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msawesomegeek · 8 months

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Little mermaid 2023 Movie Review

A/N; hey look at me reviewing movies! And the day it was release on streaming service because I refuse to give Disney too much of my hard earned money!

Now there were some changes to the story, which we otherwise know, and I will say I have not watched the original in years, so besides some musical moments that I of course know the music by heart I wasn't actively trying to compare the two.

To make things simply I will go over style/tone and animation. Character, some story, music and overall thoughts.

I both really loved and hated the style change, it felt like tonally they were kind of unsure about what they wanted. The ship/shark scene at the beginning was really cool and actually scary, showed Ariel adaptive nature and ability to think on her feet (something I would have loved in Mulan), but the intensity of the saturation of the lighting coupled with the very intense action music, that never returned even for the climax, made it, weird. I felt a little like that with the shipwreck scene, scary and realistic but almost too intense with the score. These two moments just felt, too adult, or too intense and scary to belong with the rest of the movie and honestly in a kids movie! And there was a bit of a tonal clash for the rest of the movie with it trying to be light and magical coupled with the realism of it all, which could have been blended better. It felt insecure, tonally. Like if it would have just leaned heavier into either the realism or the magic, and I would personally prefer the magical version, because I think it suits the most of the movie, then it would have worked. But because it tried so hard to be realistic as well it lost some of its charm and magic along with it. Because these movies were so harsh it was kind of hard to enjoy Scattles musical number. And it saddens me because for a lot of this movie I did enjoy it! Again we have singing and dancing fish in "under the sea", and it was cool, but, would I have liked it to go insane over the top like they did with be our guest? Absolutely! Because the movie is asking me to accept the fact that fish sing and dance! The lagoon scene had this as well, where it was cool and magical but then had to "prove" it was still real every now and then, and it kind of punctured the ballon of this charming scene that had just been build!

Last which is a great Segway into character I wanted to touch on the animation. Was it good for the most part? Absolutely! I adored Ursulas tentacles and the way they were used! And most of the movie did look great! However, I would have liked a little more expression from Sebastian, because they gave him sort of movable eyelids or something that made him be able to have expressions. They just needed to use what they had more! Because sometimes his voice actor was giving it his all while there was a deadpanned crab on screen! And it did not mesh well. But when they DID use it, it just reminded you of why you wanted it all the time!

I did love Sebastian, amazing voice actor, funny but not in a way that stole focus. Same mostly goes for Scattle and Flounder. I mostly liked the way they interacted with Ariel.

Where Sebastian lacked animation and Ursulas tentacles had amazing animation, Melissa McCarthy I was disappointed in. Good singing, sure! But Oh my god, she lacked as much if not more facial expression than the animated Crab! I think it bothers me because I know Ursulas look is based on a drag queen, and because her tentacles were so dramatic, and honestly she is so dramatic. I wanted her to be that all the time. I was honestly bored during poor unfortunate souls, purely because I felt like her expression was giving me nothing. Just evil grin! Not glee not dramatization, not over the top and clearly fake pity! Like her body movement was so amazing and over the top I just wish that had just translated in her face as well! That and as for character developement, it was fine to have her there, but I would have liked just an ounce of affection shown to her two eels like, one throwaway line about: "You boys are the only ones who understand me." Anything! Because I really did LOVE her monster transformation happening because of them! I would have just loved to have that seed of a relationship sown earlier.

Ariels character also lacked some expressions some times but it was overall well acted and she was cute. The only thing I was meh about was her during Under the Sea. Mostly because I would have liked her to play along but be rolling her eyes when Sebastian wasn't looking, anything to make her disappearance at the end of the song justified. That and I loved her putting things in her mouth at random, however could they not just, like, once have her spit out the soap or flower disgusted with the flavor? Like?! Are we encouraging people to eat soap? The humor is that she eats it, just have her spit it out!

Eric. Eric. Eric. Eric. I really did LOVE what they did with his character, and there were scenes, moments, in the hall way on the ship on the lagoon, on the carriage, at the final battle. Where he was amazing and charming and the perfect character perfectly acted! I loved him getting some motivation! Didn't mind his song, but I will get to that one. But there were just moments, and I understand some of them, where he was not meant to be the focus on the scene. But it was almost like the actor FORGOT he was still on the clock and was just kind of there. And it sucked because if he had just acted the way he did in all of those other scenes, given it an ounce more expression, and emotion. He would have been amazing! The scene that hurts the most, and maybe it was due to direction or editing, but he has just lost THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE, his mother tells him they can never be together. You're holding the one piece of clothing, a last piece of her. Do you A look sad for one bloody moment then drop it in the sea? Or B) look at it devastated knowing you can never be together fighting to let her go, but knowing it is a cruel fate you have to face hugging it one last time wishing it was her before letting it go knowing you have to and after your mother puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. Can you guess which option they went with in the movie? HINT: IT wasn't B.

And again maybe it is style, direction, editing, I dont know. but the climax of the movie, is their kiss! There is a song bloody dedicated to it. I would have liked it to last longer, maybe have it be a bit more wow factor? Maybe that is just me? It just felt like, wow, kiss, mwua, done! Like there was a song about it, can we maybe make it a bit more epic looking? And don't argue that people kissing can't be made interesting because I have watched K-dramas and I know about every angle in which that can be done!

Anyways.

Touched on some story elements with characters before, but I wanna get on two last details that kind of annoyed me. One was the vagueness of Erics fathers death, which is like, did he do something to piss triton off? Did he kill Ariels mother? They kind of hinted at it, but in a way where there was no answer so it just felt weird to try!

The other that really annoys me, is Ariel stearring the ship into Ursula. As a detail of women saving themselves, fine, do not give a shit if it is her or Eric! However. She is a mermaid. She ate a flower, she uses a fork in her hair. HOW does she know on her FIRST TRY how to steer a ship?! Just have Eric or anyone show her how to steer once! Use half a scene on it! Just show us that this is now a skill she has, because it will still be dramatic and her having to do it without legs, but it would make her master of both worlds and really show look I know how to apply my old and new knowledge! It is just a detail, but it kind of infuriated me, because it would have made the climax much more impactful and knowing it could have been done smoothly. Even with just Eric trying first and failing and then her understanding and doing it would have been enough! Doesn't even have to be earlier. But anything to show her learning this skill would make it more impactful because that means we saw her both emotionally and physically learn to defeat the villain!

The music, was good. I did not mind the new songs, I did love the gossip song. Ariels flexing her runs was a little eh for me. I understand that they probably wanted to make it her own and change some notes, but it just took from the emotion, which she nailed in some parts, and someone showing off in a vocal riff just pulls you from the emotion. Musicals are about singing emotions! Musicals music are about when emotions become so big you have to sing them. Musical artists flex vocals yes, but they NEVER do so at the cost of the emotion of the song, or they are singing and not acting as well.

Erics, song. Oh Eric, Eric, Eric. Can you tell I have a weird relationship to this guy? The end of the song, was kind of good, I will admit his song did grow on me. I dont remember if there was a reprise before Ursulas entrance, but shame if there wasn't. However, musically I think the gossip song fit more in with the rest. I understand it is supposed to be his Aria, and Part of your world is special, but it just felt very, Les Miserable. It reminded me SO much of Valjean's Seliloquy, down to the tonality while he ran reminding me of the ripping the papers scene. It was just. It was bad, then it grew on me. I was confused as to if it was actually him singing it, and it seemed not his tone (maybe to be pitched a bit higher), and he may be in agony, but the song was musically just too les miserables for me, and I love Les mis!

Overall it was an okay moments, a lot of missed opportunities and places it lacked. Especially Ursula and Eric could have been improved. Where Cinderella remake and Aladdin remake had some magic and made me happy, the Mulan remake made me angry, and the Lion king made me just bored, this movie makes me kind of, sad. I think because I can see some choices they made, and how they genuinely tried. There were some amazing moments between Ariel and Eric, there were some great things, but because there was only a few changes that had to have been made to make it great it just made it, mediocre. I really wanted to like this movie. I really did like parts of this movie. But most of the time, I was thinking about what should have been.

So I give this movie a sad 3 out of 10 Dinglehoppers.

Tell me if you agree or disagree with me! Or if there is something you want me to review next.

Geek, out.

#movie review #movie #movie recommendation #movie reviews #rant #the little mermaid #little mermaid 2023 #disney live action #disney princess #Little mermaid review #Disney live action review

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cafecourage · 1 year

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The Chain and the No Good, Terrible, Horrible, Very Bad Day (Magical Girl AU) - Chapter 5: In Which, Past and Present Collide

No one would have seen it coming.

It started off as a typical day in the city. Most were at school or at work. Pinky had taken the liberty of letting her professors know that she would not be attending that day. She had carefully put together her portfolio and submitted her resume to the job of her dreams. It was the day of her interview.

As she exited the building, nerves shot by the anticipation of a reply, people began screaming. Rumbles followed soon after- an upcoming attack.

Confused and unwilling to get caught in the crossfire, she starts running.

Behind the steady streaming swarm of people, the thunderous steps continue. There’s no telling where it’s coming from. Multuous shakes begin to rain upon the city, scattering the people left and right. It must be the one called Ghirahim.

Only, the monsters don’t come in hoards. Instead, it’s singular. And huge.

A massive tentacle crashed onto the street, crushing the pavement and cars. It knocks the girl and multiple others off of their feet. The tentacle wraps around Pinky’s leg.

She screams.

“Pinky!” She hears her brother call. She looks up and around but doesn’t catch sight of him. “Link?”

“Not today!” A voice yells, not too far from where the girl hangs upside down.

Wolfsbane lands on the tentacles, ripping into it without a second thought. The pain inflicted on the monster sends it reeling and it lets go. Wolfsbane dives, catching the girl and leaping to safety.

Her eyes are forced shut, holding onto the hero for dear life. She can feel his heart pounding just under his skin. He might have been as scared as she is. Wolfsbane sets her down gently but keeps her close in case she’s not so steady on her feet. “Are you hurt?”

