said you two have become quite an..ahem..item."

Yes, unfortunately.

I returned the smile, coolly saying, "Well...let's just say that His Grace and I are...hmmm...'real' close friends." Claude glanced over at me; I guessed he picked up on the giggles coming from our side of the room. He came over to me while Kyle was still conversing with Mme. d'Arcy. "Did they tell you everything?" I linked my arm in his and replied, "Almost, but I'm still not clear on... "How I knew where to start digging? Who filled in the holes of my research?", said Jacki, who directed our attention to another elderly lady entering the room, "Ask Aunt Perle."

Great, another random character no one cares about to be added into the mix for no reason.

Perle Darcey? Isn't that Jacki's daddy's aunt? His 95-year-old aunt? Sure enough, all eyes were on the petite lady entering the room. I only saw her twice in my life, once when I was a little kid, and, at Jacki's high school graduation. Aunt Perle steadily and cautiously made her way into the room; she was leaning on a cane. At ninety-five, she was still the picture of elegance and grace. Her floor-length beige-colored linen dress, with its matching, wide-brimmed hat and low-heeled pumps, highlighted her cafe au lait complexion.

And unnecessary description of said random useless new character, naturally.

Her face, lightly dusted with powder and rouge, looked surprisingly young and vital, despite Perle's advanced years. Kyle offered to help Perle to her chair, but she politely refused. "Thank you, honey", she said in a warm, loving voice, "but I can manage. Been doing it for all these years." Fern, Kyle, and Jacki excused themselves from the room. All Jacki could say was that she and Fern were preparing something special for Sunday dinner.

More plot twists, mysteries and surprises that make no sense in this weird romance/sci-fi/erotica mess of a story.

Perle settled herself in a chair next to Mme. d'Arcy, turned to her, and said, "Marie-Louise, you have a lovely garden; that nice gentleman staying with you showed me all your flowers and trees.." She then turned to Claude, looked at him for several seconds, then she smiled and said, at last, "He looks something like you, but younger and not as grand." Claude Frollo looked puzzled, then glanced at Mme. d'Arcy with quesioning eyes. I managed to catch his eye and mouthed, "Who? What?" Claude quickly shook his head, his face registered utter, yet, pleasant, surprise as another figure entered the room.

…another random new character?! Why?! What does this have anything to do with the established plot? It focused on Frollo and Danisha’s “epic courtship.” At this point you may as well be writing about anything or anyone; replace Frollo with “Steve” or “Bob” and it would make no difference.

I studied this tall, slender man approaching us; I could readily see the family resemblance. But whereas Claude was serious, austere, meticulous, and carried himself with a regal air, this man's entire demeanor suggested endless pleasure, an 'I-don't-care' attitude towards life.

Oh boy, is it Jehan? Jehan was innocent! He doesn’t deserve this! (Well, he was a drunk and a deadbeat in the book and musical. But honestly, his alcoholism pales in comparison to, y’know, burning down Paris because you want to rape a girl.)

The man walked up to Aunt Perle and handed something to her. "I believe you dropped these during our walk." She thanked him as she took her gloves. He then turned to Claude, who tried to keep his surprise in check. Claude told me everything about his brother, Jehan; I felt I already knew him, even before this meeting. "Claude", Jehan warmly began, as he clasped the elder brother's hands, "I really wanted to come to Paris, make myself known; but, I was having a such a lovely time here. Mme. d'Arcy insisted that I stay; then I met this charming lady." He smiled at Perle Darcey as if she were an old friend.

Oh no… Also, in the musical at least, Jehan was Quasi’s father. He married Floricka, had a son and then he and his wife died of plague and left Claude to raise the baby. I’m assuming she’s using this version of Jehan or some other ballet or play, because she seems too dumb to read a whole Victor Hugo novel. In that case, though, why isn’t he dead?

Hmmm...Claude told me Jehan has a habit of...Oh no!...sponging off not one...but TWO sweet old ladies?...this man is too much... Claude greeted his brother, to my surprise, in like manner. "Jehan, you could have informed me...I'm glad you're here. You look well." Jehan then turned to me and said, "So...you're the one." What did he mean by that? Does Jehan know that Claude and I are lovers?

Does it really matter?! Everyone else knows!

