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siempre-bucky · 2 years

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tattoo.

Druig x Reader

Summary: You get a tattoo of everyone's initials after several years of missing your family. Druig is the first one to notice the tattoo on your arm, wondering why he couldn't see his initial.

Warnings: mentions of sex

WC: 932

A/N: Anon! Your brain! I loved loved loved writing out your request and I hope you liked it! poorly edited at 2am :')

requests are open♡

"So... why this one?" the heavily tattooed man that looked like he just left his garage band practice asked you. Your legs dangled over the black leather chair, your right arm splayed out on the cling wrap-covered armrest.

Your eyes glance at him, his back turned to you as he put on purple rubber gloves. "For my friends from college," you tell him, "we were all really close and I just wanted a little something to remember them by."

The artist turned and looked at you with an amused face, "No longer friends?"

"Distant," you correct. The sounds of buzzing tattoo machines and crinkly stencil paper calmed your nerves as he removed the paper to reveal small purple initials in a typewriter font just below your elbow.

It had been something you always wanted, especially if you didn't think you'd ever see them again. All the other tribute ideas you had never felt sentimental enough, the didn't feel as permanent...and Arishem couldn't tell you what to do.

You missed your old life. You missed the battlefield. You missed being surrounded by your family, protecting the world that you loved. Of course, you didn't miss the threats of deviants, but they did bring you all closer.

The man looked up at you, his small machine whirling, "All done."

Your eyes looked down at him as wide as they could go, "Done? You did it?"

He chuckled at your surprising response and pushed away on his stool to grab another sheet of paper. "You zoned out, it was easy." You looked down at the irritated skin and smiled softly. It was perfect. 'a.s.m.i.g.t.k.s.p' written on your arm in fine black lines.

"Alright, where do you want the second one."

A few weeks later you stood in the Amazon, your heart racing as you stood next to Sersi. It had been a whirlwind ever since your friends showed up at your doorstep, telling you about their discovery. Your eyes were pinned to the closed doors of one of the buildings. Druig. His name echoed in your brain, after all these years you couldn't shake the intense feelings you had for him.

When the confident mind reader stepped out of the building, his blue eyes looked to you first, burning holes into your nervous skin. Those eyes you loved so much peered down, locking onto the small tattoo on your skin. Your immediate response was to hide it. placing your hands behind your back. "I've missed all of you," he spoke with a smirk, eyes never leaving yours.

You sat alone, deep in the Amazon hours later, the chirping birds and the tree's leaves brushing together only made your pounding headache worse. Picking at the dried deviant blood on your hands someone sat next to you on the ground.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Druig's voice asked you gently, his voice was hoarse from the yelling.

"I'm fine," you respond simply, not daring to meet his concerned gaze.

"Do they hurt?" He motions towards your hands, they always hurt after a battle. You let the smallest smile grace your features, it warmed your heart to know that he remembered. After you nod he placed his calloused hand on your wrist to pull your arm into his lap so he could your forearm.

He looked down at your small tattoo, it took him a few moments to realize what it all meant. 'Ajak...Sersi... Makkari...' he thought as he read them. Druig couldn't lie and say he wasn't disappointed when he couldn't find his initial on your arm. But of course, he couldn't tell you he was disappointed directly.

"I'm surprised you didn't miss me," he teased, his pointer finger tapping the delicate inked skin. You looked down at it, then your eyes flickered up to meet his. You could see the brief expression of concern before he hardened his features.

Retracting your arm, you shift so that you were facing him. Raising your pointer finger to your lips, your shaking hand pressing up against your soft lips he saw a small lower case 'd' on the inside of your finger. A blush dusted his fair skin, instantly knowing why you put it there.

It was something he always did back in the days you spent every day by each other's side. Every time you were stressed he would be able to hear your never-ending thoughts, and while you two sat across from each other in Ajak's meetings he would playfully press his finger to his lips. He did it when you laughed at him while walking side by side down the hallways of the Domo, your precious laugh filling the space. His finger would find its way to his lips while you were underneath him in his bedroom, your hands gripping at his biceps as he made you his own.

"You remembered," he managed, his face softening. He reached for your tattooed hand and interlaced your fingers.

You nod and bite down on your lower lip. "How could I forget?"

Druig leaned forward and touched the side of your cold face with his free hand. It was a soft, intimate kiss that was thousands of years overdue. You couldn't resist leaning into his touch, untangling your fingers only to pull him closer to you by his shoulders.

He pushes you onto the soft ground, a small gasp escaping from you, his pink lips parted slightly. You began to giggle at the noise you made as you looked up at him. That familiar finger found its way to his lips, hushing you before placing his lips to your neck.

#druig x reader #druig x you #druig imagine #druig fanfic #druig x female reader #druig fluff #barry keoghan #eternals #eternals fanfic #eternals x reader

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isolemnlyswearpevensie · 4 years

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Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently.

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!! God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists.

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student.

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team.

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history.

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day.

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces.

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite.

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible.

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?”

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?”

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.”

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk.

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song.

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes.

“What I can’t be in a good mood?”

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.”

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk.

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy.

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic.

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot.

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.”

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot.

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N’s back was now towards him.

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?”

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored.

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more.

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine.

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter.

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love.

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song / Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush.

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head.

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there.

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him.

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged.

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N.

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be.

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds.

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020.

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.”

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside.

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard.

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened.

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car.

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building.

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?”

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light.

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund.

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.”

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee.

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm.

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear.

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips.

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded.

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers.

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

#edmund pevensie #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund x reader #edmund pevensie fanfic #edmund pevensie fanfiction #king edmund the just #king edmund #narnia #the chronicles of narnia #the chronicles of narnia fanfic #the chronicles of narnia fanfiction #modern au #fluff #c.s. lewis #c. s. lewis #skandar keynes #narnia fanfic #narnia fanfiction

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divinaes-bookofsecrets · 3 years

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Add something if you'd like?

Whats your thoughts on this upgrade or is it 🤔

Please share your personal experience too, to show off 😏 jk

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Techno Witch

Filed under: Pagan Life, Spells & Potions — Leave a comment

I work with technology a lot, including virtual reality, and it made me wonder what or how it could pose as some good use for magick and witchcraft.

At the start of being Pagan, many things I did were very offline. I read physical books, went to physical locations such as the library and metaphysical shop, wrote in my physical B.O.S., things like that. If anything, I preferred it that way, things were very much in reach and given the history of magick is very much more so on paper than in bytes, it made better sense to me.

But eventually, technology got better and easier. More and more resources were online, and reliable resources at that. Granted, there is still a lot of bunk and dribble on the internet. Why people like to pick up spells from random corners of the internet is beyond me. If they are easy to get and plain out there for the world to see and, even worse, come with a price tag, it is probably fake. Some witches do indeed do paid spellwork/pay for pray but not to the excessive number that exists on the internet. More on that later, but basically, tech made witchy info collecting easier. It has probably been a while since I have penned in my B.O.S. but, if anything, I have more of a Disk of Shadows (D.O.S.) now. I have particular tumblrs and tags that I follow or curate on my own that are informative and helpful to my works and endeavors. They’re sometimes really hard to find, and sometimes they are not (if you know what to look for). There are more digital groups for Black Pagans and other minorities/poc now than when I started over a decade ago. Due to the internet, there is better access to much better information about non-European cultures that is not filtered through the perspective of a random White academic slathering on a layer of their own personal bias to the details and calling it “correct, accurate and objective information”. People can do their own research and not be blocked by institutions or paywalls.

But there’s still a lot of bunk on the internet. Due to the pop culture sensation of “witchiness” (basically think of anything American Horror Story, The Craft and the Sabrina reboot has pumped out, add some culture-vulturing via “I am a bruerja” and you got it), it makes decent info still rather hard to find. Since books and old texts that may or may not be translated well or correctly are not that popular, it is easier to find people who, frankly, don’t really know much of what they are doing, they just really like sage, cultural appropriation, gothic clothing and perhaps nursing a drug habit. They’re all over Instagram with their filter-laden pictures, offering to cast spells and do divination (usually tarot, because, what else are they going to learn? Cartomancy? Numerology? I Ching? Elective Astrology? Not as popular) but don’t seem to really know much about ethics and the other boring stuff of learning actual, proper witchcraft. It’s easy to blame just about everything on Mercury retrogrades but if that person has never heard of an ephemera before, they probably are also dead wrong about anything retrograde as well. Spells are cool and mysterious (not really), reading and research is … well, how many pop culture witch characters have you seen buzzing around countless books going “I thiiiiiiiiink this is definitely super old school Congolese – liiiiike, way, way, before colonialization. And of course, it’s a half-page passage in an out-of-print book and features a next-to-dead language. So we should either pick a different spell, or start bothering really old people who may or may not remember such a language – assuming the invading White folks did not torch or steal their cultural history – oh wait, it’s sitting in the British museum, with an incorrect placard and everything. Great, now may we have to talk to stuck up, myopic, well-dressed thieves that think they’re not stuck up, narcissistically stupid, or sticky fingered because ‘I have a degree and institutional prejudice is on my side’. You know what? Killmonger had some good ideas. Someone grab some coffee, that is probably the easier option”? Outside of Hermione Granger, not really anyone in witchy pop culture is very “research is good, research is great, research keeps random entities you summoned and can’t get rid of out of your home and life.” So it can make good info hard to break through the ether. Nothing is wrong with liking pop culture depictions of magic – I get a kick out of Doom Patrol’s magnificent depiction of chaos magick – but it is a bit of a problem when people try to base their practice on movie magic. Yes, psionics is real, yes, magic is real but no, it doesn’t look exactly like the tv and movies. If anything, they can be a lot more stressful and annoying.

I think being a technology-based witch, for me, is simply involving technology in your practice. I have thought of the idea of making a virtual space for spellwork and personal practice but then I think about my track record with magick, energy movement and electrical items. VR systems are pricy and I have made electrical items go ka-put. And, again, VR systems are pricy. But others could benefit, especially those who may not have the space or safety to comfortably practice in the real world. You can make whatever you want in the virtual world and it can be your own spot. A digital altar, a digital casting circle, the list goes on and on.

At first, I wasn’t too sure of these things because, well, they are new. No one was using computers for such practices – or any practices – centuries ago. But all technology, no matter how rudimentary, was considered new at one point. All creations were considered new at one point. From the typewriter, to the wheel, to fire itself. Certainly the deities can be understanding of some of these changes. As long as the changes are relatively seamless, especially for some deities. For example, some sun gods probably would not be too keen on the use of cell phone flashlights vs. actual natural light sources, like a flame made from the sun’s rays. I imagine working with water deities would be stress-inducing unless you are very confident in the IP rating of your technology and trickster deities + internet is probably literal trouble if you do not know what you are doing.

Has all my practices gone digital? I don’t think so but I do think a vast majority of it has. It has been the easier option for me but I always bear in mind that it is good to at least have back ups and that not everything worthwhile is on a computer. There is still always going to be a need for physical things. Links die, computers break and sometime technology can over-complicate simple processes. That and not everything is on the internet, not everything has been digitized and some things are simply harder to find digitally because the metadata is not up to snuff or it is plain incorrect. Thus it is good to find a decent balance, even if that balance is majority tech with analog supports.

Source:

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marvelmymarvelmaster · 4 years

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Band of Brothers Masterlist

Series:

Dog Tags: Dog tags. You didn’t know why, but something about them made them seem safe and secure, just like the man wearing them.

Wounded: Being wounded in war is inevitable and could happen to anyone at any moment. But when it’s you or the love of your life that gets wounded, how will either of you handle the pain and suffering.