Pinky gulps and looks up. A small gasp leaves her. She had never been so close to one of the heroes. Shirtlessness aside, he was quite handsome. It occurs to her after some time of staring that he had asked her a question. “Yes- yes. I’m… I’m fine. Thank you. You came just in time.”

Wolfsbane relaxes. If he spends a little longer than considered polite keeping his hands on her shoulders, neither of them mention it. “Good. I have to fight that thing. You need to get away and get as far as you can.”

“...Not home?”

“We don’t know where this thing plans on going.” He frowns. “It’s best to steer clear until everything gets cleared up.”

He turns, giving her a two finger salute. His eyes are soft. “Until we meet again.”

“...yeah…” She watches him leave in a daze. His phantom touch overrides her adrenaline rush. Looking beyond the rooftop he left her on, she can see the massive beast for what it was. It appeared to be some type of octopus. The minor earthquakes were caused by the tentacles it used to pull itself through the city. If she paid even more attention to the scene, she would see that all but one hero was in attendance.

Now she just had to find her way down and away from the fight. Just like Wolfsbane said.

On the other side of the battle, a new figure watches over the destruction. He is untouched and uncaring of the victims that fall beneath his newest creation. A civilian- frozen in the purple crystal stares back at him. His cries of frustration and rage are also frozen in time. His energy of despair was and continues to be great. The main reason that he was even able to conjure up a beast to wreak havoc.

The man takes a breath and smiles. The amount of negative energy grows and the fear and frustration grows with the attacks.

“What a beautiful sight…” He muses to himself.

He hears the monster scream.

Ganondorf growls and jumps along the building to see what dared to get in the way of his otherwise flawless plan.

When he gets there, unknowing that the victim he drained his power from has already been spotted and has been recruited to break the current curse.

What he sees does not please him.

Multiple strangers seemed to have banded together to destroy his monster, saving others from getting in the way and stalling the growth of the power he needs. It’s enough to make him sick.

“Up there!” One with the ears of a cowardly rabbit points up at him. “On the roof!”

“Fools.” He spits.

Their distraction is enough for his monster to take out another three of them and they resume the fight with it instead of him. They’re all so young. They have no control over their abilities. And when he sees what appears to be a shapeshifter and a multiplier crash and send sparks of ice and magic to confuse them both- they’re even worse as a team.

When the city depended only on one hero, it was better than this gaggle of unsupervised children. It’s enough to make him laugh.

And laugh he does. “Pitiful. Is this the legacy of the Fierce Protector?”

They halt in their tracks. The monster makes another opportune strike.

Suddenly, a shift in the air saps the magic from his grasp. His victim! It’s irritating, but perhaps this isn’t a failure of a mission afterall. Ganondorf looks back to the group below him.

The one with the ears and tail of a wolf leaps into the air and smashes his monster through the head, killing it in one vicious blow. It doesn’t explode as one would think. He dives in deep and roars with enough force to send his apparent teammates back.

His Ocotoroc screeches but Ganondorf has never been one for sentimental attachments. This was a learning round.

A green hooded one is quick to cast a spell and the city begins to right itself once more. Slowly, but Ganondorf can see that it will be as if his presence has never appeared. Interesting.

“Who are you?” One of the multiplied yells out. He’s clad in blue.

He huffs. “Who am I? Who are you?”

They share looks. Another one joins their ranks and Ganodnorf does a mental count. This new one has red wings and he carries his victim to the floor where she is wrapped instantaneously by one of the others and taken away from where he can’t see her. Shame. But there are others.

Ganondorf makes a note of it and stands to his full height. “My name is Ganondorf. And I am a sworn servant of the one called Demise. I plan to free him of his bonds and take the world as our own.”

“Another one.” The rabbit spits.

“I used to be the only.” He snarls back. “If it wasn’t for The Protector, I would have succeeded years ago. I wouldn’t have been imprisoned myself. I won’t make the same mistake again.”

“Keep his name out of your mouth!” The Wolf matches his tone with little difficulty.

The villain’s eyebrows furrow. “And where is this so-called Protector of yours? Did I scare him off?”

“He’s not here.” The shapeshifter crosses his arms. “And we won’t let you win.”

“We don’t know why you’ve chosen our city but as long as we’re here we will stop you!” One of the multiplied, the green one, yells back in what appears to be righteous fury.

He’s seen enough. Ganondorf snorts and steps away. “You are mere children compared to his might and glory and yet- I have reappeared. And he is gone.”

They all share looks with each other, unsure of how to answer his taunts.

Idiots. Ganondorf laughs again. What was giving Ghirahim and Vaati so much trouble? Their master’s return is imminent.

An arrow nicks him in the ear.

He ducks and snaps his head to the direction in which it came from. Another young hero steps away from the shadows. A similar hood covers him in a dull shade of gray. He has another arrow knocked within his bow. He looks ready to strike again.

Ganondorf isn’t willing to get hurt so easily on the battlefield. His victim is lost and his creature is dead. There are other days.

“I will have my success.” He grunts and charges off of the roof. The heroes all rush to act but he vanishes in thin air. They all fall silent and still.

The city around them continues to fix itself. The damage was more than any of them had anticipated. Had Phenix not found the victim as fast as he did, they would have had more work on their hands. A resounding beep status them all into the present through their earpieces.

“Guys.” Agent L also sounds unsure. “Come back to base. The Old Man has something to discuss with all of us.”

Wolfsbane growls, putting his hand to reply back. “How bad is it?”

A moment of silence.

“Do you really want to know?”

A few of the boys flinch. “That bad?”

“If fainting at the sight of the man is any indication, then we’re in for a wild ride.”

Many of them pale with fear. They share looks between themselves and slowly begin to inch away from the disintegrating form of the monster.

Jack makes a face. “Don’t tell me that’s going to stick around for longer than it usually would?”

“His magic can only do so much.” Phoenix motions to their hooded friend. “And it’s the biggest monster we’ve seen yet.”

“Do you think he was actually trying?” Avatar comes back into simply being one. “For a creature this big we took it down pretty fast.”

“Maybe we’re getting better.”

“We’re not.” Archer steps up, throwing his hood tighter over his head. He got the least disguised look of the bunch and he can already see reporters coming to the area where they all stand. “He was watching us the whole time. I think he’s going to study us until he can pick us off one by one.”

“He has a point.” Wolfsbane growls to the point of howling. Many of the team members cover their ears. “I can’t deal with the press right now. I’m heading back first.”

“I have to check on someone.” Archer storms away and fades into the shadow of the buildings. No one knows where he’s going but they have no way to get him to come either. Considering he almost gave away his position earlier when he screamed. They have a suspicion to where he’s going.

The others scatter.

Jack Rabbit and Apollo both sigh. They both frown at each other and turn to presses. “Who’s going to tell the Old Man that we were ditched?”

“Not me.”

“Great.”

#Twilight (Not LU) speaks #strawberry milk #Omurice #not really Lu x Reader

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britesparc · 3 months

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Weekend Top Ten #620

Top Ten Challenge: Top Ten Action Movies 2023

Yet again I’m doing a list that’s looking back and talking about the year that’s been and gone. But wait! For this is the latest in my Film Challenges.

At the beginning of 2022 I decided to have a kind of annual challenge with myself, where I’d try to watch as many of a particular kind of film as possible. The idea behind this was to try to deepen my knowledge of film. For instance, I’ve not seen many Alfred Hitchcock films; only about three or four and some quite a while ago. So I want to be more knowledgeable, for a whole bunch of reasons. Anyway, in 2022 I picked Westerns as the first genre of film to tackle. And I don’t think I did very well, only managing to watch a piddly 17 of the buggers.

2023 was a lot better, but then I made life a lot easier for myself. Because while I was searching Netflix for Westerns the previous year, I kept bumping into action movies and thrillers that I quite fancied watching. So for 2023 I picked Action Movies as my genre of choice.

And last year I watched 62 of them. I don’t think that’s a bad number at all.

Now, when I’m doing these, I’m not necessarily looking for the best of the best; nor am I attempting to only watch new films (well, new-to-me). I’m just sort of trying to get as broad a range of films before my eyes as possible; to just see loads and loads of action movies. And, yes, there is some attempt to cover the classics. But this year, for instance, I didn’t go out of my way to rewatch The Matrix trilogy as I remembered them pretty well and didn’t have easy access to them (they’re not on streaming and my DVDs are boxed away somewhere). So this list isn’t categorical or my all-time favourites; there are definitely huge omissions simply because, well, I couldn’t see everything (although I really should have tried to watch The Matrix Resurrections, which I have on BD and I’ve never seen).

It was relatively easy to find action movies because between the various streamers available to me – Netflix, Prime Video, Disney+, Paramount+, ITVx, BBC iPlayer – and the Blu-rays I have in my front room, there are quite a lot of action movies. In fact, services like Disney and Paramount are really good for older films; I don’t mean, of course, films from the 1950s or whatever, but those eighties and nineties actioners that old duffers like me remember from their youth. Whether it’s stuff I definitely watched as an actual child – Beverly Hill’s Cop – or stuff that was just genuinely, unequivocally of the era – The Presidio – there is a wealth of vintage action available online (and, incidentally, the eighties and early nineties were great for those sorts of basically-a-thriller-with-some-great-action types of film).

No, where the difficulty came this year was in deciding where the line is drawn for what is and isn’t an action movie. I know that there’s a huge crossover with Westerns – most big, popular Westerns are also action movies, really – but where does an actioner end and a thriller begin? For instance, The Fugitive; that’s not really an action movie, is it? Despite it having at least one incredible stunt. I watched the first three Jack Ryan movies last year, but I haven’t counted them for the same reason; they just don’t feel like action films, despite having some good action. The Mission: Impossible franchise caused a similar headache, one where I came down on the side of “action”; because, really, those are spy films, aren’t they? Conspiracy thrillers. But you cannot disqualify a film series increasingly based on Tom Cruise’s ability to run across anything, jump off anything, and climb literally everything. Ditto the Indiana Jones films; it seems really weird to me to put them in the same category as Die Hard or Enter the Dragon or John Wick, but that’s another film series built around elaborate stunt work and chase sequences.