Claude Frollo, sensing the slight tension in my expression, quickly spoke, "This is Fern's friend", as he took my hand and completed introductions. "She's very pretty", Jehan smilingly said, then he leaned over and whispered in Claude's ear, "You always did have excellent taste." With that, Claude and Jehan broke down in laughter and embraced each other, just like loving brothers.

As The Fanfiction Critic put it in her review of “Marie,” a less creepy but similarly terrible Hunchback of Notre Dame fic, Jehan was a deadbeat. He spent all his money on hookers and booze. He and Claude never had a great relationship. Hell, in the musical, Claude was the one that got him kicked out of Notre Dame!

Claude told me that he raised Jehan from a baby, ever since the death of their parents; he tried to instill in his brother the same virtues that made Claude a successful man. However, Jehan liked to gamble and have fun, drifting from one thing to another; he was almost always broke. Claude loved his brother dearly, despite Jehan's shortcomings.

And here we have another creepy attempt to make Frollo seem like a kind person!

"Minister Frollo", said Mme. d'Arcy, "your brother has been absolutely wonderful. Even with Jacqueline here, we two old ladies are grateful for his company." Claude just replied with a slight smile and glanced at his brother as if to say, "Oh, I know why you're here...you'll never change..." Kyle then returned to the room to announce dinner was ready. Mme. d'Arcy then proudly announced that, "My dear Jacqueline and her friends have prepared a special dinner." She then turned to Kyle and asked, "Now, young man, what is the main course?" Kyle replied, "What you are about to experience is a summertime Sunday dinner that is common in the New World, that is, my part of the New World."

No one cares about dinner. Do I have to reiterate these scenes are boring and unnecessary? I’m using “unnecessary” so often it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

Perle laughed as she added, "Isn't that something, to come all the way to France just to eat Fern's fried chicken." Claude's eyes widened in anticipation; he looked at me and said, "Fried chicken? You promised me such a meal...remember?" He started laughing as I helped Perle to her feet; Jehan escorted the ladies to the dining room. I then took Claude Frollo aside and whispered in his ear, "Well...we were...er...busy", referring to that crazy, passion-filled night.

Ugh, don’t remind me.

Claude was overcome with humor as he escorted me to the dining room. A traditional Sunday dinner served in countless homes across the Midwest: fried chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, hot bread, green beans, sliced tomatoes, Fern's homemade blackberry cobbler. It was a meal that Mme. d'Arcy, Claude, nor Jehan had ever experienced.

And thus, would likely get sick from.

Over the course of the summer, I served Claude a variety of native American foods, of which he liked pecans and corn best. "Mmm...'corn'", said Jehan, helping himself to seconds (or was it thirds), "and I like the red things...'tomatoes'." The conversation was a delicious as the food. Mme. d'Arcy praised Fern's culinary talents; and Aunt Perle, who nodded at Jacki, said, "Jacki cooked the beans, just like I taught her and her Mama." I leaned over to Perle and whispered, "When are you going to tell us the family history?" Perle whispered back, "Marie-Louise always takes a nap after dinner; you all will know all about the Darceys then."

No one cares about the Darcey’s family history. Why are we reading about an awkward family dinner between a bunch of OCs and some random Hunchback of Notre Dame characters?

Claude had his brother in stitches as Claude repeated that "Hoosier and Kentuckian" story. Fern laughed and whispered to me, "Well, I've seen someone's been tellin' those stories again."

Why does she keep bringing this unfunny joke she stole from her sister up?!

Jehan then asked about other native American foods. "Fern, you talked about pumpkins. I understand they're only available in the fall." Fern nodded, then I piped up, "Jehan, why don't you and Claude come for Thanksgiving dinner. Then you can eat all the pumpkin pie you want." Jehan looked puzzled. "Thanksgiving? What is that?", he asked.

Why do they all care so very much about America and its history and customs? It doesn’t exist yet!

Claude knowledgably replied, "A holiday unique to their part of the New World; they set aside a day to give thanks for their country's bounty." All eyes were on Claude as he continued, "They celebrate with family gatherings and serve foods native to their country." Kyle, his eyes wide with amazement, said, "Wow, Your Grace, you sure know a lot about Amer...ahem...our country." Then Claude Frollo glanced lovingly at me. "My boy, I had a marvelous teacher." I tried to be modest about it all; indeed, I had told Claude much about American history and culture.

Everyone loves Danisha and Frollo is the best. We get it, story, stop shoving it down our throats.