Richard Winters:

Everything Was Red: Lewis Nixon was after your heart, but Winters wanted it first. In the end, though, you’d surprise them both with who you would choose. (Lieutenant!Reader)

Really?: You always thought it was funny that Richard was shaving in the middle of the winter, so you decided to distract him. (Captain!Reader)

Um, Excuse You!: Eindhoven was fun until a woman kissed Richard in front of you which caused Richard to have to kiss you to stop you from murdering the woman. (Captain!Reader)

Liar: Lewis Nixon lied to you. He told you he wasn’t married, even went so far to tell your mutual best friend Richard Winters that same lie. When you find out, though that he was lying to you for over 2 years, is when you find out who truly loves you. (Captain!Reader)

Forever and Always: He was working too hard, you saw that. The regiment didn’t. By the time you got him pulled away from the typewriter, he was still reeling over the events. All he wanted, was for you to just hold him. (Major!Reader)

Copycat: Showing up to Toccoa with a strong head on your shoulders, you were determined to make your company, Easy Company, the best in the 506th. You were bold and unshakable, but Sobel still seemed to try and knock you down. But he was nothing but a Copycat, and with Richards help, you saw that as true. (Captain!Marshall!Reader)

Mama And Her Babies (3 Parts; Continuing): Being a medic for Easy and married to the Captain are no easy feats. Luckily, no one knows about your marriage to Dick other than the higher-ups so the men treat you no differently. Will the secret come out? (Medic!Marshall!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

(More parts will be added as I continue this series. Check Back for Updates)

My Secret: Hiding your relationship from your father was harder than you both thought. But could you do it successfully?? (Captain!Sink!Reader)

I Want You: He looked so good under these lights with the little bit of scruff that dusted his jawline. His whole appearance made you want to jump him, and you normally could. But your father was across the table. (Captain!Sink!Reader)

Lewis Nixon:

Aim For My Heart (15 Parts; Will Not Continue): As a Female Snipper for Easy company, you certainly do get a lot of attention, but the only attention you want is from Lewis Nixon. In the deadly mix called love in a war in which you had no business being in, will you and Lew make it out alive (A love story I mean come on!) (Sniper!Marshall!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

(More parts will be added as I continue this series. Check Back for Updates)

Warmth: You just wanted to get warm, and the only warmth you could get was in Lew’s arms. (Captain!Marshall!Reader)

Sick: You’re sick so Lew cuddles with you.

Drunk: As a first-time drinker, you get very drunk before all of you ship out. You get so drunk to the point where Lew has to take you away so you can rest. Drunk tears ensue. (Lieutenant!Reader)

Lipstick: Aldbourne had everything. Food, beer, pretty women. You liked 2 of the 3 things, and when Lew starts to notice your mood going south, he steps in to reassure you that you’re the only girl he wants. (Lieutenant!Reader)

A Lie: The drinking was getting too much. You tried to make him stop, but in the end, he just drifted farther and farther away. Lucky for you, Ron was there for it all, but will it stop your bleeding. (Captain!Reader) (Features Speirs)

When I Was Older… (3 Parts; Finished): Working side by side with the man you secretly love but openly hate is hard work. He tells you that your plans aren’t smart, but he knows deep down that they are indeed lifesavers. But when he doesn’t take your word and it winds up in 100 dead men, you two have an explosive fight, and words are said. Some were hurtful… Some were what you wanted to hear all along. (Captain!Intelligence!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Drunken Words Are Just Sober Thoughts: One night of you being drunk with Lew at a bar causes you to be sillier than your normally serious self. But then you mutter out some words, and he questions who you really are when you aren’t in charge and if you really meant it. (Captain!Reader)

Exhaustion: After a long day on the field all you wanted was to be in Lewis’s embrace. He gives you just what you need. (Captain!Reader)

You’re So Far Up My Ass: Eindhoven scared you. All the people suffocated you which made you stay close to Lew. What was truly bad, was seeing the woman being sheared like cattle. That’s what made you cling onto Lew for dear life.

I’m Not Sick: You told him you weren’t sick and kept on commanding the men while in Bastogne. But your sniffles and sneezes didn’t go unnoticed in the little town of Foy and that’s when Lew put his foot down. (Sick!Captain!Reader)

British Bastard: Ever since you walked into that office to talk to your father the British Colonel had his eyes on you. Lew and you weren’t yet dating, but would flirting with the British man push that train along? (Captain!Sink!Reader)

Fire on Fire: You loved him, you really did… But the drinking became too much and with the predicament, you were in, things had to change. You didn’t know if the change had to be from him or you… But you knew it would be bad. (Captain!Winters!Reader)

Ronald Speirs:

Cigarette?: You had heard stories about the ruthless Speirs, but when you hear how someone taking a Cigarette from him will die, you try to show the men that you aren’t afraid.

Idiot (2 Parts; Finished): Ronald Speirs had always gotten on your nerves. Whether it be fighting the biggest person at the school or running through open fire on the battlefield. He was your best friend, but you hated him when he acted like such an idiot. (Medic!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Promote Me, Love Me (12 Parts; Will Not Continue): You have one goal in this war, to rise faster in the ranks than Ronald Speirs from Dog Company. The only problem, you’re hopelessly in love with the crazy man. Will it mess up your chance to be better than the arrogant careless man, or will it make you realize that ranks aren’t everything when it comes to love? But when you find out that your best friend Carwood Lipton has been hiding feelings for you, what will you choose in the end? Speirs, Lipton, or that Golden Rank you’ve dreamt of since you were just a little girl, only war will make that decision. (Lieutenant!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Silent Affairs: No one knew about you and Ron sneaking around and you liked it that way. But when he gets moved to Easy Company, things get difficult. (Lieutenant!Reader)

Despicable: He needed you to leave him… So he pushed you till you did. And it was absolutely despicable. (Medic!Reader)

Bad Guy: Who was the bad guy? You or him? You liked him when he was mad and unlike others, you weren’t scared of him.

Guilt: You were tired of the back and forth that Ron played with your fragile heart. He liked you one minute and then ignored you the next. So you decided to make his life a living hell. (Sergeant!Marshall!Reader)

Tomorrow Is Another Day (Will Not Continue; Sequel to Old Memories, Same Crush): After George Luz finds out that you are the same girl from high school, he’s heartbroken from your lies. Confiding in Ronald Speirs, you find love again and this time, it feels correct. However, a moment in the woods sparks feelings between you and George that you wish would just go away. Will you stick to your guns and stay with Ron? Or will George’s persistence win you back? Only time will tell. After all, Tomorrow Is Another Day. (Medic!Reader)

Part 1

Celebration?: Your hair was everything to you. Partly because it took you so long to grow it out, but mainly because it made you feel feminine when surrounded by men. So losing it, would be devastating. (Medic!Reader)

Mean: Most times Speirs could be mean and most times you stayed quiet. Sometimes you spoke up. (Shy!German-American!Reader)

Carwood Lipton:

My Sick Baby: Carwood was sick with Pneumonia, as you checked up on him you soon realized he needed to sleep so with some force, you got him to do just that. (Medic!Reader)

Scars: Ever since Lip got blown back by the tank shell, he’s been ashamed of his scars, but you reassure him you love him either way.(Medic!Reader)

Eindhoven: When a lady kisses Lips cheek, your jealousy sparks and he has to put out the fire.

Cuddle: You just want to cuddle with Carwood, it doesn’t matter to you whether he is upset with you, freezing his ass off or sicker than a dog, you just want to touch him 24/7.

You’re Being Naughty: when you got drunk, you got naughty. But you didn’t think it would bother your best friend until he snapped at you in the middle of the bar. (Sink!Reader)

Sick Kisses: He didn’t want to kiss you when he was sick, but you didn’t care. (Medic!Reader)

Please Kiss Me: Not now, not when he was sick. You were a medic, you should know better but you didn’t care. You couldn’t even remember what he tasted like, something that frustrated the life out of you. Would he cave in? (Medic!BabySisterSpeirs!Reader)

Joseph Liebgott:

In Denial: Joe and you always got on each other’s nerves, but how long will it take before you both realize how in denial you are about how much you love each other.

Showers: As a female soldier, you never really get to shower alone and in private. When two men have wandering eyes and nasty words, it makes you a little self-conscious and your boyfriend a little hot-headed.

Hot Head: Joe’s jealousy really does get the best of you sometimes, but when it turns into pure rage that makes him ignore the fact that he’s hurt is when you have enough. (Medic!Reader)

Jealous Hearts and Wounded Bodies: (Sensing a theme?) Joseph is always jealous of something, but you two aren’t even dating, so what gives? When you push the limits and flirt with David Webster in front of him, all hell breaks loose. When you are wounded, though, that’s when the real truth comes out.

Ich Liebe Dich: Just Joe bugging you in English, so he says I love you in German to make you swoon.

Wicked Game: It was a wicked game, really. He made you fall in love with him with his sweet words when you were alone. Yet his sour remarks when you were around the others made you shut down and second guess it all. But you were falling madly in love with him… And it really was all just a wicked game.

Get Off: He didn’t enjoy you hanging off of him like a monkey. But when you start hanging off of Webster to get Joe riled up is when all hell breaks loose.

Taxi Ride: After the war, you and Joe went your separate ways. You became a Nurse and married a wealthy man. He became a taxi driver and prayed that you would cross paths. One late night you take a taxi home, and after you find out who will be driving you home, you decide your life needs to change. (Nurse!Married!Reader) (BoB!AfterWar)

Moved On: Joe thinks you moved on to a replacement when really, the replacement was coming onto you much to your dislike. When the replacement finally corners you in the bar, you don’t know who will snap first. You… Or Joe. (Medic!Reader)

Shut Up: He was getting on your nerves talking all that smack from those perfect fucking lips of his. You finally had enough, but you didn’t know what would happen after.

Pink Lips: Pink Lips… Those stupid fucking pink lips of yours had him hypnotized, even to the point of not being able to talk to you because he would be too busy staring at them. He finally has enough after nights and nights of nothing but dreams about you and those stupid, beautiful pink lips (Sink!Medic!Reader)

Jealousy Looks Good On You: Joe got jealous very easily and to you it was embarrassing. But when a girl hits on him in a bar, Joe likes what he sees.

Bill Guarnere:

Protection: Bill was always protective of you, and you were always in love with him. When push comes to shove, how long will it take for you to cough up your love for him, and for him to explain his motivations to protect you? (Medic!Reader)

Female Captain: Entering boot camp later than everyone else has its downsides. You don’t have a similar bond with one another like the originals did and you certainly feel like an outsider. Entering as their new superior has a different sort of challenge, instead of feeling unwanted from the men, you felt it from Sobel. When the inferior NCO pushes you around, who will stand up to him first, you, or would someone else? (Captain!Marshall!Reader)

George Luz:

Shave: Geroge needed to shave, and you wanted a candy bar, so you found a way to get what you wanted.

Don’t Touch My Girl: George didn’t like how Liebgotts arm was on you during the ride to the next spot. Frustration ensues.

War Is No Place… (9 Parts; Will Not Continue): You had your eyes on George Luz since day one. Quickly, you fell in love with one another, but you soon realized that war is no place for a lot of things. Mainly, though, its no place for love. (Medic!Marshall!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

(More parts will be added as I continue this series. Check Back for Updates)

Don’t Be Stupid (2 Parts; Finished): When George comes back from the bar drunk and proclaiming that you were cheating on him with your best friend Lieb, you find out who told him such lies. And you go to confront them.

Part 1

Part 2

I Thought I Lost You: You were stationed in Bastogne because they needed extra hands. When George finds out about the bombings though, he falls into a depression because he thought he lost you. (Medic!Reader)

Clingy Lover: When in Aldbourne right before Operation Market Garden, you start to feel lovey-dovey and very clingy. Luckily for you, George loves when you are like this. But when Cobb says something that makes you shut down, you question whether being clingy is a good thing.

Old Memories, Same Crush (3 Parts; Finished): You knew George Luz from Rhode Island where you both went to high school. You had a major crush on him, but being the nerd and him being the class clown made it seem impossible. You got over your crush once you joined the Airborne, but then you run into him again. Something blooms. (Medic!Reader)

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Eugene ‘Doc’ Roe:

Touch: Being a medic really put a lot on you, but then you learn that your touch heals people, or so Doc tells you, kisses ensue. (Medic!Reader)

Medic Band: When you’re holding onto dear life, you also realize you’re holding onto Eugene’s medic band. With your blood all over him, he confesses how he feels.

Mon Ange De Neige: In the darkest part of the war, Eugene realizes how he is slowly falling in love with you, his Mon Ange De Neige, Angel of snow. (Lots of French. I have no regrets) (Medic!Reader)

Boo-Boo: It was a boo-boo. The graze on your shoulder didn’t put your life at stake. Doc didn’t care though, a wound was a wound. All you wanted though, was for him to kiss it and make it feel better

Red Nose: He was so cold and his nose seemed to be permanently red. While in the town of Foy, Winters mentions to you that Eugene needs a break to warm up and relax from the hell he just went through in Bastogne. You couldn’t agree more and you make it your mission to fix the broken and frozen man in your arms. (Medic!Reader)

Accent: You always found the way that the Louisianan talked to be amusing. You just didn’t expect it to make your heart race either.

Stars: You were seeing stars after the bullet hit your shoulder, but you didn’t realize the stars were just Roes eyes shining in the moonlight as he hovered over you. (Medic!Injured!Reader)

Floyd Talbert:

Two Can Play At That Game: You and Floyd split in fear of losing one another. When you come to the town of Eindhoven and see him kissing a girl just to get you riled up, you finally snap and decide that two can play at that game. (Sergeant!Reader)

Stabbed And Dazed: You were still new to the whole, Medic thing, and the only way to get better was to practice on wounds. You just wished it wouldn’t be a stab wound from someone you liked, and when the morphine kicked in, his words would make your head spin. (Medic!Reader)

Joe Toye:

Joey Baby, I Love You: When you get clipped in the jaw by Liebgott while trying to break up the fight between him and Bill, Joe comes up to show you some love and promises you that no one will hurt you.