Oh, and I deliberately didn’t include any comic book movies, despite the Captain America films having at least as much action as your average Mission. This also stretched to my rewatch of the Ninja Turtles films. Which, I dunno, is that a bit daft? Especially the first one, actually made by filmmakers experienced in martial arts movies and with stuntmen in the costumes. But anyway, it wouldn’t have made the Top Ten, and nor would any other superhero film I saw last year (if I’d rewatched The Winter Soldier that might; it might be the most “straight” action film in the MCU).

So we have a list that maybe doesn’t include some things you might have included (Cop Land?) and also includes some that maybe you’d have considered not sufficiently action-y (The Warriors?). And, obviously, is lacking some all-time classics because I didn’t happen to watch them in 2023. But I do feel pretty good about this; I feel like I watched a lot of great movies and Taken. I feel I’ve got an even better appreciation for, and understanding of, action cinema. I didn’t see nearly as many foreign language films as I wanted, but I watched a few older Jackie Chan and Bruce Lee flicks, and that was really cool.

Oh, and I’ve limited myself to one film per franchise, so we don’t end up with all four John Wicks on the list.

And that’s all there is to it! Now let’s crack some skulls.

Die Hard (1988): I genuinely think this film is probably as perfectly structured as you could wish for. Every beat is planned out, we know the geography of the building stunningly well, it’s so tightly, tautly directed, it’s damn funny, and incredibly well-acted across the board. Everyone involved with this is right at the top of their game. Just every aspect is top-notch. I’ve gone on about it loads in the past, so I’ll just say this: it’s good.

Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981): very close behind. As an adventure spectacle and stunt-based romp, it’s unparalleled. It races along from set-piece to set-piece, all of them exquisitely directed, and our focus held not just by Ford being utterly iconic, but also Karen Allen as his romantic equal and foil, Marion. They hold the screen, our attention, and our emotion so the wild ride has heft and stakes. And it’s got a bit where Indy punches a Nazi.

Mad Max: Fury Road (2015): like Raiders, this is a near-perfect execution of stuntwork and action cinematography. One long chase scene, it’s frankly gobsmacking how perfectly composed it is. The flow of each scene, the composition of each frame, the lighting, the effects; it all combines to create this engine of propulsive action. Combined with the trippy apocalyptic story, wild fantastical villains, and a stellar star turn by Charlize Theron, and it’s a masterpiece.

RRR (2022): a very broad, bombastic, and melodramatic retelling of Indian legends that, frankly, I knew nothing about. The mismatched best friend dynamic adds drama and pathos to a stirring revolutionary epic; but it’s the combination of stunning stunt choreography, outrageous effects, and frankly fantastic musical numbers that creates something you need to see to believe.

Speed (1994): an exercise in sustained tension from Die Hard DOP-turned-director Jan de Bont, and the two films are great companion pieces. The slick brushed-steel look of Die Hard is retained, as is the sense of an ordinary man in an extraordinary situation. Because, like Die Hard, it’s the characters here that compel and sell the premise; and, like Die Hard, the action when it arrives is slick, explosive, and exhilarating. And there’s a bit where a bus jumps a gap in the road.

John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017): my favourite of the Wick movies, it takes the premise of the first film – retired super-assassin comes back into the game to exact revenge – and ups the ante, not just in terms of action, style, and stunning fight choreography, but in terms of the dense and fantastical lore of this world. Reeves channels all his cool, stoic charm into Wick, and the fight scenes are brutal and dynamic but also reveal loads about the characters taking part. The best new action franchise in, what, twenty or thirty years?

Mission: Impossible – Fallout (2018): the best Mission, just edging out the first film, which in its slower, more noir-y spy shenanigans, feels a touch out of step with the insane stunts that followed. Here we get everything firing on all cylinders as Christopher McQuarrie’s Switch-composition knits twists and turns together, threading a series of increasingly-audacious stunts and set-pieces through the middle. Cruise is never better, and we get the most out of Rebecca Ferguson’s Ilsa, and still have time for lots of cool planning-the-mission moments.

The Rock (1996): Michael Bay’s sepia-tinged, militaristic, OTT sensibilities have, I think, drifted out of style a wee bit, but I’m pleased to say his masterpiece here holds up perfectly. Maybe it’s the charm of Connery and Cage carrying us through the machismo with humour; they’re both supremely likeable as we move through an almost Die Hard-level of well-prepared baddies. The set-pieces are dramatic but fantastically exciting, from the crazy chase through San Francisco to “you’re the Rocket Man”. Daft but tremendous fun.

Beverly Hills Cop (1984): I guess another potentially-contentious entry, as it’s really more of a comedy than an action film; but this was the era of the comedy-actioner (Lethal Weapon, Tango and Cash, Big Trouble in Little China). And let’s not forget it was supposed to star Sylvester Stallone! Which is crazy, because this film is all Eddie Murphy; his charisma, his comedy, his – quite frankly – sexiness. But it’s still a compelling action movie, with some good set-pieces, stunts, and chases, and Murphy is totally credible as a tough action hero, too.

The Warriors (1979): just pipping Hard Boiled at the post (I had a long chat with myself) we have this incredibly tense and beautifully produced semi-fantastical action-thriller. A gang of, frankly, scummy criminals crosses a city, bedevilled by rival gangs of even scummier criminals; there’s something of sixties Batman or even A Clockwork Orange to the stylised droogs we meet, leading to some great set-piece battles, shocking deaths, and genuinely tender, empathetic moments of character. It’s lean and taut and utterly compelling.

I almost feel I should have put Hard Boiled up there because you could argue it’s a better action film than The Warriors. But it is what it is; let’s pretend they’re joint number ten.

Anyway this was an incredibly fun challenge this year, and I already miss it; I just find these sorts of films really, really easy to watch, and there were tons I didn’t get round to. Not just the biggies like the Matrix and Lethal Weapon movies; but I didn’t see a single Jean-Claude Van Damme film! I really wanted to see Sisu, which came out last year, but I missed it; and I was hoping it was my chance to finally watch Cobra, the movie Stallone made instead of Beverly Hill’s Cop. I’m almost tempted to revisit this whole genre. But there are a lot of other genres to cover, so I should probably move on.

In 2024 I’m going to be watching animated movies, which I’ve already decided includes performance-capture films like Tintin, although I’ve yet to come to a decision on live-action/animation hybrids like Roger Rabbit. As for how well I’ll do? I’m never going to top the sixty-odd action films I saw last year. Put it this way, by this point in January 2023 I’d already watched three action movies; so far, I’ve not seen a single animated film, unless you count Tabby McTat.

#top ten #action movies #film challenge 2023 #movies #films #die hard #john wick #mission impossible

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libidomechanica · 9 months

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Untitled (“And was wont with doing, we will”)

A sonnet sequence

First Stanza

Out and I have gone here is come. Are seven. Wildly fancy quite; so thou, then, said she, but even a bud but a possible what I were dead! She is Venus, till fragrant breeze, My Madeline asleep. And was wont with doing, we will bore any sweet will be true. Its own. And yet new! In fact your luxuriant still may love thy head. About thee as his birth, leaves his horses fit for the stream with vague, regardless eyes, for her breathed in Patty’s room in the spring atoms lay, and wait thy weeding; yet hee was most tenderness and quell? Heart of stone! And as she hurried back with thee!

Second Stanza

In which should despairs, till now, either whom thou wilt; for I, being both from the desert, and, for man she comes in. She said little, but the sun his good deserts drink down from their deaths be near, swear thine heart, and gold- bubbling photo of grief or when I am, and succulent, and sold. It makes one drunk to Antony. To kill myself only. Innumerable of stone! The wander, of Phillis was his legs. And yet thou wreck his black wires grow old … I shall now yours were fair, disdain; he wanderer would pension, her pride, he is confus’d nor sleep, and thoughts hath not fitly done to give? Her tears.

Third Stanza

Have you smile, and all you sung the Christmas weather strive that freeze. But because some heraldries, The owl, for you the watch. And me, would it have placed as if there appearance lies. And feelings ran their coasts may call, could be equivalent. Things harder to end or to reform a curl that you cannot die, nor with interest, and bugle and strange their fruit. Emissary eye, to find out still he smiles; but then, to make her worst of it, they say, is that I had waited there contemn, nor Usury wrung the latter, waking! Ruined fortune but that my wealth I haue liue I, and kings, and the down, and wore me numb,—yet less than a common sempstress. They never know, front, an ample field, said he, They’re boring men; drinks tears and endless like two grubs on their ever- flourishing. Let no unkind,—and light, stray or stop as the lace that sings a bird on every where: the Spirit quicker than any.

Fourth Stanza

That heavy Saturn laugh’d and very fair; yet no great matter, waking up repentant to make me; french to boot, at least, their glorious light gleam; to venture so: it fills me well oiled by a Fool? Waving, like phantoms, into the vines bare to eat a sum of sums, yet resigned his society? A Camel, and charioteers caught your heart of stone. And let me be your company; not that I meant at all. Add what is so; and whiskey, I with tempests play. On her hands. As he rode like an inmate owns: another ties add what is known to all new techniques for to enjoy. Do I dare?

Fifth Stanza

Yet were she loathed the boy, the boy brings contemplate and lawyers find that though lively veins fill the whole court in, gatherer. But I, then, striving to repeat. Our hero and, I trust, fair Syrinx are fled from your trouble and bowers be overgrown with a very graceful bow, as if born for truckers, that nimble leap to kiss the glades’ colonnades, all fit to wed Amphions lyre, seeking to move, fell in lover’s endless sorrow too metaphysical: the time to my tomb. And well oiled by high decay; till she slept an azure-lidded sleep, no, nor though I have a career of pain.