Perle then said to Jehan, "Honey, if you come to my house, you better bring your appetite, because I cook everything: turkey, ham, cornbread, greens, chitlins..." Jehan interrupted, "Beg pardon, madame, but what are 'chitlins'?" Jacki looked at me, I looked at Fern, whose face registered a certain level of disgust. She looked Jehan squarely in the eyes and said, "Jehan, my mama cooked those things every Christmas and Thanksgiving. She made sure to set that stinkin' pot right next to me,'cause she knew I hated 'em."

NONE OF THIS HAS ANYTHING TO DO WITH THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME. THIS IS JUST RANDOM OCS EATING DINNER.

Everyone except Jehan started laughing; I had told Claude all about Fern's 'chitlin story' a few days ago, when he had asked the same question. I just said to Jehan, "Sugar, don't ask what they are; you don't want to know." That said, we continued to enjoy a pleasant Sunday afternoon dinner and lively conversation.

++++++++++++

"The d'Arcys fell on hard times during the 18th Century. Some of the family began emigating to the American colonies." Perle began to explain how the French d'Arcys became the American Darceys.

Who cares about this stupid family? This is just filler, and not even entertaining filler!

Mme. d'Arcy had gone upstairs for her after-dinner nap. Everyone else gathered around Aunt Perle as she began to recount her family's history. "My great-great grandfather was Henri d'Arcy. He settled near Lake Charles, Lousiana, bought some land, and started a small sugar plantation." Claude asked Perle, "How are you related to the d'Arcys; and, how did the the name change to 'Darcey'?"

[a long, dull passage about family history that I cut because it was stupid]

No one cares. Repeat after me: no one cares. No one cares. No one ca-

Perle continued, "Henri had a son, Jean-Paul. He was my great grandfather. Well, he had a wife; but, he also had a mistress. That was Sally, one of the house slaves." Claude and Jehan were both visibly disturbed at the word 'slave'. "That's right, Claude", I said, as I held his hand, "America has a dark, ugly past..." Claude's eyes were now scanning my entire face. "That explains your coloring, your features...the brown skin, the full lips...your hair...Danisha, your African ancestors were never willing immigrants...", Claude looked somewhat bewildered as he fingered a lock of my hair.

Why is he so put off by this?! He wanted to murder Romani simply for having the nerve to exist! He burned down Paris because he wanted to rape Esmeralda! He abused Quasimodo for years! He shot/stabbed Phoebus for not killing a bunch of innocent people with fire! Slavery should mean nothing to him. He shouldn’t care, because he’s a messed up human being!

[another long passage about the Civil War, cut because not only was it stupid but it contained various racial slurs I am uncomfortable with publishing.]

"But how did the name change?", asked Kyle.

NO ONE CARES ABOUT THIS.

"My father was still a baby when the census people came. Neither of my grandparents could read or write", explained Aunt Perle. "Now, most slaves had no real last names; they always took the name of their slaveowners

Well, few people have any real last names in this current timeframe, either. They all have names that relate to their profession for the most part, i.e. Mason, Baker, Smith, etc. Esmeralda didn’t have a last name. Hell, Esmeralda was barely even a name in the book; people referred to her as “la esmeralda” or “the emerald” because she wore a necklace with an emerald on it. Her real name is Agnes, which she, along with everyone else, didn’t know.

Well, since Jean-Paul d'Arcy was my grandfather's last master, that was the name he took. 'Course, when he had to give the census people his name, I think they just wrote down what it sounded like, 'Darcey'." At once, Claude understood the name change. "It was those responsible for recording the names...that explains it", he began, then added, "Yet, obviously, your father, and then you, were able to secure a proper education. Surely the name could have been changed to its original French."

Why does he care so much about this, anyway?

[another incredibly long, somewhat racist segment cut because of stupidity and racism].

Fern then said to me, "You know, we oughta throw a farewell party." Kyle and I immediately jumped on this. "Yeah", I said, "it could be a farewell-thanks-for-the-memories party." Jehan Frollo, pouring himself another cup of wine, commented, "A party? Oh...I do love a good party, even though my brother thinks they're a waste of time." "Oh really", Claude answered his brother, "since when did I dislike a party?" He then told Fern that he enjoyed pleasant social gatherings, "As long as the festivities are not too raucous."

Claude Frollo just loves him a party, as evidenced by him calling the Feast of Fools a “shallow, drunken stupor.”