You Wanna Repeat That?: You were just trying to do your job, but when one annoyed private complains to the wrong man, your boyfriend, a heated argument results. (Medic!Reader)

Buck Compton:

Lost Without You: Buck was your everything, your rock, your love. Your life. So when he’s pulled off the line for witnessing Toye and Guarnere being hit, how will you survive in the hell without him?

Donald Hoobler:

Surviving: When Don shoots himself with his Luger and his life rests in your hands and Docs, will you be able to save him? (Medic!Reader)

Edward Heffron:

Don’t Be So Smug: He was so smug and handsome at the same time… You wanted to hate it… But that only made you love him more.

My Baby: While his nickname was ‘babe’ to everyone else, ‘baby’ was his nickname from you and you alone. So when some of the men catch on to the pet peeve of yours when someone calls him baby, they do all they can to push your buttons. Possessiveness ensues. (Sergeant!Reader)

Just Kiss Me: He was being cheeky by not giving you a kiss. Which leads you to become clingy and needy. But don’t worry, he likes it.

You’re Adorable: You think he looks adorable in the lighting and then you just gather the courage to tell him how you really feel.

No Warmth: Julian. While Babe hated sharing your guys’ foxhole with him, you could see the love that he had for the younger boy. The problem was, that you mainly saw that love after Julian died and when Babe seemed too broken to heal.

Hurt: You were shot, it wasn’t deep and it was just in your shoulder, but it made you rethink everything. While the bullet hurt you, your absent demeanor hurt Babe. (Medic!Reader)

Drinks: Babe had just dumped you and you were getting drunker and drunker by the minute. Lucky for you, there were a bunch of British soldiers who couldn’t keep their hands off of you as they kept you well… Hydrated (aka Drunk). You didn’t see the issue, but Babe certainly did.

Get Me Sick: It was so cold, you were sick, and you were being so stubborn. The perfect mixture that made you distance yourself from your lover only because you didn’t want to get him sick as well. But he was having none of it. (Medic!Reader)

Donald Malarkey:

I Lost You: Donald Malarkey was always in your dreams, some were better than others, and then there were those that paralyzed you in fear. You couldn’t lose him, and the only way to calm you from those dreams were him himself. Luckily, he was always there for those scary nightmares.

Freckles: Seasons may come and go. His freckles may fade and appear. But through it all, your love for him never changes.

Protection: The Replacement was drunk and you were frozen in fear. When Don saw the whole predicament, he wouldn’t go easy on the man that touched his girl. Oh no, the newbie would pay.

You’ve Got A Lot To Learn: You were trying to be nice and courteous to the new Lieutenant. Meaning you made sure Don didn’t completely rip into him with sarcasm. While you are sweet and generous, the kid’s got a lot to learn. The first thing to learn is not to mess with you or he’s gonna a very nasty realization. (Major!Sink!Reader)

Six Feet Under: You didn’t know how to fix it. Fix any of it. His friends dying killed him, but him not opening up really put your relationship six feet under.

Giggles: Even when you’re upset, whether it be with him or another person, he always found a way to make you giggle. (Sergeant!Reader)

Mine (2 Parts; Finished): Don had called off the relationship, yet it felt wrong to make out with Joe right in front of him. You lied to yourself by saying you did it because you liked Joe, but all you wanted was Don back. And what you wanted, you got.

Part 1

Part 2 (SMUT)

So Goddamn Beautiful: To him, you were always so beautiful. Whether you were covered in someone else’s blood or fresh out of the shower. It didn’t matter to him, you were just always so goddamn beautiful. (Medic!Reader)

In Your Place: You were talking back and doing things to rile him up. You knew what you were doing… You wanted him to put you in your place.

You’re Clingy, Big Deal: After someone makes fun of your clinginess in the bar. No one makes Don’s girl feel bad, especially when it’s about something he adores.

Watch: Sad Angst… No real synopsis and it’s short… so???

Fallen: You have always been pushed around for being Sinks daughter, but when you actually hit the ground is when you finally break. Don is there to catch you, but its not just you that he catches. He catches the love bug as well. (Sink!Reader)

Johnny Martin:

Watch Your Mouth: No one talked back to his girl. No one. So when one replacement gets a little mouthy towards you when you were simply trying to patch him up, Johnny steps in and puts him back in his place. (Medic!Reader)

In This Mess?: Martin was struggling, you could see that. When you find out that you’re pregnant, you think things will go smoothly. But he is not one happy daddy. (Wife!Medic!Reader)

David Webster:

Leave Him Alone: You had enough of your best friend teasing and bullying poor Webster. Partly because you wanted everyone to be kind, partly because you liked David.

Where Were You?!: When David comes back from the hospital after you lose everything, he questions why you of all people are giving him the cold shoulder. The reason is, you needed him, and he wasn’t there. (Medic!Reader)

HEADCANONS:

I Love You: Richard Winters, Lewis Nixon, Eugene Roe

Confessing Feelings: Ronald Speirs, Carwood Lipton, George Luz

#Band of brothers Masterlist

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ikesenhell · 4 years

Text

The First Thing

You can find all other IkeSen/IkeVamp works of mine here! NOTES: AT LAST I RETURN. I made this almost explicitly to annoy @a-shout-to-the-void. I had to make an entire playlist to write this... you know that ‘boyfriend’ by Ariana Grande actually is very helpful for this? (and ‘bitches broken hearts’ by Billie Eilish, who knew) ---

When she started looking at him--really looking at him, investigating his features and cadence, memorizing the sound of his voice--she noticed his hands first. She never told him. If she’d asked what he wanted her to notice, she assumed Arthur would chuckle (in that delightful, infuriating, charming accent of his) and say, “Darling, aren’t there a thousand things about me you could look at?”

Famous author he was. ‘Pain in the ass’ could be added to that list.

His mouth was a liar and she wished it would shut up more often (the man wrote Sherlock Holmes and couldn’t catch a clue, apparently; his motor-mouth flirtations drove her insane). His eyes went along with the facade. What a liar the body could be!

But his hands? They were the crack in his armor. She learned the way he curled his fingers slow around mugs when he was thinking, curled playfully in teacup handles, rapped annoyance against his pockets. When nothing else in his flirtations gave him away, that did.

(As much as it was the chink in his mask, it was hers, too. It was the first thing she’d liked about him. His hands made her think he might even be tolerable.)

The second thing she liked was his idiosyncrasies. She wasn’t too given to sweets--she’d always preferred savory things--but the day she rapped on his door to deliver a fresh mug of coffee and a block of fudge, he was too distracted to disguise them.

“Set it down there,” he gestured, not rising from his typewriter (a horrific, spiderweb contraption that the Comte got for him and he so obviously hadn’t adapted to). “I’ll get to it.”

She set the platter down within his arm’s reach and set about collecting the other stray mugs around his room. When she turned, he was absently breaking off hunks of fudge and dropping it into the coffee, brow furrowed, chewing on his lip, pecking away with a single finger on the keys. It was almost charming. She thought about her grandfather doing his best with his home computer, hammering out emails punctuated with ellipses between his pointer fingers.

“Has no one taught you how to type on that?” She asked.

Arthur blinked owlishly over his frames at her. “Is there a certain way?”

Did Arthur Conan Doyle write by hand? She cast the thought from her mind and instead savored that he’d addressed her like a human being and not a snack conveniently wrapped in a skirt, that out of his vest and with his shirt slightly unbuttoned and the sweet abomination of chocolates in his coffee, he was almost lovable. She placed the last dirty mug on her tray and balanced it against her hip. “There is. There’s a hand placement that makes it easier. After that, it’s just practice.” A beat. “It’s sort of like playing the piano. Have you played?”

“No. I play violin.”

She almost asked, ‘like Sherlock Holmes?’ and thought better of it. “Well, I suppose it could be a little like that. Do you need anything else?”

“No. Thank you.” Arthur cast her a smile--a wonderful, ordinary smile. “I don’t suppose you’d teach this old chap how to type sometime?”

“I suppose I could do that, if Sebastian doesn’t need me at some point.”

Arthur’s eyes crinkled. “Well, do let me know.”

When she left the room, he was back to pecking away at the keyboard. She cast one glance back--he was slurping down the sludge of chocolate and sugar and coffee--and wondered if the warmth in her chest was something she ought to worry about.

---

The third thing she liked was his puppy. Vic was adorable; watching them cuddle and romp on the lawn behind the mansion warmed her heart. The spaniel bounded after her skirts as she hung the wash, rolled on her shoes and looked longingly up at her.

“Hey baby!” His head was silky under her fingers; obviously, he was cared for. Arthur, panting, caught up a few moments later.

“My apologies, my dear.” He played at an approximation of Napoleon’s bow, but too loose and formless, smiling all the while. It was so boyish and delightful that she smiled despite herself, heart surging. “It seems he’s gotten away from me. I’ll get him out from under you.”

“It’s no problem. I love dogs.” She scratched under the puppy’s chin, watching the tail wriggle on the grass. “I had one, actually. Her name was Neo, short for Neopolitan.”

“Neopolitan! What a divine name.” Arthur dove over Vic, nuzzling the spaniel. “Almost as regal as you, baby boy!”

She grinned and flapped out another shirt (one of Arthur’s, incidentally), pinning it to the line. “You’re not getting blood on your shirts anymore.”

“Am I not?” He shrugged, as if it were nothing at all. “Interesting. Vic! Want to play fetch?”

Vic yelped happily, darting away once more, and as Arthur cursed and scrambled to his knees after, she found herself watching as he ran.

---

Seasons turned, and so did they. As gradual as the waning months from summer’s height into the shimmering twilight of fall, everything changed.

“You know, my dear,” he said one night, hunched over the typewriter he still had not mastered (but he was using all of his fingers now at her instruction, which she considered a win), “I’m rather fond of you.”

“You’re fond of all women,” she replied easily, fixing his hand placement on the left. “You hit the ‘enter’ key with your little finger. Trying to use your ring finger like that is causing you problems.”

He wasn’t looking at the keys anymore. Those blue eyes were trained on her, mouth set in a long frown. “I’m serious.”

Was he? She faltered, uncertain of where to turn. Arthur showing vulnerability was almost impossible to comprehend. Was this a ploy? Was this how he lured so many women into his arms? Was this why his shirts were so often flecked with stranger’s blood? Come to think of it, that hadn’t happened in a while.

“I…” She trailed off. “I don’t know what you mean by that. I guess I’m getting close to everyone.”

His correction was as swift as sharp. “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Have you seen blood on my shirts recently? I’m not out looking for any old skirt to bring home.” He peered intently at her, waiting for a reaction. She stood stone-faced.

(Because what if he was just saying that? What if he--with all his quirks and humor and love of animals and quick tongue and razor mind--was playing the latest caper on her? What if he truly just thought she was someone to play with? What if this was all a sick game? Her heart hurt--it hurt, it hurt, it hurt under the weight of imagining him wrapping her in those arms, with the imagined long evenings in his room reading the latest books.)

“What,” she scoffed, disbelieving, “should I give you a piece of paper to check off to ask if you ‘like’ me or ‘like like’ me?”

Arthur cocked a brow. “Would that clarify things for you?”

She turned on her heel and left, swinging the bedroom door hard behind her.

---

Damn him, he was telling the truth.

Quizzing Theo was exactly as illuminating as she’d suspected it would be. He’d noticed Arthur’s recent change--that he came home from the bars at the same time without vanishing into some side room, that he was ordering alcohol (which he never did when he was chasing a woman), that he was drinking blanc like water (and he was, she could vouch to that--he kept ordering it to his room).

“Is there a reason for all the questions, Hondje?” Those piercing eyes cut straight through her. Determined to stay them, she slid another warmed pitcher of syrup to him.

“I mixed it with butter this time,” she told him. “The way my grandmother did. You’ll probably like it like that.”

He frowned, placated for the moment, and tested it on a bite of pancake. Success; his whole face illuminated. “Not bad, Knabbeltje.”

“Glad you like it.”

Theo reached out and caught her by the wrist before she could turn away, expression serious once more. “He’s fallen for you.”

(And she wanted to say ‘Good for him’ and pretend not to care, but she remembered the way his shoulders curved over a piece of paper as he wrote with an ink pen, how he could take the tiniest pieces of information and discover everything about it, how he’d smuggled so many of the encyclopedias into his bedroom that the Comte caved and bought Arthur a shelf full of his own, how he smiled when he was really and truly enjoying himself.)

She swallowed. “How do you know?”