Sixth Stanza

Blissfully haven’d both roof and flowers of a fine summer-time, o’er-spreads and embeds every vestige of those timber toes your life. Tho’ matching Picnic again to chaos, the younger brother and infidels, to think back on my heart are at first was beyond time from the oldest mark of glory, being extant well I know I look behind the court, to-day. Thus doth bind, but do not the whole empress, deigns think it enough to begin, These delicate piston thread, At length of laws. The Muse his eye; and the judgment thrice three parts may call the chariots in full force—thus doth Love speak.

Seventh Stanza

Have you made wise; at moment shrapnel scythe can make us sad next morning peeps For Juliana came, and when I am forsakest a deceive! Breathed out his Mortal Love, I am that falls on me, that my angel to me are you are alive; if two are in your fists around than his finger presence.—Reason ne’er know inside- out, or drown’d, he cried; ah, curs’d duke! Himself young or pretty shell, his listened to pass the rapid tide, unlike our visit. But by and by the carved thee see though modest, on his life was small lives more green Lane. Bid her but will, and, relaxing, waned again.

Eighth Stanza

And I have nothing novel, nothing. For he was at sweeps through tears have to fight again for thee the sun, as he rode like sunny gems on an ocean is stirred, then will let me pass untold, and now she nuh notices, Darling, now, proving the sound of an averted into fingers like atoms— years like a musical tennis match where t is not its spires up like falling night and thrust into his ready spears—will stay on your poets can in practice. Is incomplete, but mine sank sad and small,—love though he want his eyes. Where thou the deaf cold elements did impute, when to her heart.

Ninth Stanza

No longer heart is full soon—though to painting now. And there is Madeline’s chambers, ready quill employes, discovers the book I am reading on the receives reproue, and wilt thou dost speak no words and—should any dare gainsay, humanity. The whole lives sweet with the fond eyes wide night we glide by, cast in words that thought dead; strong sun? But the nightly wont what may be found the welkin pitched with vague, regardless eyes, both white and bowers be overgrown with all kisses are filled with visions which make a stone? With her face, breaks the world is growing off a shawl. But who shall we bury him?

Tenth Stanza

Which, thou leave me there burn so chaste desires has broken sheds look’d so dream, alas! Near and wishing mission to my heart and their spirit, unaware: love, disdain; lest sorrow lend me words, all that I was young cherubs play about thee which there in floods then pray that my face, and left so dead and all things; but not your belles and like a throbbing vein-channels the field, said he, she liked man and face be good, nor Love’s jealous pangs and deep as the king’s real, or his stampèd face that one day be found him at her Harp filling grace sheds itself is lost, and their dead: fair Eliza! So artless rhymed in shape.

Eleventh Stanza

Who did the holy loom with white and charm is fled. When the lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out and so am I; I quite to death, past then, to make a fiend in abundance find but dressing did appeare: for Madeline’s chambers, and all the proud of the Brightest my seat forbear follow not Him—become the bloated was talk’d of an Italian, which should be, thou leave my sight? At moments with grief, however small his Chamber—nay, the sound the bow, with her form, her face: he wrung from Heaven, I think we may hit on: but if so be nothing lies, and vows that liberty is lever.

Twelfth Stanza

My brother John and I. Nor gives my friendship’s kind relief must kneeling skill, your praises ever saith the treasure subject. And Trusty—knowing he built a museum? It seems to bridges, aqueducts,—and the passeth by; and pain; but have brain captiu’d in gold the French bread and purple cloud; hear’st that the backward by thy continual haste. Tucked beneath the same stars will be past redress: but harder to enjoy. How does Love speak. That funhouse, that I mean no horse with your poesie wring; ye that audit by advised respects; against thy heart. But that rubs its breath of heau’nly grace, his good desert.

Thirteenth Stanza

Then it groan’d, and yet was what it is to be despair, I should take him; drest, you spoke, and shook alway, all silver: sumptuous they bore him off then take, dear love a root out the sweet wild rose, and each lifted in cellars and, like Nadir Shah, and fall before your raincoat for the universe? The string, except they will grow plain sae rashy, O, aboon the wide blue fly sung in thee to admire; natures rent, he who brought what she should be, thoughts and meaner beauty tempt the noise and spattering Muse deigns to prolong the Ear of Heaven in thy part: to lead thereupon, in tears running was, knowing danger is woman fed by thy continue to fade and plum, and strangely: but, by all the memory. And back from City Hall to mind that’s one color of the best, even Death with those in each other extras, whither only crossed that heavy artillery to fire I must kiss her.

Fourteenth Stanza

Chafes at his side his holy Life, his golden bars drops on thy despair, I should have a home for your famish’d pilgrims made, shall reason; but if so be nothing. And caught you to be Judge—by surest Steps but of loyal Life: the offences of you. From this parts may be called The Soul to its wounds; see lines and you will, even boast of all the worst disgrace; or the kingdom and always face, ere we part, I could not dwell and sable curls all his mind, I doubt gave pain, where upon the little moon for an instant we must go, since Merlin paid his Desire of Things of a new museum?

Fifteenth Stanza

Who each other’s deathless, dumb till I come. And True Lovers Each of woven crimson, gold, and scorning in mud. Then grudge me not if they grew in this is the bank of kisses her hair a glory and far-heard clarinets, machines thrown away, as with a stuff, it were the cool and sing hill, ’ so lofty trees I see your fame? Could spare: let this inside of this wide open shone: upon his could tell—this, and my nest, manna and dainties shall be done: Marry a monster. They don’t make no noise is short of the sweet influence free; a princely giver, who was nightly wont what maids should I presume?

Sixteenth Stanza

Death laughs not—there is now abideth faithfu’ heart? Without, how far a modern history has built a museum. What merchant’s ships have been worth while thus the ocean that’s enough for his stampèd face while endless tears and then back again. Which when she was wide, all their myriad voices called on Nelly Gray! When Madeline, said I, o’ my Phillis to muse and my mouth with the white, and all the woodbine, its dew-drops twinkle o’er the winds weep, dreamless and always scorn’d great recompenses: Epaminondas saved from the moonlight and open on the two first night and fastner of desire.

Seventeenth Stanza

Because some weekly-strewings be, thy looks with agues in him dost lie—a closet never dies! And wilt thou thy obiect so imbrace, all the present my legs. Till she best: for hearts do duty unto her ear to thee, than to be great in silvery dusk, we threading on of his food, her skin his pants he tosses throwes onely too much more will laugh of May, singing an air that doth sit: o let no buzz’d whisper, and wide, according to recollect far sweet Draught of vengeance has molded me. When did think h’ had eat a stand are, or in sport; whose rules who doth hold my hair behinde!

Eighteenth Stanza

It gave offence of my dull bearer when thou leave to believe you are more lasting, and threescore year their hinges groans. Beard; or else desire keep pace; therefore The Sage counsels trie; o give this torpidly, and not me? The billiard-ball: chin as wooden legs, began to weep, that is half-said. Sow with meagre face doth only a worthy to nurse in my sighs drowned? Tell my students, defiled of Sensual Taint, and the sea, this sinne was sung, she said I am aweary, I would all be cramped into memory is the ceiling. That bed of joy, where one wound, from Wound no remora.—Oh!

Nineteenth Stanza

The game you placed the sky like a patient, holy man; brushing the latter, thou fair Eliza! The keen starue. Which, as a warm and mouthingness, tis one day he should her hollow like Eve’s slip and Adam’s fall is special person passes throwes on me, this sùbjects you to complain, and drinks all life’s fountain ranges and your worth withdrew from my wit, till it haue wrought; and not account I one must say the perfumes is the sentence under the sunset, sir, when my heart another forehead’s like a blood the unweeting ground: and yet true it is to bed they began as t were never mind!

Twentieth Stanza

So young—sometime she will be time to wand’ring mowers shoots a look back on my frailties why are frailer spies, that slowly away from my side, the pink and grinning skulls, and they be more on your hair when the window, and husks of blue crab from the glen sae bushy, O, I set me down from here will let me be your voice more, for if they glide; there are ten freckles. And frankly no one’s attain, a fellows of about some one the woodbine, its dew-drink-offering Accuser also to be assailed; and when such a grace at the butt-ends of eucalyptus fronds. A liquid prisoned cry I see.

Twenty-first Stanza

Are all-seeing: for my part, resigned that times of shades and you are as fair day foreshows, when one day gaily flew along, you call the first her love I did wanders at his brother and unnamed it leads summer’s birth; all his best right. We die and deviate into another to come. The phone booth with interested in cellars and, like sunny walls with Cary Grant as they ask why. And rain, as fast as spectacled she fall from my wit, till he spared her. She fell with the first crack the swift forced to gaze in that I must have been hurl’d first out of, and thy many brittle door, no shame.

Twenty-second Stanza

Her maidens of the seas, whither side moment to tell Amyntas—oh! Holy Life, his good as any. When my stuttering for the gift of prey—that Sphinx, whose very self but most sweet, but has not too tough for a long moment to a steel bosom’s like hard life, who bent thy dazling race of all in a row, which upon thee, each gripping limbs whose words flowing eulogy much my prospect lies vpon that, it is like any other side, far and made Love may die. Stallion- hoofed falls on me, that life is but a span.—Death shee vanishing eyelids screen; they tell that sobs can giue words, which I let drop.

Twenty-third Stanza

In the most my wallet to her bed she moaning lay, till I should I then, as in humble duty bound, juan retire; and will never meet. With her foul pride. Cookout scuttle by in languish wrung his legs. Half- hidden, like a jewelled cave, turquoise and thy Flock or Shepherd, and thou with orient eyes and the seraph fair, and of gentle body but Flight; day after than the other lands that you disdaine our beeing made, and all the little sports of their own: I may be seen, the little maid reply, seven boys and gentle work would give a name to my thoughts arise, ye more with Saul?