Fern just looked at him and said in a matter-of-fact voice, "I'm not suggesting a wild, no-holds-barred orgy; you forgot that I was at the Feast of Fools this past winter. Now that was wild." Claude acknowledged this as Fern continued, "Our party'll be just good, clean fun. Good music, good food, good company. So, Your Grace, can I count on your presence?"

Please no.

I quickly glanced at Claude with an expression that read, 'You better say yes'. Claude, sensing this, immediately told Fern that he "would be delighted to attend your little function". Then, he added, "And, so you won't have the whole of Paris swarming all over your home, I'll have my men block off the streets to traffic. That way, your guests may freely mill about the neighborhood."

Shutting down an entire city because he wants to party. Talk about self-absorbed.

Jehan then spoke up in mock-indignation, "What's this? My brother's actually using his authority just to please his new-found friends?" Perle got up and walked over to Jehan. She patted him on the shouder and chuckled, "Baby, sometimes it's nice to have important folks as friends, and your brother's one of them." She then told Fern, "I hope you plan on some nice barbeque; I always enjoy good barbequed ribs." Once again, Jehan Frollo asked about another American custom totally foreign to him. "And what is 'barbeque'? Sounds odd but delicious", he then turned to his brother, who began to loftily explain as everyone started laughing. "'Barbeque'", began Claude Frollo, "is taken from the American Spanish word..."

How would he even know the linguistics of the word barbecue? He didn’t know what a boom box was called but he knows obscure, random things like this. It’s so weird.

********** I remained outside while Claude, two guards, and a servant went inside the cottage. He wanted me to stay outside because, as he reasoned, I may be put off by the soldier's injuries. It was the servant who came to Paris with the information. Apparently the ex-soldier had been gravely injured and taken to the cottage to recover. I know I shouldn't think like this...that soldier must be pretty banged up...but...I hope Snowball's OK...

Because the horse matters more than the human life, right?

I paced outside, waiting for Claude. What's taking so long? Just then, a stableboy, a fine, black horse, and another figure approached the cottage. Immediately I could make out the face of the man. "Jehan!", I exclaimed, running up to him. I embraced him and said, "But why are you here? How did you know Claude and I were here?" Jehan Frollo returned the embrace (sibling-style hugs -- Jehan knows not to mess with his brother's women). "Oh, didn't the servant inform my brother? Damn! I knew this would happen..." He then said to me, "I'm the one who found the man, and Snowball. The horse is fine, but that man...Danisha, I don't expect him to survive...he's that badly injured."

Okay, but why should the reader care? We don’t know who he is!

#The Hunchback of Notre Dame #back to the frollo #Claude frollo #danisha

[jjspina]

BOOKS AND MORE BOOKS

I recently read the column of Drs. Oz & Roizen, titled Reading makes you healthier and happier. Here is partially what Drs. Oz & Roizen had to say.

…But neuromarketing researchers from the University of Sussex’s Mindlab found that reading an old-fashion, open-a-book-and-learn-something text (start with “You: The Owner’s Manual,” revised) or an escape-to-the-beach-novel (try James Michener’s “Hawaii”) for even six minutes a day is more relaxing than listening to music, taking a walk or even (these were English researchers) having a cup of tea. The study says getting into a good read eases muscle tension and slows down your heart rate. That dispels stress and makes your RealAge significantly younger!

In addition, reading keeps your brain sharp, improves sleep and makes you a more interesting social animal. Also, if you know someone, especially a child, who has difficulty with reading, spend some time with them and read aloud together. Lots of kids have a hard time learning to read, so if you’re a parent, grandparent or just a good neighbor, be aware and help them out. You’re giving a gift of learning. Traveling the world through the written word opens doors in the mind and in life?

I think the doctors have something here. In all of my posts I have encouraged parents, grandparents, caregivers, or anyone who knows children who need some help in reading, to read to them.  Not only children gain from this reading together but also the adult. Spending time reading to a child is more rewarding than one realizes. When children are reading on their own have them read to you. Reading out loud helps the child understand what he/she is reading and learn the correct sounds of words with your assistance.

There is nothing like the joy in a child’s face as he/she learns a new word and understands what the story is all about. I love to watch my grandson as I read to him. His face lights up and he tries to read along with me as young as he is at three. I am teaching him letters and he is so bright that he is soaking up the knowledge like a sponge. He loves for me to make up stories for him and he listens with wide eyes and a smile. I have been taking care of him since he was a baby and also my granddaughter who now is seven and in first grade.