Theo released her and leaned back in his chair, scowling as if he’d never cared to begin with. “Pretty sure you knew that already. If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here asking me all this.”

---

It was raining cats and dogs that night, and she hadn’t talked to Arthur in three days. But he was heading out with Theo to the pub, and Sebastian was nowhere to be found, so she took it upon herself to find their raincoats. By the time she returned to the hall, only Arthur was standing there.

“Where did Theo go?” She asked.

Arthur shrugged and pointed up the steps. “He forgot his wallet.”

It sounded like a lie, but it wasn’t delivered like one. Arthur’s hands remained telltale still at his wrists, picking at the buttons. She draped Theo’s coat across the rack and held out Arthur’s, helping him into the sleeves. He let her adjust his raincoat, eyes never leaving hers, not once. She just busied herself with the buttons. Then he took one step forward, gloved hands pinning hers to his chest.

"I know what game you're playing," he whispered. Was he serious? Joking? It was impossible to tell. "You're waiting to see if I’m serious or simply indulging a passing fancy."

Theo wasn't back yet. She swallowed hard. "Am I?"

"You are." A pause. He trailed his nose against the ridge of her ear and she shivered. "If I break and pick up a skirt at the bar. If I come back with blood on my vest. If I have someone else's perfume on. You don't trust me--not yet."

Her fingers, somehow, were bunched in his vest. She tried to ease up, turned her head away from him. He just followed. The slope of his mouth skated down against her neck and she wondered what it would be like for him to leave a hickey there instead. Would it burn like her heart did around him? She could smell his cologne and coffee and fudge and ink and it all spelled ‘Arthur’ in cursive letters, etched in the most primal part of her soul.

"Maybe," she hedged, breathless.

"No 'maybes', Love," he sighed against her. "But I'm a stubborn man. You'll see. I meant every word."

---

His whole body wrote love letters to her.

She knew it, too. He was so touchy when she’d first arrived at the mansion, and now--now the gulf between them was thick with the promise of all he might do. Arthur lingered around her shoulders, his hands deftly handing her pins to hang the laundry when she dropped them in the garden, appearing as if summoned when she needed something from a high shelf. It made her ache.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” she fussed at him in the pantry, soft so Sebastian couldn’t hear. Arthur smiled at her over his coffee mug, finger tapping. She was right.

“Am I?” He evaded.

“You are,” she pressed.

“What, praytell, am I doing?”

(Making me want you so badly I could scream. Ghosting around me.)

“Being a fucking dick.”

Arthur’s eyes blew wide with surprise, and then he laughed so loud and genuine that Sebastian appeared around the corner and squinted. “My! That’s a turn of phrase I didn't expect.”

“You deserved it,” she announced. “I’m not taking it back.”

She still corrected his typing when she came through to fetch his coffee mugs. He was fast now. The metallic hammer of keys echoed down the hall, silencing only when she entered. Thick flakes fluttered past his windowpane, falling in sheets over the gazebo, and Arthur looked up with a paintbrush and a capful of white oil paint.

She paused. “What are you doing?”

He scowled and motioned at the page. “Typo. That’s how I know I’m old; misspelling words that I ought to know better about. I found that it’s much easier to simply paint over the word, wind it back, and retype the blasted thing on top when it dries.”

Was that how White-Out got invented? She didn't mention that and instead commented lightly, “Smart.”

Arthur shot her a wink and a smile, turning in his chair and taking his coffee with murmured thanks. “What are you doing after this?”

“Nothing, I suppose. I was thinking about doing some journaling.”

His smile vanished into nothing, fingers rolling thoughtfully along the ceramic mug. At long last, he said, “Is that pressing?”

“I guess not. Why?”

“Then stay.”

Somewhere above them, Mozart’s piano started, a sonata he’d been slaving on for months. Apparently he’d finished it; the notes glided through the ceiling, echoing against her hammering ribs. Arthur waited, silent and pensive.

She swallowed. “What happens if I stay?”

“Nothing.” A beat. “Everything. Whatever you like.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Those blue eyes roved around the room, as if hiding all the things they could invent. “If I’m perfectly honest, I was thinking of a cuddle.”

“A cuddle? Just one?” She teased, propping her tray on her hip. “You Brits have to specify.”

He chanced a grin. “Well, perhaps more than one cuddle. We could sit together on the couch, perhaps read a while. Something quiet. Would that suit you?”

Overhead, Mozart hit a sour note of frustration and fell silent once more. She inhaled sharply.

“Two conditions.”

“I’ll have them.”

“One, I have to bring Sebastian his tray back. Two, I’m bringing you some rouge. You have to drink it beforehand.”

Arthur clicked his tongue, but smiled again. “You drive a hard bargain. I’ll take it.”

---

He was pacing when she returned, sleeves rolled back, a few books lying on the coffee table as if he would need to sell her on any of them. He didn't. She shut the door tight behind her and handed him the rouge (which he drank a little too quickly, fingers fumbling with the stopper as if he’d never seen the bottle before).

“Well.” He slumped into the couch, bringing his legs up with him. “I laid out some novels--”

“Great,” she replied, and settled inbetween his legs to rest on his chest. “You enjoy them.”

Arthur inhaled. His pulse thrummed wildly against her ear, the smooth plane of him comfortable and easy. “Do… do you want any of them?”

“No. I’ve been working all day. I’m alright with resting.”

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her shoulder, hands cool and nervous on her skin. “I’ll admit, I didn't expect you to just go for this.”

She paused only a moment before admitting, “If I didn't just do it, I knew I was going to be too scared.”

“Too scared for…?”

“Doing what I wanted to do.”

Arthur’s hand--one of those honest, understanding hands--slid upward into her hair, easing her body upward along his. He was all high-strung sinew and bone and flesh, reassuringly solid and hypnotizing. His mouth against her forehead was a relief; against her ear, a taste; against her jaw, a promise; against her shoulder, a tease.

“Stay tonight,” he whispered in the curve of her skin. Only Arthur could make begging sound seductive. “Here, with me. Don’t make me let you go. You’ve only just arrived, I can’t possibly let you go now.”

She entwined her fingers with his (the very first thing she’d ever liked about him), relishing the ghost of his mouth against her skin, and then--oh, there he was, his lips near hers, and regardless of who leaned first she tasted him with abandon. She was more given to savory things, but when it was him, she supposed a little sugar didn't hurt. His tongue tasted of chocolate and coffee and moved so slow and smooth that when they parted, she gasped.

“Please,” he murmured, and punctuated it by sucking on her lower lip (damn writers; they always knew how to end a sentence).

“I’ll think about it,” she breathed, knowing full well the answer. “But you can try and convince me.”

#ikevamp #ikevamp arthur #The First Thing #fluff #slow burn #Ikemen Vampire #Yesha Writes

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arthurhwalker · 4 years

Text

reMarkable 2 Review

I had some requests for a review of this device, and I am glad to oblige in this case. I've been closely following digital pen stylus tech for about eight years. I'm just old enough that I still need to handwrite a lot of things to tap into my creativity, but greatly dislike clutter in my life.

The reMarkable is for the person that writes enough by hand to fill several notebooks a year. For someone that wants the tactile and somatic component of writing on paper to associate with their process. The new reMarkable 2 does basically what the reMarkable 1 did; faster, better, and with a much improved piece of hardware.

If you've read my previous review from May 2018, you know I basically raved about the first generation reMarkable. I had a few criticisms of the Gen 1, and a lot of that has been addressed with the Gen 2.

Support & User Experience

I've used a reMarkable tablet continuously for almost three years. I've never had a support issue with one. The software is updated regularly, features added, and user experience improved with each iteration.

There is really no comparisons to be made with that kind of uninterrupted usage. No smartphone, tablet, or computer you ever own will be that reliable. A 3-4 year old Thinkpad, running Linux, is about as close as it gets to that level of, switch-on-and-use, every day, without fail feeling.

The reason is that the reMarkable 2 is leveraging the most reliable hardware, user input methods, stylus technology, and operating system basis available. My fear has always been that my reMarkable wouldn't be as reliable as a regular piece of paper, and a good pen. So far, that fear has never been realized with the reMarkable 1, or 2.

Pen Stylus Input

The majority of what one picks up and uses will be Microsoft Pen Protocol (MPP) stylus tech, with Microsoft Surface Products, or Wacom AES (Active Electrostatic) like that found in a lot of Asus, Dell, Lenovo, and so forth. The older Wacom EMR (Electromagnetic Resonance) is used less frequently, and usually only with their own products, or a version thereof with Samsung Phones and Tablets.

Of the three options, Wacom's EMR is still the best.

That's what you'll find on the reMarkable Tablet, and if you get their Marker Plus (it's the black one) it has the magical EMR eraser tip opposite the drawing point. There is no better pen stylus experience, for general use, sketching, handwriting capture, tilt sensitivity, and so forth.

The Marker Plus is $50 more than the regular Marker. It is worth it.

What if you're like me, and you have a drawer full of pen stylus products? Products that include the legendary Excalibur stylus pen that came with the Thinkpad Tablet 10 Gen 1, and worked with the EMR capable Thinkpad Yoga S1 from 2013? The one with the eraser tip, and sweet felt tip point? Will that stylus work?

Yes. Yes, yes it will.

However, the reMarkable Marker Plus just feels better. It's heft (19g) is perfect, eraser tip rounded to feel like the real thing, and tips that degrade gracefully without marking up the screen. Buy. The. Marker. Plus.

The Hardware

The manufacturer says that the reMarkable 2 gets 3 times the battery life of the 1, is 2 times as responsive (relative to rendering digital ink), and is the world's thinnest tablet at 0.19". Mostly, this is all of this seems to be true. Also, as mentioned before all the new Marker Plus has a built in eraser, all the new accessories snap together with magnets, and it charges with USB-c.

The screen is capacitive touch capable now. No more page turning buttons, and you can swipe down from the top to back out of a document or folder. You can turn pages with the swipe of a finger now. It takes a second to get the gestures down, but they're crisp and reliable once you do.

The tablet runs off of a dual core ARM process (a good thing, in my opinion).

My only quibble is that it is supposed to be able to connect to both 2.4GHz and 5.0GHz WiFi, but so far I've only gotten it to connect to 2.4. It might be something with my specific router, and I'm not sure if my experience is typical.

On the lower left hand side of the tablet there are 5 connection points. This suggests that the tablet may have the ability to connect to other accessories in the future. If reMarkable added a Plain Text Editor, and a keyboard cover to the reMarkable, I would be over the moon.

There is no evidence that they will do this, but a guy can dream. Having what's basically an e Ink Typewriter this thin and light would be the ultimate for this writer.

The Software

It is much the same experience as the reMarkable 1 with a few new additions.

You can convert your handwritten notes into text, cursive or block letters, and share by email. There is support for 33 languages.

With a Google Chrome plug-in, you can read web articles and pages on your reMarkable. If you're already battling with eye strain from looking at glowing screens all day, this is a nice feature.

Reading large PDFs and eBooks is still not crisp and snappy, but it is a vastly improved experience when compared to the reMarkable 1. Large graphically intense documents can be navigated without it taxing your patience. What I store on my reMarkable is vastly different now because of how much improved document handling has become.

I find the small sacrifice in speed rendering pages worth it, compared to the eye strain I get reading on other screens.

More pens, features, page templates, and ease of organizing have been added incrementally over time. With regard to the core functioning (Linux Based Codex OS) of the device, the manufacturer has only ever improved and supported the reMarkable.

Aesthetics

The reMarkable 1 was good for what it could do. It wasn't a bad looking product, but compared to the reMarkable 2, it was a rough prototype. Most tablets do not feel as nice in the hand as the reMarkable 2.

Rubber no-slip nubs on the back, rounded edges, satin finished glass and aluminum, make the tablet itself feel like it's from the future. I bought the Polymer Weave Book Folio, a step up from the regular Folio. A close friend got the same device and marker options as I did, but opted for the Premium Leather Folio.

Definitely, get the Book Folio, and if you can scrabble together the extra money, get the premium leather. That's my only regret is that I didn't spring for the best accessory offered. Is the Polymer Weave good? Absolutely, worth the $99. It is rigid, will protect your investment, and it's very classy looking.

My friend who picked up the Leather Folio is a graphic designer, and has greatly informed my sense of aesthetics over the years. She says the Leather Book Folio is well worth the extra. She is, most certainly, correct.

So, yeah, if you're going to get a reMarkable 2 and want a slightly used Polymer Weave Book Folio (mine), I'll let it go for cheap (so I can atone, and get the leather version, ha ha).

Value

The reMarkable 2 doesn't have a web browser, app store, Merge Dragons, audio player, or other third party applications. It won't replace your iPad, or Android Tablet. It will replace all the paper, notebooks, and pens in your life. This is especially true if you have a small scanner (like a Doxie), and leverage reMarkable's Smartphone app and cloud sync feature.