Twenty-fourth Stanza

We tell her then that moment whiter than the mark of friendship, at least the ill omens of the world is now abideth faith, hope, nor dispraise too much, yet Europe from sweet kisse. So nere, in the window-panes, their jealous woods about her speak, she lingering in praise is short of king, made of stains and raises towards thee! My youth, fame, and bugle and there is no more cleare; he never for tombs and he stood, and how she thin under feet? My Son, the sweethearts, stops, starts; the rightest companions of true heart, my mouth and feeling fountains, they never hath her then, striving in odour and in baskets bright?

Twenty-fifth Stanza

They never could be sure will never meet, leese but a shade, under the fate, so dull am, that post-chaises had feather and withers in odour and clear: And in your first draught intoxicating goat, Or cross a sulphuric lake in mine, I say, whistle. Her cheeks are less imperial favourites too late to reveal, to be plac’d that now unpunished is. The hall door shuts again, I long enough within, suspicion of this whim was throwing the caper overrooted, by thy Justice take a knot. Then let us away, and wing’d ship may meet no remedy but the band.

Twenty-sixth Stanza

Pale, lattic’d, chill, and ruff too. And he she moaning lay, till all the Elves and Fays, contempt the tale remember? And o’er the sky like a saint: yet give my body. The way, that spoke the old awake, the tip of evolution, modestly shining the room is turning weede to honour all the Powers well a primrose, and yellow hair waits me the patents of the wet leather for the sun, that knows, is admitted in it you the uneven heart in thy most sweet self in her chief worke, Stellaes eyes, and his Anguish sight of the curling mission’d far he string, except they seem love with your sleeve.

Twenty-seventh Stanza

Doth will speak of all the Graces are making itself with William Holden, especially of war where you had though some say loud is our long starving hopes, by hard promise set on fire all the earth, and time yet for a treat. Though the Body’s very true that glorious, and time yet for an instant caught in upon it out and soul is fixt, but the fair-faced Lanskoi, who was gone himself and hide my wit for to lead you to love, defiance, hate, and love concern: if snakes, perhaps, as I mused it more: their Master’s old abbey. For men diseases, shops of fashions, love’s fresh winds and west winds bound with temple of the single thine eye the frees; They take yours I want to sail away let me love, notes that died was such animal tucked beneath the truth; and tremble in mine. Shall ever be; I will never wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Phillis—for she is Simplicity’s condition.

Twenty-eighth Stanza

All naked, playing on record. Do it. First train memory from the People, to stand the kitchen two times should false bonds of my hair; so Anacreon tasted, he list of all in the milkweeds’ honey terrifies me. Eating head upon his herald Mercury new lightens in time of war What sharp repulse, that I were destiny control; yet who knows what you in malice Gods still to keep came to see your fault, though in the genial month at least three steps backward Counsellor; and cold autumn pond which spies, thinke it with beard, then in her arms for a marriage is now abideth faithfu’ heart?

Twenty-ninth Stanza

A peasants. Nor tame wild words that did I come. To wonder o’er the skirts that died was heard, that fire which brings from being praise, nor dispraise me, not even the somber move, and all around at a great in some worlds both oh! Thy beauty do I questions every harp, unless heartbreak, so name my day; since from reach of being, though it be you lovest the striated rock, as thou wert ne’ertheless the true; too well of late by pearly strange: unlifted in cellars and, ladies’ wrinkles place, He found with modern history is writ in moods and rises since, thou thy Palace-Chamber Heaven falling stand!

Thirtieth Stanza

An fondly search of Love, where, you away, and cauld Caledonia’s blast on my distress had cost her movies, for my sin and rose-trees wet with our good peoples—go on with bitter be content to see a text that thou the Fair, to hope may be ready to stone; she could survive them! Used her own hunger too? Lit like the gift of prey—that one shouldst thou spend upon the bier with a huge empty show; gie me my Highland lassie, O. Too. The Incomparable Creator’s praise shall will say: That is, it takes to thee why they will. Mid looks now, but straitest best thou goest safe, supremest kiss her.

Thirty-first Stanza

Now the new Parnassus flowes, and send it to her lap. And what I need not itselfe, still remember: falling. Your kisses again, my Porphyro, all saints to give them tame; and free, i’ll write fifty victories! Imagining of the gourd overscored, while you are; likewise I have thoughts, sold cheap hotels and said … Nay, we are maiden’s chambers, and grasp’d his eyes. And when my breast, and thou art a Shepherds in green, on such matter o’er the expiation journey. To see the same way? Had been worth a little dames, among the chariots traced like a career of pain. I know not how it dead.

Thirty-second Stanza

Adrift between the silk; suppose them. What next is look, or copper— the dead, come with the fair, the truth; and if no vaile the monarch and mean, and if I shift mi hips to kiss. Condemn, nor do aspire when Phoebus shine more wary than a God in pain, and within the hill. Turn again, I long, Perilla, wash my hands, I hung stones of your mates do that warmed our desire! You played, and brave; but we find that when he call’d; The One distributor of Evil and official situation meanwhile, I make arrangements did impute, which is so deem’d not by Extortion, no doubt if doubt if doubt or stay? The Truth God only, who made up by youthful wanton in; and, above thee, I adore, I tell my students, defiled of Sense; and triple-arch’d there be tongues, they light a principle of this great or small his Chamber Heaven! That heard on their gifts put man’s best for my desire.

Thirty-third Stanza

My lord was like in words. You run about the unaccomplished fate. Like to slavery’s jackals are left at large, exuberant, and she what I do dispense: you might came cloath’d in the carpet as, this look’d up—and soft as mine history: if thou wilt see: no time to turn like bleating groan—who blames what it is swayed: Ay—there is no dream, my bride! Now, euen that doth swell, my Maud has sent it by whose dirge is whisper’d, and drop adown thy creation, when she: tis hardly leave my grave among? I set me down tents. And o’er it many, round her decrees of steel us as thoughts and moan forth yours.

Thirty-fourth Stanza

Of that our Sexe, and brave; but be glad as soft as the dark, and hearty than Buonaparte’s cancer: could run and slim, blushing and waved my hair—they will grin. For of my heart so strongly you count—should have seen the objects you to’t, you stood a beggar before our fall so sure a plot had lasted. Whistle. Another that cleave to see the lustrous debt. Loosens her fragrant maid, hae I offend all water’d after your skin, enough fowl now by now there reign’d instead with frantic indignation, rising breast. Soon, tremble; in looks at thee not battery, that any laud there triumphant prize.

Thirty-fifth Stanza

Their groves o’ sweet balmy lip when ’tis preserving our chronicle as flourish’d May: and here’s coffee to soothe a time for blood. I can rest me still seem’d, when he devour, the yellow. The lang, yellow. On the waiting for each beloved hour sharp pittances of years. Yet seem’d it winter meet but in this, her work more green-spreads and embeds every cloud with vague, regardless eyes, for a river burns in flaming brass, or at the best: sad mortal man such peace, the bride allowed star through the site once again blissfully haven’d both roof and fly in, to whom all look sometime afternoon, a faint pink-bronze glow. When pale the scented wood whose rod’s command since from my loue to float, like Love’s fruit to steal; but the other lands to the heart bail; whoe’er keep their vanisht by so nere, in so good, all I wish not to be? Fall ill or good, who had shone the cursed thee his chin a sphere to dance in thine?

Thirty-sixth Stanza

Her breath absorb thy side. Patient grew: he wrote, and his Heart back to loose that know my shames and your name you see though I have measured fragrant bright as a childe that with bugs is so much more sweet balmy lip when ’tis presence and pine. Eight at a time-torn man; even to Madeline, said I, o’ my chance is blind, for with fish, Flit like season of them where one who doth hide something to your arms she brought me to see the least: even world.—Become more, and I and all the light: from harmony, from his Lips, The Sage under where you and mein; our lasses a’ she far excels, an’ chiefly where the storm.

Thirty-seventh Stanza

Or, roughly tread, who, sleeps so peacefully! Nor sweet boy; but yet, love-burdened song. So to see the bow, with pale uncertain stakes I gained, but only trouble was not thy People’s purse—the Tyrant goes again. The shots I wanna be your advice, to melt this mark of gloom enough with scorne recount my case, but slave to th’ height, knowing danger more red than skies more dear than even thee ’gainst the sweet smile, the leaves me a choice but then shall will sing to your loue and large coffin-worm, over and then snatched away; his rose is true Parentage, and made Cathering light—the hall door shuts again.

Thirty-eighth Stanza

And when I praise, and mouthingness, tis not what Loue decree that play’d his mother, but burn—that by those whole centuries of our parting we will one. That sober hue deuise, in obiect so imbrace, all in love drink- offerings the Banquet—none in Song like Her— her Harmony. If one, settling a pillar! And thus, she, minding Loue should be no bar to the ground: all were in a clay structure facings, after then will be; but straight loaves in every part, because you’re alive; if two are gone to hear, but slave to fight against reason why, all silver shrine, made purple of life, the gods he knew not of.

Thirty-ninth Stanza

Belovëd, thoughts and bringing the balm of a birth as rare as any Life-long Habit so consult the Wise, and all his lips; and when I shall lay me low, i’m thine, my Highland lassie, O. It promise of the Stars. Be as good as soft as the pear or far, and soft and chin and that’s how dexterously I do, hear and wings; that Angela was feminine enough, and to gaze on you: nor shall be the executioner of deserve your verse; will in that is the floors, old voices instinct with you be, just opening eyes of dawn the earth that set may rise again throb with grief he bore him off the full amount at sight, no hopefulness, nor forgetting bow and far, I am happy swain, the portal doors, call here turning toward peace for me. What I do to tell me where love to th’ other come, and when they pup, and everything starving hopes, by thy sighs, my deere, thy heart’s that?

Fortieth Stanza

And wilt thou didst come too short, I was—they’re wet with coffee to soothe herd, and in tract of time proceed, till I come. You loyalty; I know not what some queer no meaning, of that we harmony, from heavenly eyes, transformation men become the loveth thee! Warm pearls her heart. Should I begin to spit out of, as out of his lineage: not one blade of many, makes me fall on this World he did creature came, and their glories and mirrors. The caper overrooted, by thy words of tears have no pression sunk, the look’d sad and least of her youth be flown but vainly flapped in brown paper.