With my own children I started reading to them early and singing too. They loved reading books and singing nursery rhymes. They still love to read and now encourage their own children (my five grandchildren) to read. I write for them all and they have become my inspiration to write more. My two middle grandsons are the inspiration for my middle-grade/preteen/young adult series, Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Books 1-4. These award-winning books are available along with all Jemsbooks on Amazon and Barnes & Noble and Create Space and other online stores.

The Case of the Missing Cell Phone (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 1)

The Case of the Mysterious Black Cat (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 2)

The Case of the Magical Ivory Elephant (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 3)

The Case of the Brown Scraggly Dog (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 4)

Here are some reviews of the series.

The Great Mystery Solved! By Allen Smith on September 20, 2015 (*****) (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives, Book 1, The Case of the Missing Cell Phone)

Format: Paperback

When Christine Sander’s who is at Lindon Middle school has a cell phone that comes up missing, who would have thought that two twin fifth graders and their young assistant case worker would begin to solve this perplexing problem. Davey and Derek are twin brothers with personalities as different as night and day. Davey is more the intellectual and Derek more one that tests the limits of life – the daredevil type. Together they set out to solve this perplexing middle school crime, where yes, even the police get involved. With the help of their able-bodied assistant Mickey who is also known as CAT because he can sneak around with no one noticing him, and Kevin, who is a 6th grader the case gets underway at the school lunch table one day. This is a great read for middle school age students that will keep them entertained and guessing all along as to who stole the phone. My nephew would love this book!

If you want to have fun and make wonderful memories, read to your children, and later on have them read to you too. Spread the word about Reading and how it may make you healthier and wiser.

  By Robert on September 1, 2015 (*****) (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 2, The Case of the Mysterious Black Cat)

Format: Kindle Edition Verified Purchase

Being a grandparent and an avid reader I am always on the lookout for good clean books for my grandkids. Davey and Derek’s Aunt and Uncle settle in town after years of worldly travel, but there is something different about the Aunt that sets her apart from most Aunts – she is a good witch blessed with the gift of magic – one of which is her long deceased cat whose aura lives on in a crystal ball and still tries to help people. Davey and Derek learn they to have a few magical powers of their own one of which is the cat trying to communicate with them and warn them one of their friends is going to get into serious trouble. The question is can they use this magic and prevent a catastrophe? Cute story – clean- refreshing – and not preachy. The Case of the Mysterious Black Cat will keep a young mind intrigued and reading way past their bedtime.

By Lorraine Price on August 30, 2016 (*****) (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 3, The Case of the Magical Ivory Elephant)

Format: Kindle Edition

Davey & Derek are twin brothers who are celebrating their 11th birthday. They share a gift between themselves called, “twin telepathy.” They also have an aunt named, “Gigi, who happens to be a witch with magical powers. She helps the boys to understand that they have powers of their own and teaches them how to use them.

A theft occurs at a local museum and Davey & Derek decide to use their talents to find the answers to the burglary.

Full of magic and mystery, intrigue and excitement. Such a cute story!

Janice has a theme throughout her book and that is to teach kids how to be polite, kind, and sensitive to other’s feelings.

This is the third in a series of books that she has written and can be enjoyed by itself or as a complete set. Give your child the gift of reading!

By Michele Rolfe on January 1, 2017 (*****) (Davey & Derek Junior Detectives Series, Book 4, The Case of the Brown Scraggly Dog)

Format: Paperback

The twins are learning a new magic spell & stumble on the Mystery of the brown scraggly dog! The dog has blood on its paw & the clues seem to lead to someone being injured. What Davey & Derek find is NOT what they thought! Love the twists this takes. Very good again, Janice! I am giving an honest review for a copy of the book as an advance reader.

HAPPY READING!  REMEMBER: READING GIVES YOU WINGS TO FLY!  READ AND SOAR WITH JEMSBOOKS!

Thank you for stopping by!

Blessings and hugs!

Janice

Does Reading Make You Healthier and Happier? BOOKS AND MORE BOOKS I recently read the column of Drs. Oz & Roizen, titled Reading makes you healthier and happier.

#Award-winning books #blogging #books #family #family time #middle-grade and YA books #Reading #Writing