This tablet is for people that like paper, a lot, but don't want to carry it around or keep track of it. It is for people that fill 8-12 Moleskines a year, and mark up hundreds of pages of documents, for themselves, and others. It is for people that tap into their creativity by writing things down, sketching diagrams, and making lists.

The act of holding a pen or pencil against paper is a cognitive trigger, built into their implicit memory, every day, for years, that allows them to do their things.

$399 will buy a decent Samsung or Apple branded tablet, but neither of those is designed to emulate the experience of writing on paper like the reMarkable 2 tablet is. The reMarkable 2 will run you $399, a Marker Plus $99, and a Polymer Weave Folio $99, bringing it all to almost $600.

Unless you lurk reMarkable's website, and wait for a promotion. They did run a promotion for their pre-order, and will likely do something similar within a year of release. It is my recollection that the manufacturer ran at least two promotions for the Remarkable 1, and the savings were significant.

If you don't need one right this minute, check the website every week or so, their Amazon Store edifice, and whatever other options they have for your region.

Competitors

In the last few years, reMarkable has only acquired more competition in the e ink Tablet market. That competition varies depending on where you live in the world. In the US, no one makes a thing that directly competes. I looked at other products, didn't see anything that made me pull out my reMarkable 1 and make a list of pros and cons for comparison.

That isn't to say there isn't a better thing for your use case, but there wasn't for mine.

Final Thoughts

If I didn't drive this point home earlier, I'm going to make it now. The reMarkable 2 will not replace your laptop, mobile OS (iOS/Android) Tablet Device (meant to replace your laptop), or Smartphone. There isn't even a calculator app on the reMarkable 2.

The Remarkable 2 will replace the pens, pencils, highlighters, notebooks, and print outs cluttering up your daily carry bag, desk, and life. It's a digital paper option, not a personal computing option. When used for that purpose, it is exceptional, and well worth the investment.

#reMarkable #reMarkable Tablet 2 #E Ink #eink #linux #digital ink #review

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war-obsessed · 5 years

Text

Blame - Chapter Two; Coffee

The Concept | Chapter Zero; The mistake | Chapter One; How it all begun

| Chapter Two; Coffee |

Song:

1941, occupied Paris, France

The next day, as per usual, she arrived at the little coffee shop at 1058, and decided to sit inside for today. At exactly 11 o'clock she ordered a coffee, as she looked out of the window. This was the best table, for sure. The best window view on the street. That's why she chose it. Perfect for just plain old simple looking. When the door rang, implying another person had entered, her head turned back towards the entrance, and there he was. That familiar soldier. "Is madame Beauchêne here?" She raised an eyebrow at him, as the person behind the counter pointed towards her. His eyes followed the finger, and landed on her. His face immediately seemed to brighten. "Ah, merci." He approached her table. "Hello mademoiselle. May I join you?" He spoke very politely, and the more she heard him speak and act, the more she felt like this one wasn't a bad one. "Take a seat, monsieur." She gently smiled at him, as she looked at the blank page of her notebook. "I found which column you wrote. You wrote about me yesterday." She nodded, with a smile on her face. "That is correct." "Why?" He gently tilted his head, while his eyes wore a look of question. "I had been sitting there for three and a half hour. Nothing had happened. But a new face, a new soldier- those are the things the people of Paris love to read about. They want to hear what's new and what's old. That's why I wrote about you." She lit a cigarette, and offered him one. He accepted it, and lit his one too. She took a deep inhale, and let out a long breath of smoke. He did the same, staring out of the window. She took this time to observe his face. He looked freshly shaved, he had little dimples when he smiled, and his brown hair was neatly done. He wore a German uniform, of course, and she wondered how he looked without it. How'd he look in normal clothes, in a normal life, during a normal time? Her mind wandered places she usually never wandered, as she took another puff from the cigarette. "I sit here often, even when I don't write the column. It's a nice spot, and the coffee's very nice." She wore a gentle smile on her face, as she turned her look back out the window. When he noticed she had moved her gaze away from his face, he turned his eyes towards her. He never really took in all of her features. Her face was flawless, not a single imperfection to be found upon sight. Her blonde hair framed her face beautifully, and rested a centimeter or ten below her shoulders. She had a slim and overall pretty turned up nose. Overall, she was beautiful, to say the least. He wasn't sure how he felt about her. She was very pretty, but that beauty seemed to go further than her looks. She seemed very friendly, and overall a nice person. But it might've just been that she was friendly, unlike many French inhabitants. Either way, he wanted to get to know her better, talk to her more, learn about all of her quirks and secrets. "What do you do for a living?" The question made her head turn towards him, as she slightly tilted her head. She took a moment to take in the question, and think of an answer. "I write. I also studied as a medic. I got the diploma but haven't done anything with it yet." That was a lie. " My parents used to own an hotel, but I sold it. I tried to run it, but I didn't even last a month." A gentle smile appeared on her face, as she thought back at the mess it had been. It surely was fun as long it lasted, but she couldn't keep up the quality like her parents did. She sold it for quite some money. "What happened to your parents?" Again, she couldn't compose an answer quickly. "I'm sorry if that's intrusive. If you don't want to answer it, you don't have to." She shook her head. "No, no, it's fine, monsieur. I was just taken aback a little." She gently smiled at him. "My father died in the first few weeks of the war. My mom died a few weeks after. It's supposedly of natural causes, but I believe it was a suicide." A silence rested. "I'm sorry." She shook her head. He noticed that that was definitely something she did often. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. It doesn't matter either way. They were always too busy with the hotel, so it's not like it made a lot of difference without them." She took a puff of the cigarette that she seemingly had forgotten about. "Sure, I miss them. But it's not like I saw them a lot more before." She painfully smiled. "And how about you?" Her eyes connected with his. "I mean- my life was never that interesting before the war. Got my mom, got my dad, that's it." He smiled at the thought of his parents at home. "I miss them sometimes, but we write letters." She smiled at the thought of his parents sending him letters about life at home, and for a moment she missed her parents. Though she quickly shook that thought away, not wanting to think about it. "Honestly, before the war started I had this boring column about life and no one really cared. This column really put me out there. Maybe I'll even publish a book sometime, you know?" She smiled gently, as she looked towards him. He took a puff from the cigarette, and smiled. "I bet you can." She smiled back. There was definitely some sort of connection going on between the two, but neither were sure what kind of. But they definitely both liked it a ton.

A friendly silence rested between the two, just sitting there, as she occasionally took a sip from her coffee. She didn't mind being silent. A silence could tell the most about somebody. What this told her about him, was that he could keep a silence too, and that he was very calm. He seemed very put together, but he looked like he could also be the biggest mess you'll ever meet. Something about him just made it that she wanted to learn more. She needed to know more about him. It was strange, really, because she usually didn't care that much about strangers, or people she didn't know. She mostly kept to herself, and if she didn't, she'd usually talk to monsieur Durand. She couldn't know for sure, but she just had this feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was going to be able to let her walls down and get out of her comfort zone.

The smell in the coffeeshop was home like, like freshly ground beans. She liked the smell, because it reminded her of the hotel and her youth. She put out the cigarette, looking at him. "So, why did you come here, looking for me?" His eyes turned towards her, and a troubled look formed on his face. A silence rested between the two, as he thought deeply. "Well, first off all, you wrote about me. That's a valid reason, I think." She chuckled. "And besides that, you're friendly. That's a change." She scoffed, with a playful smile on her face. "That's how they treat Germans around here." Her eyes moved back to the window, with that playful smile resting on her face. Something in him reminded her of life before the war. Home like, friendly, and overall just pleasant to be around. She missed talking to people, and he made her realize that. His company felt nice, just him being there. Her eyes fell on her watch. "I think I'm going to go home. I don't know if you've got anything to do right now, but you could join me." As soon as she said it, she wished she could be consumed by the ground. Stupid. She got up, turned away from him, and was about to leave. "Bold to assume we have anything to do around here." She turned back to him, and a chuckle left her mouth. "Alright." He got up too, ready to follow her.

He followed her through the streets of Paris like a little dog. She felt a lot less lonely with him following her. The sun shone gently, hitting both their faces. Their shoes made clicking sounds on the streets. There weren't a lot of people out, even though it was a beautiful day. It was the war that kept them inside, the fear of combat and gunshots. She had never been scared of war. It wouldn't keep her inside, locked away in fear. Instead, she liked to go out more, talk to soldiers, the civilians, hear opinions. She turned to him, and saw him looking around. "You've never been here?" "No, we don't come around here. The only reason for us to be here is to search houses." She had to suppress a sigh. She hated that he was a German. But a nationality didn't make the man.

When they arrived at her home, she unlocked the door, and entered. "Welcome in my humble home." She smiled at him, as he looked around the little hallway. "Make yourself at home." He continued through the hallway, as she closed the door, and her eyes fell on the envelopes. "Merde." She quickly hid them in a drawer, and followed him. "It's not big, but it's good enough for me." That was a lie. In fact, her house was a lot bigger than she implied. Behind the bookcase in her bedroom, a whole living space was hidden. It wasn't visible from the outside. It would be impossible to see that it existed, from both the outside and the inside, unless you moved the bookcase aside. She had hidden a lot of allies in there since the beginning of the war. She had taken care of their wounds. She wasn't a medic for nothing, of course. Right now, there wasn't anyone there. She wouldn't have invited him if there was. He sat down on her couch, taking in the room. "I'm going to start writing in a few. Can I offer you a drink?" He smiled. "Water will do." So she got both him and herself a glass of water, and then sat down behind the desk across the couch. The sunlight gently hit the desk, and shone through the big windows, lighting up the room with a gentle yellow glow. She sat there for a moment, her fingers gently resting on the typewriter. Then, she started typing, the paper filling up with letters and words. Somewhere during her writing, he had laid down on the couch, listening to the sounds of the typewriter, and occasionally a louder breath of hers. Her place was cozy, very homelike. But still unique, and for as far he knew her, it fitted her. She had some plants across the living room, simple and local plants, and one cactus. When he was sure he saw everything in the room that there was to be seen, his look averted back to her. She finished her French part a bit later, and turned towards him. "I see you're making yourself at home." She smiled at him, and he smiled back. "Well, you did tell me to make myself at home." She chuckled at him. "Touché." She smiled, as she drank some water, and lit a cigarette. She took a puff, before putting it down in the ash tray besides the typewriter. She continued to type, now working on the German bit. She took an occasional glance at the French part, and in between took puffs from the cigarette, the smoke gracefully leaving her mouth. He just looked at her, taking in every thing about her back that there was to be seen. He liked looking at her like this. Reminded him of home. How his parents would spend hours typing away at their typewriters. But she was different. She was a lot more cozy and gentle. She surely was something different in the war. He didn't want to be sent out to fight again. He wished he could stay with this wonderful woman he had met yesterday, no matter how crazy it sounded.

Because God, something about her made him want to know more.

#inglourious basterds #fredrick zoller #daniel bruhl #donny donowitz #aldo raine #hugo stiglitz #wilhelm wicki #smithson utivich #omar ulmer #shosanna dreyfus #emmanuelle mimieux #bridget von hammersmark #quentin tarantino

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calleo-bricriu · 5 years

Text

Why do I keep doing this?

It’s nearly over, there are fewer than 100 pages left in the horrid thing after this one.

((Oh also, these few chapter contain a hell of a lot of really casual racism mostly against Native Americans and whatever “half-breeds” are, because that’s not specified.))

Okay, chapter 18 starts with finding out that the stroke didn't kill Mother it did, of course, exactly what Mizpra wanted: Left her a mostly paralysed invalid.

Despite that, she's written as still being pretty mentally lucid, just not physically capable of doing much but being propped up in a chair facing a window. Now somehow she's being called "The mother of Leigh" instead of Mrs. Newcomber.

Anyway, she's staring out the window, occasionally being annoyed by the fact that her nurse is a "strange and harsh woman" and how she's a toy of Mizpra's now somehow.

It's also somehow "perverted" of Mizpra to let her mother reminisce about when she was younger but okay.

Watching birds is supposed to make one cry; I'm guessing mabye I watch birds incorrectly because, while interesting, I've never really felt any sort of urge to cry over them.

Mizpra evidently thinks, "partially paralysed from a stroke" means "also deaf" and is now always written shouting right into her mother's ear. Also, she was sick of her mother watching birds because "the mist will soon commence to fall" whatever that means.

Back to insulting Mizpra again, "With her energy, moral palsy, masculine effrontery, and unbridled control of a large fortune, she moved the men and women around her." He's writing that like it's a bad thing.