Forty-first Stanza

What thou use so great thy name, doth swell, my tongues perplexed lie, let who knelt, with plume, They glide, like him, in clouds to ear it laughs and sycophants have my love that gives my friendship, at least he pays no father let me ever dwell. The purpose; and he she moaning lay, till Pan and fashion’d all the ambassadors of the imp beleaguer’d all perdue; for souls are dun; if hairs of all posterity. My father, I am happy where: the supreme, a ghost not under heel with one Apple wonne to look on her chief worke, Stellas eyes, transformation men become more interest, and Will’ more.

Forty-second Stanza

Tis true Parentage, and sees pale stars go over the chains lie silent shades of sweetness the girdled by some light: from thinking it rather people, just so. You run about love Truth and he built ten blocks when she went against Time’s scythe and they beheld to blend itself with his pants he tosses that I promise of ioyes through that foes wounds their flight for slaue. He drank your brother and in the lobes of your charms adorned thy youth and he notices, Darling, now, proving what I was ’ware, so weeping on a pillow them: but chiefly where besides the Disease. Him intended: and by thy Justice; but she nuh notice him also carry gun? And would permit you then when I was from that merchant’s sweat is why then held in you what I do dispense: you are fair, and in Energy—his Treasure of mine arms akimbo and lavender’d, he stars were in the lines and let it drop not fed so well.

Forty-third Stanza

I set me down wi’ right will murder’d head of her pap and gum, rich in these contents than both your body and Soul and Body be They—pitiful to Poverty— hospitable coughings. Then recollect his title be but an arm of fire so I won’t, but know in part, I’ll enlist on neither hath offended? And wilt thou might knock it to Elenor: he’s dead, and there is another’s soul check thee why they were madness melts in bliss, nor tame wild Boreas screened. My soul from the World was onely too much in fashion. Should growe, without breath and it wants to these three steps are banished, dear.

Forty-fourth Stanza

Till all the world’s master the chilly nest, that high official duties of that wilderness; of wreathed with a wild, and frowns and he stood, hid from Gods mouth withdraws his house was the bag of their roots are in the airplane moves picture’s skill, which is in me. A torn place of mine own praise too much, yet ’tis your fists around at a great in some faces, especially after a long plume, waving, like a ghost away. Teenagers in her ambition’s the treasure subject to no other side, far and farm, both my fortune flout, especial Essence absence thou art force—gold, of course we could sup!

Forty-fifth Stanza

Over sudden laughter, though thou dost replenish worlds quite me, shall now you cannot look beyond Anon his eyes and prove how I feel. Her plumpness, her work more green Chinese lantern threw warm gules on Madeline asleep tinkle homeward thro’ the bugle’s call! With what we harmony, this universe into seclusion. Be shaken whilst our meat; and life with desire. No leaf will be true spirit, seized, inside of my dull bearer when my stuttering eyes of children, talent, English grew—how bear it? Who but for one especially after the churchyard laid then ye are seven!

Forty-sixth Stanza

And the afternoon, the Kings of Sensual Abyss, under whose evening spi’de flown, like a mirrors, and low! Which seem’d, sweeping towards you, a woman flicks the winds and brilliant, when thou dost foist upon her cheerful lights he hand had not gain’d his fingers, stretch, and light, destruction flies, and take him from the time it takes to-night in love with softest downy breast: which, being fool to fancy quite; so thou, my lord duke! And walk your mates do this, and wrinkles strange thought, and by the center of the streets and was noble, her eyes, in colour, or more sad, more brave lions’ keen providers than human sound.

Forty-seventh Stanza

But surely; am I not know of death? A simple word that now is done; take the oldest thing above all female ages equal—when we innocently met. Thus can my love, that bed of joy, where we extinguish grew—how bear it? Many have so many? Games. And I have obtain’d his ape, in a Hercules his house same stars drops on the heard the night, young people! A torments? That nothing in dumb orat’ries, The boisterous, midnight I’ll profess no verses to remove mountains save tears; They glide, like rocks. Therefore designed his praised her on one’s back and she what though the weed-covered tracks.

Forty-eighth Stanza

Shall I, until I see the stately like yon cherries and tasting of the deep vermilion in thy Heart, and, which shall untune thee: now this harmed thee; can’st thou shall well follow not how it oft; skin as smoother than words. Openly love, and the fair, awake! Sweet will mourn, till Pan and cauld Caledonia’s blast on the great length of life, and the French, as well water’d a sort of the imp beleaguer’d all perdue; for nothing was the digits, and hath set. He wrung the first was a high-soul’d minister of stains and rings, for Love’s fingers like this, here be tongue, I saw, in gradual visions and me!

Forty-ninth Stanza

We see, we are maidens of those fault was other make the ring— which, when I am falling. When in the chilly nest, against me crie; let Fortune but sweet posterity. Do stray; your coffee spoons; I know not who made up upon a pillow. Or leave me thus, come, I will not with repining at thy Saviours life. She was eight years, those movement of your graces slide; the dungeon mingle with them last. How beauties, come and these counsels trie; o give me thus and nail—sit on the fair and how shouldst thou leau’st the sun; coral is far most favourite to pay euen Nature bankrupt is, beggar’d of blood that they are side by side, which, when a person passes me on the sea, admit nothing back again to be sorry, that in thine, both my poor heart made him limbs: said he, They’re wet with forward spring disdain; lest sorrow lend me words that tells me ours is an earth—the earth that precede the wind.

Fiftieth Stanza

What we’re but pilgrim,—sav’d by miracle. Turn not there’s that? Notes that fever late, and also to be sick and shook his hide, by sudden laugh’d and equipp’d a Camel, and on her hair she freezing darkness holds the general objects that the wind: whatever I’ve the salt sea, or Thetis. In California we went from such a very grace, singing, think good? Then only numbers sweeter than that. Of powerfull Cupid’s name. For God’s help! To steal; but the deer wounded, Ellen pass’d; A casement was more on your luxurious men, which not Flit like atoms—years like the notes it would.

Fifty-first Stanza

Join lip to lip, and bugle and she what I must an anguish’d, threw the Wise, turn not the dusty toiles of busie day, languish wrung his ashes scarce could not even death does my blunt invention quite, dulling down in mind, as any she beheld her sweet of life were not, but a bit of a dream, and as a high place, sequacious hand again, all the pallor that fix you in my arms, I call it praises toward it his joined clenched fists. My soul doth ache. He comes in the night a feeble Hope could pursue; that by themselves as good as was thick leaves have been a caring, if unjustly you remained.

Fifty-second Stanza

Above me, her eyes were twinkling fleece in such a Surplus as fearless of yonder you squeal at and sung: yet men will be fit for tombs and her tyranny? My supply of tablets has got to be noted in its chipped sleepers startings, crying out from our old crash, some good old steam-boat which a minute there, it went to its crisis that my hair—they will. Round, round Hesper bright with dew. She said and would blaze in the worldy blisses of shame struck not Absál the Fates but name, was simple, so wild; thou shalt more than lost, therefore, Charis, guess, though I see withstanding she doth excellence, is gone.

Fifty-third Stanza

My earth beneath them, seem to reach of others made me glad. With her brows bent like a banner and let me love. We know right as a child, I spake as a child: now that I fall in love with my darling helped to me. Thousand aves told, the thing that he’ll likely find you are gone to sea. And least the sweet up violet past prime, and here will die— I built their open parlour winged crocodiles. Was there lurk’d a man right a prince my seraph fair, and vermeil dyed? After the head of blood that which still fragrant maid, be you more worth the wealth, my wit, and chorus bland: made tuneable with your own hunger.

Fifty-fourth Stanza

’ And uttering for love, to thee we come, for aye thy vassal blest? When her lips his head into her arms; she kiss’d the white and bare but in height, knowing he did in true Justice; but, at our parting place has built an airport. And made Love which open shone in the air, and visions, before our shoes upon your report, that liuing thus invoke us: You, whose Waters lie a World of my hair; and swimming long in the long carpet as, this let us wish another to think I’ve done: whether tremendous teats shoots a look behind? Till that rubs its back his blood and Sense—through thus respected be.

Fifty-fifth Stanza

From Fez; and speech; and the third was feminine enough with a smile, a small live, now soft and chase the day not claim another form, limping the street signs.—She panted quick— and sudden leap, and Minerva when such lead the summer gleams and glowed and glowed both for you and you sit fore your idol glass a whit rose-bloom fell on city sidewalks in California we went free: the calendar forward spring it rather numerous as shadow across the girdle bout her! There I must Stellaes eyes, the blue skies. He was blithe and I hope will be past world, and curst the ill omens of his Jean.

Fifty-sixth Stanza

No more, and thought like Pyrrho, on a sea of speculations, to endure this part, and, being extant well maist thou, my muse’s care: then in the loved you so Never on such opportunity, selfish in its meridian, her blood. You, my muse’s care: for Madeline: company of players, when she walks to the gal come too shorten, because God’s gifts which I and therefore than life and desperate rage, who but for heroes, kings. A satin heart be his guardianship through, and in his pained heart his altars kept from high, the heart, love and all the way when wroth—while pleasurable.

Fifty-seventh Stanza

And in me there than to presage the Cause of faultless, so simple word that I’ll taste and rings, for their place, what a lover suddenly grown humble duty bound, thrown away, ere more bitter rue. You stirred, the lover’s endless love; suffice to fill a little maid will, even blue-eyed fly to the bone of this world’s dust, the steps down a wall, your loue and pitie to my turf, and truculent, you love not love, these words that I wanted me in night; the night. Muse, till passion, gives the bats, when purest in bounty and in the rest, nor do wrong for their own sand- pits, to mix with a bald spot in the ball.

Fifty-eighth Stanza

‘Twas on a joyless and quivering love. With clownish heel, your plate; time for mourning, hushed and was onely downe on me bestow. When some good body, tell me, Angela the oldest mark of praise is gone. Was from a farther room. In the red roses see I in her eyes the low rosed moon old Angela gives promises lightly bald brought what trail along the power could not cold,—but very poor household spies, thinke I then presume? While you still temptation to make the seas; an’ she has virgins might, or his might gaze and warm, and after sorrows given, and fine, shall wear white goodnights.

Fifty-ninth Stanza

Sweet rose or song, to reveal’d herself upon a love of mind have accused me of misanthrope? Can’t blame me not, all our many- tinkling, but that water you please it causes all fear she look, and thee and that she reveal her perfect Beauty on this far we are maiden’s chambers, and soft and gloriously, and overpowers, sing again, my Porphyro; against that thou begin, blendeth its white-plastic-gloved worker handing all made old offend, from wicked ways. Lovers, made a middling greatest kind of the reasons which most doth bend; I see: and yet those whom thy mind thirst to come.

Sixtieth Stanza

A boy who only moment! Up like flower tree does she hurried at his wooden legs, so he laid the thistle a little charge, charge, charged his fires, and enisle ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in sight words I flung aside that on every purling spring of the silence for pure Beauty seen, the perfume from the season of Ægypt, night become a man, with dew. As Love’s sake hold you said Don’t make the oldest mark of praise thee his coming as I slept among her side. Northward he turning or clotting in thee, which, being made of state is renown’d for ruining Great Britain gratis.

Sixty-first Stanza

When the highway ringed in a shade, which you call things to one wide stair, with the mind the night, I feel my brain with both legs in the material—men are but the rabid wolf where your arms for a cure, the afternoon, a faint cold delay, and proved is a delicious flame, quickly mighty storm; in the breast; and I’ll pluck them through. A little beyond a mortals! All who comprehend aright; yet the sighs I blessed gates I see both far and wilt thou thine own influence free; a princess, empress sometime at that, shattering speechless fair, with which have become more, than the city. A sluice with yours.

Sixty-second Stanza

Of the upright machine, other lies dreamless and fear: love alone can die by it, if not in this, give them! And, wretched on to my thought they were possess’d but of the rapture, that good old steam-boat which chokes an idle cigarette. In these great and succulent, you need not at all; whate’er thy thoughts of love. She wept, I am aweary I would have lovers, who each on each. With what she has twa sparkling roguish een. The way, that ere by them on their loves ask less than a common ruin fall. I’m there lurk’d a man beneath your cool radiance fell? Be sure will do whatever must be?

Sixty-third Stanza

From the glen sae bushy, O! Came many tours of late. Oh, had I Heav’ns changing against that warmed our dear voice was her dream of light, lightly as this: the sun his golden dishes and gentlemen, years full of high sentence, but she’s Juno when there, and I’ve been flicker, and euery flowers as the court melted, as in hand; the breeze, that wing the roses of time proceed, I felt as iced streets, after this, t’ have place. Sank in hideous nightie eating popcorn the winds of love, while you and I, when others false bonds of love, or lust;—I cannot say thus much my heart bail; whoe’er keeps verses moving.

Sixty-fourth Stanza

Made up upon a pin, when the nation. War’s alarms, away with your warm young praise the sting time leads to lead thee in thee, which, being stupid, if she has twa sparkling way the Animal Desire; make thy lips mine and thee I speed: from whose recreation, and increasing family! Can my long-staid night were the tremendous teats shoots a look behind the trumpet’s call I live, these blenches gave my sight, not the third was feminine enough; here in the eye in love, my selfe a bankrout know of all the empress smiled: the realm’s Estate—for whole world can praises from chimneys, slipped by thee.

Sixty-fifth Stanza

Dwell near their deaths be near, no news but health to the herd, and feet in her roots are in a kibitka he roll’d on Cupid;—love, if thou to reply: she is Venus when my night: good as was mine in a kibitka he roll’d on Cupid;—love, it profiteth me not, madam: by your poesie wring; ye that I call her love lose no more: you are; likewise I have changes right: with sorrows given, may reassure their lines, till you shalt mix in ilka throe: turn again, with mortal man! I will never could he lives, never has met wi’ my Phillis—for she had struck, imagining of life to me.

Sixty-sixth Stanza

The queen of the Gods dearest Silvia, yet was drunk to a wedding petals of my griefe to show how Passion ought, like lightning as I drew a morning rise to me, who just now in juicy vigour, with which growest in one color of the works and left their better salad ushering light—the hallow’d thro’ the dreams to shame had follow me, children, talent, English grew—how bear it? For life and death—thou not hymns and howling woe, after foolish Council—knowing the assembly, as did your hair in deep depression sunk, the ending they beheld; the Animal Alloy, till all think he will in one, the lawn, and woe long ago with shade doth he propose for their cell, then her breasts of Fame, stella beholding my lines and began to take or Give look to us, of which should not seen when from thee going he built up with carven image is, what late discomposed thee long?

Sixty-seventh Stanza

Age calls me with tempest roar’d, along the compare those jacks that thou gently sway’st the woman woos, what it is not the while Porphyro, for gazing down the eternall hand, the breath was given there, be the floor, here be tongue would be as wheat … it makes some days you can, and that heart, lopped-off heads, silk canvases, and silence wakes the coverlet, for Juliana here in a certainly enjoy two hours with my desire your gifts to thee, so my soul knows, is admitted in our bodies in my back to me. You are always face, tho’ matching Picnic again for a pint-sized journey.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #184 texts #sonnet sequence

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lindsaystravelblogs1 · 1 year

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Day 15 - creeping up on 2023!

Day 15, Friday, 30 December

We had a 4 am wakeup today – yep, that’s right – 4 am in the morning! We were doing a ship cruise in the Drygalski Fiord. It is not a particularly long fiord, but quite narrow and the scenery was pretty fantastic. It was quite light at that time of day so it was good to get our first glimpse of South Georgia. There had been warnings of extreme conditions at sea and along the western coast, but it was fine in the fiord and not too bad along parts of the east coast but our route continued to be changed on an almost hourly basis due to frequently changing forecasts.

We napped for an hour before breakfast and I spent a few hours during the morning sorting and selecting photos – a mammoth job but I have at least a few that I can post when I get a chance to post to my blog. I took a few breaks to check out the scenery on the port side of the ship and it was spectacular. It was windy and wild, but there were many thousands of seals and quite a few birds, including penguins porpoising (penguining?) along near the ship – and of course forbidding snow-patched mountains towering over us. We also passed many glaciers, but not a lot of floating ice.

The pain in my ribs comes and goes a bit but it was certainly worse that day. Fortunately, Heather’s ribs were a bit better so we need to ration who is going to have pain on which day.

We had a landing at Gold Harbour where there is a big colony of King Penguins. There were a few Chinstraps and Gentoos scattered among them, as well as many hundred fur seals and female Elephant Seals – the males will arrive in a week or two. It was a great landing, walking through the colony with so many animals and birds sitting around watching us watching them. They are all completely unafraid and we often passed less than a metre from them without them moving at all. There were lots of Skuas, Giant Petrels and Snowy Sheathbills sitting on the ground literally at our feet and I saw a few South Georgia Pintails, one of only two endemic species in South Georgia. And I saw the other one, the South Georgia Pipit later in the day – one was fussing around less than half a metre from my gumboots. And talking of gumboots, mine got filled with water when I disembarked on the beach. I stepped off the zodiac just as a wave came and it filled both my boots. We walked all around and through in the colony surrounded on all sides by seals and birds by the thousands. They were in the little streams and on the beach, up in the tussock grass, right up the hillside, lazing around, moulting or squabbling with each other – doing all the things that seals and birds do in their natural state, whether or not humans are within arm’s reach.

During lunch, the ship moved to Cooper Bay where many of our fellow explorers climbed through the tussock grass, with fur seals and the penguins hiding inside it, to reach a place where they could look down on a colony of penguins. We climbed up fifty metres and decided that the next five hundred was going to be too hard, so we retreated to the beach and enjoyed an hour or so watching the seals and birds in relative comfort. There were several seal creches withing a few metres of us and the baby seals are so cute: totally unafraid of us and they come right up to us until we shoo them back to their nursemaids. We also had lots of Gentoo, Chinstrap and King Penguins wander past or simply stand on the beach near us. Of course, I was watching all the other birds in the area, including both the endemics – the Pipits and the Pintails poking around the rocks just a few metres away.

We did a short zodiac cruise on the way back to the ship. We cruised in and out of a few narrow inlets and saw many more seals and birds, including a nest with a pair of Light-mantled Sooty Albatrosses incubating some eggs. The rock formations were quite fantastic with strata running in all directions. It is impossible to imagine how twisted and sculpted the rocks can be or how they could possibly have been formed like that.

A bit of swell had come up while we were on shore and getting out of the zodiac was quite challenging, especially with one of the deckhands not doing his job of helping us back on board. Heather was left to help herself and fell into the ship when the zodiac fell away under her as she was stepping over the high threshold. She ended up with scrapes and bruises on both legs and had to see the doctor again. There is not much she could do to help, but she gave her some anti-inflammatory cream and told her to rest and take painkillers whenever necessary. It really is so sad that Heather now has another reason why she can’t do all the things she wanted to do on this trip.

The Recap session included a brief description and bio about fur seals. Then it was dinner and bed with both of us feeling pretty sore and sorry for ourselves.

Day 16, Saturday, 31 December

New Year’s Eve – where did 2022 go? – or would most people prefer to imagine it had never happened. For me, despite a few hiccups along the way, I am glad it happened because I had lots of interesting adventures and they far outweighed the downside of any misadventures.

Our wake-up call came at 5.30 today and there was a zodiac cruise in the Godthul amphitheatre after breakfast. It was a perfect sunny day for doing almost anything. Heather saw the doctor about her injuries as mentioned above and decided to stay on the ship to rest, but I signed up for a Citizen Science zodiac cruise and it was quite fascinating. We did a Cloud Survey on behalf of NASA. Their satellites look down all over the world and analyse what the clouds mean for weather and other patterns, but they also need ground observers to confirm what the satellites are seeing. It is all a bit subjective, but there are quite a few questions to answer as well as photographing the sky in several directions. It is apparently an important science project, especially for expeditions like ours where there is very little other shipping with observers to give them what they need.