I mean, it'd be a lot easier to dislike her if he focused on the things she's done rather than the fact that the author just thinks she's a little too "masculine" because, really, by this point we know she stripped down a teenage girl in front of her class to berate her about wearing corsets, married a guy just because he knew how to use a typewriter, and planned her mother's stroke and had the thought of, "It'd be super inconvenient if she dies but whatever, I'll make it work if that happens." You know, legitimate reasons to dislike someone.

"There was not enough of sex instinct in her to enjoy being flattered as a woman," well, who the hell could blame her? Flatter her based on the abilities she's shown, none of which are remotely terrible (by modern standards at any rate).

The author doesn't seem to think highly of women as doctors either because the first one described is, "one of the big-footed, short-haired kind" you know, manly.

Oh, but, "a mild sort of fellow-feeling--not womanly--brought about business arrangements between Mizpra and the female physician."

This is such an exhausting book to read; no wonder so few copies still exist, even in reprint. Normally, I can’t get enough of getting my hands on and reading rare books that only have one or two copies still left anywhere but this? This one is a harsh reminder that some books may actually be better off eventually fading completely from anyone’s memory.

"The older inhabitants of the surrounding country had become interested in Mizpra. The Spaniards, Mexicans, half-breeds, and Indians, all bigoted and ignorant, were now singing her praises." I'm--pretty sure the only bigoted and ignorant one here is the author.

MOVING ON.

Oh look, someone brought her one of her Genius Brother's books: "Insanity in the Adolescent Caused by Religious Rites and Mysticism in the Catholic Church," by Leigh Newcomber, M.D.

There's also a typo in the book that the editor apparently missed, "It had been a distressing day for Mizpra, and she was ugly in mood, and agitated in feeelings."

Feeelings.

""I saw a pretty Indian girl to-day. I'll have as many as--" at this moment the blood rushed to her heavy cheeks and her hands and feet began to feel cold. She grasped the back of a chair to steady herself for a moment, then strode to the bed to throw herself down upon it."

Well, that came out of nowhere. Pun intended.

So now she's going to pretend she's Catholic and devote her time and money to teaching "the Indian and half-breed girls". I'm just going to assume she's moved beyond stabbing sleeping men with scarf pins and is moving on to--that.

Ordinarily, that wouldn't be all that off-putting sounding if not for the use of the term "half-breed" and girls. Girls--that often indicates that they're not adults.

Anyway, she gets a telegram presumably from Rev. Bald indicating he's ruined Leigh's life but, since I've read the previous chapters and the author is about as predictable as the tides, I'm going to assume Leigh sent the telegram and is planning a surprise visit.

Oh look, more casual racism: "An Indian lad, a protege of Father Francisco, arrived at the house with a note from that priest. He was a fine specimen of his race; lithe, bright-eyed, and cunning." He also doesn't like Mizpra, probably because she keeps calling people half-breeds and savages.

Wonderful! He even talks in a perfectly stereotypical racist manner, "Big bone squaw. Too much talk. Want chief."

So, she asks when "the woman" arrived at the priest's house, he answers, "Yes, bad squaw come."

Which makes her angry because he apparently said it in a defiant tone so she grabbed him and demands he explain why she's bad and if he doesn't she'll have him flogged.

I can't exactly parse the racist as hell way he's writing this kid but it seems something to do with an Indian who converts to Catholicism gets salvation?

So Mizpra slaps him because that's a rational reaction but then he keeps talking and I have no idea what the hell is going on, "Indian boy understand. He white squaw no Christ squaw; Indian boy no white papoose. He squaw, look out."

He leaves, no further explanation, time skp three days later from "Rev. Bald" who basically details what Bald had intended to do but ended up getting tag teamed by Leigh and a prostitute. So, definitely Leigh writing that letter. I mean it also said that Mops was poisoned (diphtheria, for the last. fucking. time. infects you; the bacteria can produce toxins, which are what can cause the range of symptoms, some of which can be fatal, so unless you're just injecting the produced C. diphtheriae toxins right into someone, you are not poisoning anyone by exposing them to diphtheria, you are infecting them and I know that seems like semantics but the author is a doctor and should know better than to think infect and poison are the same thing) and died.

Anyway, Mizpra believes the letter is from Rev. Bald, so I'm sure that'll end well for her.

"Mizpra had but one thought, one passion now; that was, to wallow in her perverted pleasures to the saturating point of satiety." All right.

Chapter 19 begins with "The reader has probably already surmised from the letter received by Mizpra that Bald had recovered."

In the sense that he wasn't dead, yeah, I guess.

Leigh told the hospital Bald was hit by a trolley car and Bald is just, "Well, since I can't remember what happened, that must be correct!"

So Leigh shows up the next day because Rev. Bald is his patient and the first thing the author does is write something creepy in the narrative, "Leigh now noticed a distinct refinement in Bald's features. he was pale, and the whilom sensuous lips had lost some of their grossness."

Who--thinks like that? So he sits there watching Bald sleep for awhile then leaves after leaving some magazines and "a basket of luscious fruit".

Weirdo.

Nurse starts in with some story about how Leigh lost his wealth or something, then Leigh shows up again and Bald immediately goes turncoat on Mizpra.

So Leigh decides that Mizpra is "undoubtedly mentally ill" and "he would see her placed where she could no longer do injury to herself o rothers."

And they’re headed to California; of course, Leigh had Bald write the telegram and letter to tell Mizpra her plan went off flawlessly.

Predictable writing.

Leigh insists the issue is that Mizpra is insane, not a criminal, and that she's "not responsible for her actions". I mean, mentally ill or not, she's still responsible for her own actions unless someone else is forcing her hand, which they are not. That's been made clear.

Only about 100 pages left, thank everything.

Now they're talking about one of the other sisters, the older one who married a lawyer. That turned into a rambling story about how the lawyer "misappropriated" funds and somehow that landed them under having to get an allowance from Mizpra.

Chapter 20 appears to be Leigh is Stressed and Wants a Drink.

Manages to get home without doing that and apparently Obera's only method of showing support is to just fling herself around and cry.

"Leigh went to work instantly to eliminate the poison which his faulty nervous system had allowed to accumulate in his body and thus produce a self-intoxication." ...what?

He calls Dr. Bell to come and write something to Bald and Leigh has to be whiny about it, "Well, I don't believe you or any other man can understand what I suffer."

Please stop being 13 at some point, Leigh, you are an adult.

Now he's relating his life to Poe's stories and needs to stop--but I guess this book is where the whole "psychic incubus" thing came from because he's talking about one now.

And that sort of drifted in to him rambling incessantly about Edgar Allen Poe and how Leigh is just like that, only with more friends and less good writing, I guess.

I might have added the last two things.

Dr. Bell insists on heading out to California with Bald and Leigh and that's the end of that chapter.

It was 85% Leigh rambling on about Edgar Allen Poe while saying very little about him and just sort of quoting random bits of his work.

No surprise the author of the book had a weird obsession with the same thing.

#books #hp rp #casual racism #old books #this is still the worst thing I've ever read #and not because it's shocking #because it's just so disjointed and poorly written #and the author is an idiot #it has a typo #it has a legitimate typo #I found a typo in a book from 1901 #and it immediately jumped out AS a typo because #feelings #is not ever spelled feeelings #typos

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fadingwonderlandmilkshake · 4 years

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FROM TYPEWRITER TO BIKE: A 26-YEAR-OLD’S CONUNDRUM

“How do you see yourself five years from now?” asked by one of our interviewers during our mock interview in college.

“Probably sipping coffee in front of my laptop placed in my Brobdingnagian desk, employed in a well-known company, and thinking what to write next,” I answered.

It was a hot afternoon but I was quivering with nervousness. I remember standing in our school’s hallway across our registrar’s office, impatiently waiting in my corporate attire. It was a group interview that intended to prepare us for actual job interviews that we’ll have to go through when we start pursuing careers.

“You did great in the interview because you were confident,” said one of the interviewers, referring to me as I flushed with joy and relief. I was so confident because I thought I had everything figured out. I always thought there’s a big life waiting for me outside this box and when the interviewer commended me, I felt ready. I thought I was ready for whatever life has in store for me, but I wasn’t. I was wrong.

Fast forward to five years later, here I am, holding a bike for at least five minutes now. Scared. Hesitating.

It’s a typical Sunday evening and I asked my sister if I could try her newly bought bike, to which she instantly replied with a “yes.”

My sister’s about 6 feet tall while I’m 5”5, so you could just imagine the size of the bike she bought for herself. She bought this pink mountain bike, which my short legs barely able to hop on to.

It feels like I’m going to ride a bike for the first time again and I got really scared. I’m just literally standing whilst contemplating whether to ride the bike or not until I decided that I won’t do it anymore.

So, I parked the bike and walked the dog instead.

I used to be so fearless. I mean I used to ride bikes in downhill roads WITHOUT holding its grips. I even stand while on a bike. “Where did my badass self, go?” I asked myself.

Around 10 pm, as I laid down in my bed, a thought hit me. The fear I had while holding the bike is like the fear I have about writing.

I remember I had this typewriter I got from my mom when I was eleven. I used to write short stories about fairies, gremlins, and goblins with it. I like how writing somewhat brought my imagination to life. As I scanned through the pages of the stories I’ve written, it brought me nothing but delight.

Writing has been my safe space since then, especially when my parents’ relationship was on the verge of breaking. Writing helped me escape the quandary I’ve been dealing inside. I also decided to join our school’s publication club when I entered high school and compete in some essay contests. They helped boost my confidence in writing, which drove me to pursue journalism in college.

I became a feature writer in our school’s paper and earned my first salary for writing. That moment I had everything figured out. I was so full of dreams and so certain about my future, but I stand corrected.

As soon as I stepped in the corporate world, I realized that there are way better writers than I am. I’m just a speck who creates inconsequential impact in this competitive world. Sometimes, it feels like I don’t even exist.

So many times I have questioned myself if writing is something I should still pursue. There were nights where I just cry myself to sleep – asking God why He allowed writing to be the desire of my heart when I’m no good at it. I have been in my lowest lows where I also started questioning the purpose of my existence a.k.a. the infamous quarter-life crisis.

Until one time, I stumbled upon one of my feature articles when I was in college. The article was about renowned Filipino writer, Ricky Lee – where one of his quotes struck me:

“Habang nagsusulat ka, feeling mo ang galing-galing mo, pero pag nabasa na ng iba parang ikaw na ang pinakawalang kwentang manunulat. Kasi sa totoo lang, a writer is both good and a bad writer. Mas maganda kung ituturing ng manunulat na hindi sya magaling para abante sya ng abante para mag-grow sya. You can be good, but you can never be the best, kasi kung best ka malamang bukas patay ka na.”

(Read Full Article Here: https://www.pinoyexchange.com/discussion/283581/the-letran-news/p14)

(While you’re writing, you feel as if you’re so great at it, but once others read it, you’ll start feeling like you’re the worst writer, because the truth is, a writer is both good and a bad writer. It would be better if a writer would treat himself/herself that he/she is not excellent at writing so he/she can grow. You can be good, but you can never be the best, because if you’re the best (writer) then probably you’ll be dead tomorrow.)

I felt okay after reading those words, knowing that it came from a very eminent writer, it was so comforting. I mean who would’ve thought that one of the sought-after writers feels one of the worsts too?

From a dreamer who used to own a typewriter to a wimpy 26-year-old who’s scared of riding a bike and struggles to figure her life out, this is going to be a long journey of getting my confident-self back again. However, at least I’m trying my best not to be stuck in my fear. I love writing and I’ll fight for it. I’ll keep writing and continue growing to be better at it. :)

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mischiefiswritten · 6 years

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The Care and Keeping of Your Writeblr | Pt. 1 - Getting Started

Hello all, and welcome to my guide of possibly-useful, possibly-not advice for creating and maintaining your own writing blog and connecting with the online writing community.

I'm in no way an expert, nor am I the best, most popular writeblr out there. Not all the advice I post will work for or even appeal to everybody, but I'd like to share what I've observed and found useful in my own time running this writeblr sideblog.

This installment will be covering the basics of GETTING STARTED.

So you've decided you want to start a writeblr. Good for you! The writeblr community is a great place for motivation, inspiration, sharing ideas, getting feedback, collecting resources, and just having good old fashioned fun with other writers. It can be intimidating to try and enter into an established community, and it's okay to be nervous. But with few exceptions, this is a very friendly place.

Choosing your URL:

This is the first thing you're going to be asked to do when starting a new blog, whether it be a main blog or a sideblog. You'll want to put a fair amount of thought into this as it can influence the amount of traffic on your blog and changing it later can confuse your followers. This is the simplest, most straightforward piece of advice anyone can give you - put something about writing in your URL. It doesn't have to be some variant of 'writing' if you don't want it to, but consider different ideas related to the craft. Images of typewriters, pens, ink, etc. all bring writing instantly to mind. Also consider your genre. You could use an offshoot of that such as "name-does-scifi."

If you're making a sideblog, consider whether you want your writeblr url to be similar to your main URL. (That's what I did.) Remember that likes, follows, and comments will all show up as coming from your main blog's URL. It may help other writeblrs make the connection between the two, especially in your early days. This is of course just a matter of personal preference. Food for thought.

An effective URL will make it easier for others to find and connect with you!

Writing a Title and Description/Bio:

Once you've fired up that shiny new URL, you'll find a lovely white void awaiting you, yearning for all those lovely words you've got inside your head. First and foremost, you'll see big block letters that probably say 'Untitled' at the top of the page, right under the header image. Again, I suggest putting something about writing in your blog title. This is the first thing someone sees when they open your blog, and again it lets them know if it's likely to have the kind of content they're after. This isn't mandatory by any means - you do you - but it may help you gain traffic in the beginning. Some writers, like myself, simply use their URL as the title, others use the title of their WIP, and others put any phrase that strikes their fancy.

Under the title, there's a space for a description. Use this space to introduce yourself, your WIP (if you want) and your blog. It can be as vague, specific, serious, humorous, long, or minimalist as you like. Browse some other writeblrs to get an idea for what appeals to you. Remember you are under no obligation to share any personal information including name, age, or location. Your privacy is yours to protect in whatever ways you see fit.

As far as content goes, here are some things you may want to mention in your description depending on the kinds of posts you plan on sharing.

genres (young/new adult, adult, children's, fantasy, sci-fi, mystery, etc.)

original works or fanfiction?

are you open to participation in tag games?

WIP titles

writing tips, humor, encouragement

liveblogging your writing process/journey

guides, resources, and references

will you be posting much original content or mostly reblogs?

links to other accounts/pages (hyperlinks are supported)

If your writeblr is a sideblog, consider listing your main URL in the bio and your writeblr URL in the bio of your main. Many people like to follow back, but since they were notified of likes, follows, and comments via your main URL, they may not put two and two together without some assistance.

Makin' it Pretty:

It's what's on the inside that counts, that much is true. But we can't help but be attracted to polished looking blogs. Don't worry about being fancy right away (or ever)! Just think about making your blog look well cared for. How? Choose an avatar/profile picture, a header, colors and fonts, and a theme. (Also note that lacking all of the above, including title and bio, can make your blog look suspicious to cautious users.)

The mobile/in-dash version of your blog and your in-browser blog can be customized separately, but your avatar, title and description will appear in both. The mobile version will look much the same as everyone else's, with variations in font, colors, and pictures. Fonts and colors can be selected from the settings/edit appearance menu. You'll want to upload a jpeg for the avatar (which can be square or round) and header (which you can reposition). It doesn't matter much what these pictures are - just have them in mind so you can get them in right away!

The easiest way to make your in-browser blog look nice is to select a theme. There are several free ones available with an array of different features so you can get the most bang for your zero bucks. Many are color and font customizable as well and support links, pages, and widgets. If you install pages for your characters, your WIP, or whatever you want one for, people will be seeing those through the in-browser version of your blog. Themes make it easy for them to navigate! (Click on the paint palette icon to change your theme.)

Writeblr Lingo:

Writers are pretty much a subculture, and we speak our own jargon. Here on Tumblr, there are also extra terms you may want to be familiar with as you get started. Here's a basic glossary for your reference. (Some may seem obvious, but I make no assumptions.)

Writeblr: Write + Tumblr = writeblr; a Tumblr account focused on writing

OC: original character

WIP: work-in-progress

Ref: reference

Sci-Fi: science fiction

YA: young adult; a genre typically considered well-suited for an audience of ages 13-18 and/or centered around protagonists of ages 13-18

NA: new adult; a genre considered geared toward an audience of 18-30 and/or centered around protagonists of this age range (note that this is a fairly new genre and the associated age range is somewhat variable); often associated with transitions from young adulthood to 'real' adulthood in terms of lifestyle, personality, etc.

Mutuals: people who are following each other; ie you follow them AND they follow you

Tag(ging) Game: a game passed around via tagging other writers in the post; played in the text body; most have the name and how to play within the text body

Tagging: typing the @ symbol followed by the account's URL; typing @ will pull up a menu of suggested URLs that display the blogs' avatars and will update as you type

Bookblr: a close cousin of writeblr; this blog type focuses on reading published books and often includes reviews and recommendations

Rec: recommendation

Comments? Suggestions? Corrections? Additions? Let me know what you thought about this guide and if you have any ideas for future installments, which are coming soon. Happy writing, everybody.

#writeblr #writing #writeblr community #starting a writeblr #guide #tips for beginners #writers on tumblr #care and keeping of your writeblr #getting started #mischiefiswritten #new writeblrs #cak

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fushiquroo · 2 years

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The Use of New Media in Writing

As time passes, different media platforms advance, and more features are added. Writing has been more convenient in recent years due to the abundance of media platforms on which we can publish our work. Typewriters were utilized back then. Because you can’t undo what you’ve previously typed, typewriters are difficult to operate. However, as the globe grew, so did technology and media. Today, we don’t need a typewriter since we can type on a computer or any device, and we can also undo words - that is, we can correct our mistakes. There are also different media platforms we can use for writing. Lot of apps are advanced and carries lots of features we can use. Let’s discuss them!

Wattpad and Tumblr are two examples of new media platforms that can be utilized for writing. People can read and write using these apps; they can express their thoughts and feelings, which they can then publish for other users to read. These apps are simple to use and make it much easier to publish a story than in the past. Back then, authors would work on a story for a month before publishing it. They must also pay for the printing and publication process, which takes a long time. However, in today’s world, anyone may easily produce and publish their own stories. Some authors from these applications become well-known as a result of their works; one reason for this could be that their stories are offered in various bookstores. A lot of Wattpad tales became popular due to how fantastic they were; however, there are some stories that you must pay for in order to read them. I think of it as well-written Wattpad stories. When it comes to Tumblr, I truly consider it a comfort app. It doesn't have many users, and you can publish whatever you want. You can be creative by adding various images, designing your profile, writing various stories or quotes, and so on. This platform also allows us to read and write; different people use the program to express their sentiments and opinions, as well as to cite their daily lives. It’s similar to a diary app in that you can do whatever you want with it, especially decorate your profile page.

Moving on to educational writings - back in the day, we students used to write with a pen and paper for lectures or taking notes. However, due of the current pandemic, it is important for students to remain indoors and learn via online classes. Students are no longer forced to purchase school materials, and as a result, pen and paper note-taking is no longer compulsory. Students typically utilize note-taking programs to record their notes because it is handier and more accessible from anywhere. When a student is not in their study zone, they can access their notes via the app. Even educational activities can be completed without the usage of a pen and paper. That is how useful these media note-taking apps are.

Writing is a must and we usually do write or compose something. Messaging, for example, is a sort of writing; we generally stay indoors and connect via various messaging apps. Comparing the writing from the past up to the present, a lot really did change. What I observe from the topic is writings have altered in our modern lives. Every writing has gone digitally in today’s life. This many inform the readers of how writings changed overtime.

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abunchofbadchoices · 6 years

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Michael's Song

HSS Michael x MC (Jordan) in Midnight Sun AU

*Disclaimer: Most of the lines and scenes I got from the movie the Midnight Sun and all rights belongs to the creators and writers, as well as the characters from PB. This is merely a converted fan fiction*

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Part Four

"My God, Jordan..."

That notebook was like where Jordan writes her songs. She can't have lost it, right? Maria knows the girl would be devastated.

"Can you please go get it for me?" Jordan takes her hands, staring into her eyes. God, those green eyes are amazing. "Maria, you know it's so important. Please."

Her eyes blinked, "You know, I would, but there's, like, um... A few other hamster funerals that I was gonna hit today--"

The blonde grabbed a pillow and hit her playfully. They fell back, giggling as Maria tried to shield herself.After a minute or two, they sighed breathlessly and sits back. Jordan gave her that irresistible pout that Uncle Scott always warned her about. "Please, Maria?"

Ughhh, oh no, She groans. My poor weak heart.

Two hours later, Maria walks into the train station with her hands inside the pocket of her long coat.There is a slight drizzle in the air, making it chilly. She weaves her way through the crowd of commuters and headed to the spot where she knew Jordan always sits to play. She scans the stations carefully, then she find him.

Michael Harrison stands leaning against the wall on the corner, obviously waiting. Probably for a girl that would less likely to show up under the bright sky of the day. His fingers drumming a tune on the familiar notebook in his hands.

Maria was surprised. She didn't expect Michael to care to return something if he even found it. Yet there he is. She approached him carefully, they attended the same school and there is always the possibility he wouldn't even recognize her. "Hi. My friend's been looking for that."

Michael looks up. "You know her? "

Maria nods curtly.

"Wait, Maria Flores, right?" He gave her a slight smirk. "Student body president? We had English class together. I'm Michael--"

"Harrison, of course. I know. And it was actually a History class. And Geometry and chemistry last year. Not English."

"Whatever." Michael rolls his eyes. "But how do you know her? Did she just move here?"

Maria holds out her hand, her palm up. "Notebook first."

The guy narrows his eyes at her, not at all intimidated and stood his ground. "Or you could just tell me where she lives and I could drop it off."

Nope, not gonna happen. Maria glared at him then sighs. She doesn't really have time for this and it looks like he will only bug her if she doesn't say anything. "You know what, I have a better idea."

▪️▪️▪️

Her phone beeps, indicating a new message from Maria.

Got the notebook, but had to run to the shop. I left it at the station ticket booth.

Jordan smiles and sent a bunch of cute emojis back to Maria to express her thanks then went to bed, turning off her bedside lamp to call it a night. Or a morning. Whatever it is.

She wakes up that night just in time for dinner. After putting on her fabulous outfit of the day-- a baggy gray shirt, black sweatpants and old sneakers-- Jordan joins her father on the dinner table. Featuring Chinese take-outs.

"Hey, Dad," She looks up at the man, almost finished with her food. "I need to go to the train station to pick up my notebook. Fred has it."

"Okay, text me when you get there." Scott mumbled in between mouthfuls. "And be careful!"

Jordan gave him two thumbs up, then rush down the hall and to the evening streets. She should have called Maria first to ask if they can hang, but her best friend must be looking after the night shift of their family business, the local ice cream shop called Cedar Creamery.

So she went on her own anyway.

The town doesn't look as festive as yesterday. Few people can be seen on the streets as she walks the familiar path to the train station.

The station as well looks half empty. Half a dozen people lounging on the waiting area probably... Well, waiting. Their faces blank and bored. Jordan passed by and went directly to the ticket booth but the station officer was nowhere in sight.

"Fred?" She called, frowning. No Fred?

Jordan kept walking until she reaches the corner and spots a familiar figure leaning against the wall by the shadow. One of his hands inside the pocket of his signature green jacket and on his other hand, a blue hardbound notebook.

"Holy...pregnant...cow," She turns around and hides behind the corner she came from. "Oh. My. God! My God, my God..." Jordan retreats back to the other side of the ticket booth and pressed herself against the wall, hoping Michael hadn't seen her.

What the hell is he doing here??! Maria said she got the notebook already! Why is he-- Maria! She gotta call Maria!

On the other side of town, the ice cream shop was just recovering from the last rush hour of the day and only a few customers are around and hanging out.

"Thank you!" Maria forced out a cheerful voice and a friendly smile, then turned back from the take -out booth to let their service crew do their work.

She had been wearing this colorful apron since that afternoon and honestly, her face is already hurting for smiling too much. Maria should have been home, finishing her book but her Dad Stephen is at the police station solving his cases while his Dad Jose wasn't really feeling well so she was left to handle the ice cream shop.The telephone behind her starts ringing and with a heavy sigh, Maria picked it up and speaks. "Cedar Creamery, how may I--"

"Maria." Jordan's familiar voice cut her off, sound tensed and nervous.

"Oh, hey." She couldn't help but smile. If her calculations are correct, her best friend must be at the train station and sees her hopeless Prince Not-So-Charming waiting for her already. "How's your second date?"

"How could you do this to me?" The blonde whispers urgently. "My goodness! I'm in sweatpants. My hair, it's-- it's a mess. It's tied, messily tied! Uggghh... I look like an idiot!"

"Oh, please, Jordan." Maria chuckles and sits down on her father's office chair, the telephone wire stretching across the space. Sometimes, it make her wonder if Jordan even know how beautiful she is. The girl is too innocent for this world. She sighs and shakes her head, smiling like a fool. "You're super freakin' gorgeous, okay? I can't even see you right now and I can tell you look so beautiful."

"Hi, excuse me." A customer waves at her impatiently outside the take-out counter. "Can I just get a large--"

Maria holds up a finger to stop him, shooting the guy a look. "Can you not see I'm on the phone?"

She gestured for the crew to hurry why their doing and attend to the inpatient guy. As if she would drop her call with Jordan. Maria returns to the conversation. "Look, he really likes you, okay? I can tell. Just try to be yourself. Don't ramble too much. And call me afterwards."

"Ugh, bye." Jordan mumbled from the other line.

"Good luck, honey!"With that, Maria turns back to help the crew.

Jordan, meanwhile, stares at the phone for a few seconds in disbelief before putting it down. She looks to her side and realized the walls of the ticket booth is made in glass and totally see-through. From the other side of the booth, Michael catches sight of her and stands.

"Oh, my..." She gasped, turning her back to him and pressing face first against the wall hoping it swallows her and take her back to her room.

It feels suddenly hot. Why is she sweating? Jordan fans her face. Okay, Jordan. She whispers. This is real. He is here and he won't be going away any time soon unless you come face him. Take a deep breath... Jordan takes more than a few breaths then steels herself as she walks to his direction. She looks down to check if sweatpants is properly tied then performs a few warm up jumps.

"You exist." Michael Harrison's unmistakably smooth voice speaks. He stands there obviously been waiting for her to come out. A meaningful smile on his handsome face. "I thought I was dreaming last night or something."

Keep your cool. Jordan reminds in her head. Remember what Maria said, act normal. Don't ramble too much.Her mind goes completely blank when she meets his deep grayish eyes. Jordan speaks the first thing that came out of her head. "Were you in the REM stage of sleep?"

"What?" Michael looks confused.

"That's when most dreams happen, actually." Jordan explains. "Yeah! Your brain activity is super high and functioning and your eyes are just going nuts behind your eyelids. It looks super weird." You sound super weird, her subconscious snides. You gotta stop rambling, you idiot. She ignores it. "It's like a typewriter or something--um, anyway, thank you for--"

"Wait. I--" Michael steps back just as she reaches out to take the notebook from him. "I still don't know your name."

"Oh." Right. Jordan nods absentmindedly. "It's Jordan."

"Jordan." The gray-eyed guy repeats the name, as if practicing how to say it. The corners of his lips curved. "I'm Michael."

Of course, it is. "Wow... That's a weird name." Jordan avoids his gaze. He shouldn't know that she already knew his name. Like for ten years. "Thank God you told me it 'cause... I wouldn't have known it otherwise. T-Thank you." She grabbed the notebook from him and turns.

"Wait, what..."

"You didn't..." Jordan stops in her tracks as the thought hits her. She looks at Michael suspiciously. "You didn't read through it, did you?"

"Just a little, I--"

"What?!"

"What?" Michael blinks. Apparently, all she has ever done is confuse him all the way.

"Are you serious?" Her eyes widen. "You read through my journal?"

"Look, I--"

"This could have been a diary. I-- I mean, it is, kind of."

"Um, I'm... I'm really sorry." Michael looks down, frowning. Did he just said sorry? I never say sorry, he thought. He looks at Jordan who has a cute defensive look on her face. "You left really quick the other night, and I really had no idea who it belonged to, so I just looked through it quickly. But I like that you still handwrite things. It's... it's cool. It's old school."

He watches her eyebrows carefully. Michael finds it easier to read her through the movement of her eyebrows which he find quite amusing. They were frowning one second, then slowly smooths over, followed by a little smile.

"Thanks..." Jordan says quietly. "For finding it."

"Yeah."

Michael realized the notebook must be of something important. It looks old, but the stuffs written inside were recently written. Just a few random quotes, but Michael caught sight of a couple pages containing a drawn sheet music.

He figured she would definitely look for it. Like the way he would look if he accidentally lose his grandpa's old motorcycle. In a way, he do understand.

Jordan once again used the moment of silence to walk away.

"Wait!" Michael called after her. Fortunately, she looks back. "What, another hamster died? You have to..."

They both chuckle. Jordan has some dorky chuckles. "Um... I... I had to... I... I'm... I'm walking home."

"Can I walk with you?"

"Um, yeah."

Michael returns her sweet smile, gesturing for her to lead the way. They walk in silence down the empty road for a few minutes before he decided to break the ice. Something that doesn't happen all the time. "So, you were home-schooled? Man, that must have been wild."

"Actually, it was the exact opposite of wild." Jordan hugs the notebook to her chest. "My dad's pretty protective."

"He's not, like, watching us right now, is he?" He looks at the buildings they pass by.

"Yeah. He has his phone tapped into every camera." She rolls her eyes, making them both laugh. "So, um, what did you think of the songs you read? Without my permission, I may add."

"I honestly don't know." Michael shrugs. It was the truth. He won't just lie to impress someone. "I mean, you can't really read a song, right?"

"True."

He noticed the downcast look in her eyes. "I guess I'd have to hear you sing them."

Jordan blushes. "Um, so anyway... I'm right up there." She pointed to a house just down the street. "So you don't have to walk me."

"Wait. You live up there?" They stopped walking and stared at the two story family house ahead. Michael couldn't believe his eyes. "I... I don't understand how we've never met. I've probably skated by your house. Like, everyday on the way to practice."

"It's a..." Jordan makes a funny face then shakes her head. "Funny coincidence. Um, thanks."

She walks towards the house and Michael stayed on his spot, shoving his hands into his pockets. An idea crossed his mind. "Hey, you wouldn't wanna do something sometime, would you?"

"Uh... Together?"

"Yes, us together. Hang out."

"Well, you should put your number in here then." She flips through the pages of her notebook looking for a space but on one page, a number is already written on it. Signed by Michael.

"I'm old school too." He admitted, this time a genuine little smile on his face.

"Smooth. Thank you."

They stared at each other for a few moments, standing in the middle of the road before Jordan makes a awkward You rock! gesture that caused them to laugh then she sprints towards the gates of her house and disappeared.

▪️▪️▪️

Note: Thanks! Have a nice day. Or night. 🤣🤣

#playchoices #choices #high school story #hss #hss book 1 #hss book 2 #hss book 3 #maria flores #michael harrison #michael x mc #maria x mc

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101percentindia · 6 years

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To Be ‘Amar’ Is To Be Immortal; Will Amar Chitra Katha Stand The Test Of Our Critical Times?

Remembering ACK, Tinkle comics and Chandamama.

Once upon a time, there was magic hidden between the pages of a comic book. They came under the common branding of Amar Chitra Katha and opened a window to a world most of us didn’t know existed – stories drawn from Indian history, mythology, folk lore and legend. Stories we had perhaps heard about but forgotten under the burden of academic pursuits and the struggles of our day-to-day existence. As illustrated books with thought and speech bubbles for the dialogues exchanged between them, all captured within 31 pages. There were tiny footnotes to explain typically Indian words, rituals, Gods, customs and so on. Each comic made a dent in our hard-saved pocket money – a dent of Rs.2.50 to begin, which was later raised by 0.50 paisa.

One man was responsible for this comic book revolution - Anant Pai. Story has it that he was on an official trip from Mumbai to Delhi in 1967, intrigued by the television set that had entered the capital through Doordarshan. Wanting to have a dekko of what lay behind that box, he watched a television programme through the display window of a shop. He was shocked to discover that in the quiz show, children could give correct answers to questions around Socrates and Winston Churchill, but did not know the name of Rama’s mother!

This chemical engineer orphaned as a young boy, realised that children loved comic book heroes like The Phantom. Leisure reading of children studying in English medium schools was also confined to Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew, Enid Blyton’s and a few comics like Richie Rich and Tintin.

Phantom made ‘politically correct’ for the Indian reader. Image source: thephantomhead.com

He wanted to bring Indian kids back to their roots and joined India Book House, one of the leading publishers in Bombay that was largely into printing, publishing, distribution and selling of books. Pai had already introduced the Phantom series as the first cartoon strip in The Times of India and wanted to use this form of visual reading to entertain and educate through Indian stories. And so the first Indian comic book was born under the brand name of Amar Chitra Katha. It went on to become one of the most popular and high selling series of Indian comics.

Slowly, sales picked up. ACK classics initially used primary colours - blue, green and yellow but graduated to full colours as it’s popularity began to rise. Pai and his team extended the parameters to bring in regional languages - beginning with translations in Hindi, Kannada, Marathi, and Telugu and further into Bengali, Assamese, Malayalam, Punjabi, Tamil, Urdu and even Sanskrit. It reached beyond its initial target of a middle-class readership to transcend class barriers and reach the upper class children. As ACK reached its 20th birthday in 1986, sales reached a peak of 5 crore copies, and then only two years later, a whopping 7 crores.

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Frequency also went from one classic every month to to one every fortnight around 1980. This was when IBH also launched its comic magazine Tinkle, that caught the reading fancy of all children at the time. The language used was simple, straightforward, and easy to understand by children not studying in English medium schools.

An entire generation isn’t even aware of this. Image source: amarchitrakatha.com

Amar Chitra Katha opened doors to an alternative visual culture that strived to adhere to its Indian roots. Yet, like all mothers everywhere, I would not allow my daughter to devour the comic books she was slowly getting addicted to. “It will take you away from your studies,” was my boring refrain. Scared of being stopped from reading what she had grown to love, she handed me an issue of Tinkle and asked me to read it. Tinkle was a weekly comic magazine brought out by the same publication – India Book House and the same man. I was bowled over. It was informative, funny, entertaining and carried a message and amusing adventures of the characters. It took me to one story from the ACK series, Ganga and I became a child all over again. I bought my daughter an annual subscription for Tinkle and, separated by a generation, we enjoyed the stories that could be read over and over again.

A position adopted by politicians today? Image source: wishberry.com

Chandamama, another magazine along the same lines, began to create and publish stories adapted from the Indian mythologies such as Ramayana and Mahabharata in 1947, just before Independence. In publication to this day, the magazine and its illustrations are known for its unique storytelling, reminiscent of grandparents' bedtime stories conveyed in print format. This was backed very innovatively with promotional strategies organized by IBH of fancy dress contests, displays in petrol pumps and book stores across every Indian city, launching new titles with press conferences graced by eminent personalities. By 1992, ACK classics were published and sold in 38 Indian and non-Indian languages by which time, Anant Pai had evolved into the children’s icon “Uncle Pai.”

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Not surprisingly, these books started facing a lot of flak from sociologists, cultural historians, comic specialists and so on. This critique is an on-going process of sometimes making mincemeat of the series or questioning its authenticity or pointing out its pro-Hindu, anti-minority and extremely patriarchal bias as far as the representation of women characters go. There has been a lot of research both by Indian and foreign scholars on ACK’s representation of women.

Moot points were, women are conspicuous by their complete absence from the story and the illustrations such as Chandragupta Maurya or many of the Birbal stories. However, there were women protagonists in classics featuring Ganga, Draupadi, Shakuntala, Savitri, Vasavdatta, Mirabai, Padmini, Tarabai, Rani of Jhansi, Uloopi, Chand Bibi, Urvashi, Sukanya and many others. Another noticeable absence was in the Makers of Modern India series of 13 personalities that does not feature a single woman, though India has had many women leaders who should have found place among these makers. Leaders like Indira Gandhi and Sarojini Naidu are not part of this series and Kalpana Chawla was an afterthought. The same absence is noticed in the visibility of Muslim and Sikh leaders.

Rohan Islam, a Bengali literature scholar, in a detailed analysis raises questions about the ACK series that mark out sharp differences between “they” and “we”, “bad” and “good”, “us” and “them”. Islam also draws our attention to the Brahmin-Hindu-Male that takes precedence over Muslims, Christians, Sikhs and of course, women. He states quite assertively that the equations drawn between the Hindu identity and the National identity are quite sharply underlined.

Making History lessons fun. Image source: Amazon.com

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This leaves us with questions. Why must we always place an entertaining comic series for children with informative stories on our culture, leadership, freedom struggle by contextualising it against the changing history and politics of changing times? Can one deny the historical significance of a classic series that has stood the test of time and space for four long decades? Can we deny ourselves the joy we got going through those stories and wonderful illustrations that took children away from their exams and more serious books? Take away the political, patriarchal and communal biases, which do not appear pronounced while we are reading purely for entertainment and information, and what we have is a harmonious ride into our cultural past.

Uncle Pai is no more. Long live uncle Pai. And with the magic between the yellowed pages of an antique Amar Chitra Katha, we can all live happily ever after. Or, can we?

Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are independent views solely of the author(s) expressed in their private capacity and do not in any way represent or reflect the views of 101India.com

By Shoma A. Chatterji Cover photo credit: Amazon.com

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