We did a Seaweed Survey, trying to identify if any of five particular species were present (we found three of them) as well as evidence of bleaching (yes, quite a bit) within the intertidal zone.

We also did a couple of Secchi disk soundings where we dropped a white disk attached to a long roll of measuring tape and we had to measure the depth at which the disk was no longer visible. When we did this project a few days ago, we measured it at 17.8 metres, but this time it was only 10.6 metres. What this is designed to do is to measure the opacity/transparency of the water to determine how much phytoplankton and zooplankton is in the water. The more that is present, the healthier the environment, so the shallower the depth at which the disk should no longer be visible. That means that the water where we were for this test was much healthier than the previous test/s.

We also had a small dragnet that had been borrowed from the father of one of the other guides who is a marine biologist. This was not an official Citizen Science project because the ship doesn’t yet have all the equipment necessary to complete the proper analysis, but we let the net out and trawled along in open water for a few minutes and collected quite a lot of little wrigglies. That night, we looked at them under the microscopes and found a whole world of tiny creatures. This was a really great little project because it got a lot of people interested in plankton and its place in the food-chain and carbon sequestration, etc. I reckon it was one of the best Citizen Science projects to enthuse people because they were exposed to a whole world that they had never seen before, and with access to a microscope, almost anyone can do it. It certainly got our ship talking.

After lunch, the ship sailed to Maiviken where we dropped off about half our complement to walk cross-county to Grytviken, the only real settlement in South Georgia – population about 25 in summer, 15 in winter. This is where Shackleton and his two colleagues finished their epic journey to get help for the rest of the crew that were stranded after their ship was crushed in the ice.

We stayed on board and the ship took us to Grytviken where we had some additional biosecurity inspections and a short presentation by some government officers before being ferried ashore to explore the town. There were the inevitable penguins and seals lying around everywhere, but we wound our way through them and joined a half hour guided walk around the main area. We went to the Post Office and bought some souvenir stamps and posted a couple of cards home. I checked out a quaint church and we saw a lot of the old plant and equipment (huge engines, pumps, vats, tanks and so on) from the whaling days. I explored a small gallery cum museum, but we ran out of time to do more than poke our noses into the main Museum.

The cross-country walkers finished their hike in town and most of us headed for the cemetery where Shackleton and his right-hand man, Frank Wild, are buried. The ship’s staff had arranged for us to all get a measure of Scotch to toast Shackleton at 5.15 pm – and we did so a little after 5.30. We have heard and seen so much about this ill-fated yet heroic expedition on the trip, that the toast (and mini-oration) was quite a moving little ceremony for many of our number.

Once back on the ship, we showered and enjoyed a cocktail and a wonderful session around the microscopes looking at the strange monsters from the deep that our zodiac had collected in the morning. Seeing these little creatures that most of us had previously only ever extrapolated from science fiction movies was absolutely fascinating, and it attracted a lot of interest from a lot of people. Hopefully, it might fire the imagination of some of the younger passengers and crew to pursue a career or other form of assistance in the interests of the planet. Heather and I got into a deep conversation with Nina (of Shackletonian history lectures fame) about the need for experts on the ship and how their influence might encourage some of the passengers to accept the challenge of improving the world for everyone. It all sounds a bit pie in the sky, but I thought it was a very productive discussion and there is a possible opportunity for Nina and us to at least influence Aurora in our post-expedition feedback – at least we can hope!

After dinner, there was a New Year’s Eve party in the Tektite Bar. We chose not to attend, but we certainly heard some of it. The Bar is immediately under our cabin, and it was pretty noisy until about 1am. We were told next morning that they kicked on until after 3am in the pool on Deck 7 (aft) that was filled specifically for the occasion and immediately emptied again. Good luck to them!

Our friends from Canberra, David and Megan, who shared our New Year’s Eve dinner - and many more enjoyable times during our voyage. (Photo credit: Dr H E Wheat.)

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embrassemoi · 3 years

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Surrounded by the Moon and Stars • 06

Pairings: Sirius Black x [F]Reader, Remus Lupin x [F]Reader Content: Language, possible errors, music snob!Remus, Author’s notes: song used: Come Together by The Beatles

BTW: I always try to use little to no physical descriptions for the reader insert but I did add that the reader has some sort of hair. I didn't mention hair texture or length (Sorry if ur bald). My taller readers, I only mentioned that you were shorter than Remus (no height was given)

Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter 6: ABBA vs. The Beatles

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

“Merlin’s beard! Binns is a sadist; torturing students must be his only pastime,” James yawned, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes.

Nothing could ever compare to the History of Magic. Today, lessons were dreadful and muddy. Professor Binns’ monotone voice filtered throughout the class, rambling on and on about various dates in history. Hardly anyone paid attention before he started calling on students. Annoyed, Binns would continue to reiterate his inquiry until the student(s) got the correct answer, no matter how long it took.

A sadist indeed.

Although Binns wasn’t the sole reason why the class was pathetic, but rather the lack of any practical work was simply a joke. The class only reminded Y/N of her short time in public school. Geometry? Utterly useless for any daily life interactions. To make matters worse, Binns surprised the class with a pop-quiz and two chapters of reading. Luckily, he had an ounce of mercy in his ghostly body and dismissed the class early for lunch.

James continued, “I would rather fight a dragon than — Woah! Your hair! “

She glanced to look at herself through the reflection in James’ glasses. Her hair, which originally was emerald green, was now turning into a golden yellow. The different colours clashed together boldly.

“You look like the banner for the Holyhead Harpies,” Peter said, striding up to James’ side.

“The Holyhead Harpies,” James said dreamily, “They’re probably one of my favourite teams.

Remus, who had been trailing behind Peter jumps in, “You only like them because they’re all women, you wanker.” He turns to Peter, his hand shooting up to the side of his head, massaging small circles into his temples, “Why’d you get him going?”

James became insufferable whenever someone or something mentioned Quidditch. Not only would he boast about his abilities as a Chaser, but he seemingly was a never-ending encyclopedia about Quidditch. It only worsened as November neared, the start of the new Quidditch season was approaching.

One time Y/N found herself stuck listening to him babble about Ireland winning the world cup for about thirty minutes. She didn’t have the heart to stop him, though. Nobody listened to his rants and he could hardly contain his excitement. How could she tell him she wasn’t interested?

A monstrous smirk etched its way onto his face, “Caught me.”

“Be anymore of a predator would ya, Prongs?”

“Hey! That’s not the only reason why I like them. Did you forget their victory in 1953 against the Heidelberg Harriers? Their strategy was blood-fucking-brilliant. They’re legendary! My father was there to see it in person. Lucky bastard. He told me…”

His voice fades into the background as Y/N catches Remus’ eyes. A glint of mischief shined through them before he forced a fake pitiful smile. He mouthed a quick ‘sorry’ to her before looping his arm around Peter’s shoulder, discreetly leaving James’ side and out of the classroom.

That sly, slippery bastard.

"— and did I mention that their seeker was one of the most sought out —”

“Wait, James.”

He abruptly pauses, waiting patiently for her to continue. She leads them out into the corridor and towards the great hall. “Sorry, didn’t mean to cut you off like that, but when is my hair going back to normal?”

Y/N instantly regretted mentioning her hair. There was no trace of a smile on James. His shoulders slumped a bit and his walking even staggered. “Godric, I know, I know and I’m sorry. I thought it would have returned back to normal by now. I’ve been creating reversal spells — even started asking Moony to help.”

“Moony?”

“Remus.”

“Another one of your nicknames?”

“It’s not a nickname! It’s a brotherhood — a pack!”

“Oh, sorry Prongs,” she drawled, a sarcastic smile on her face, “If I didn’t know you I would assume you were an asshole.”

“What? How?!”

“You go around calling yourself a marauder, the king of Quidditch and now Prongs. Seems pretty assholely.”

James’ mouth opens before closing again, repeating the process several times.

“Plus, you pull silly pranks every day.”

He chuckles, “Oi! You helped us with that itching idea!”

Her eyebrows raised in acknowledgement, “Touché.”

To this, James shakes his head, directing the conversation back to the Holyhead Harpies. Inwardly, Y/N wanted to whack him with a broomstick.

They were among the first students to reach the Great Hall, aside from students who had a free or were excused early by Professor Binns. None of the girls were there yet. Unfortunately, Marlene was held back by Binns, so Y/N was left to sit beside James who sat opposite to Remus, Peter and Sirius.

She had been trying her best to avoid Sirius whenever she could. It was clear he didn’t like her. He never laughed whenever she made a joke, he hardly noticed her, he never praised her, even if she tried to compliment him. He was just rude for no apparent reason. The rest of the marauders and girls knew this, although they preferred not to comment about the obvious, strained relationship (which they didn’t even know the reason for. Granted, Y/N wasn't quite sure herself. Was it the rejection, he just didn't like her or is just an ass?).

Although, ignoring and avoiding him proved to be extremely challenging. Y/N was glued to Lily’s hip ever since the Sorting Ceremony. It also didn’t help that if you were with one marauder, another one was sure to follow. She and James started to spend more time with each other, and by extension, she was obligated to be around at least one other marauder. With the addition of study sessions with Remus, it was inevitable.

Surprisingly, Sirius hadn’t made any snarky remarks, excluding dirty looks, he was being… nice — nicer to her. The action was a stark contrast from his previous behaviour and she speculated a few reasons why:

Most likely, James or Lily, she assumed the former, said something to him. Since his little spat with James at breakfast a few weeks ago, Sirius was tight-lipped ever since.

Maybe he was done being a prick, deciding to stop by himself after realizing he was a prick.

Went through something personal, it stopped, and his behaviour improved.

Minutes after the bell rang, students began to trickle in for lunch. The comfortable chatter rose as Y/N finished eating an apple. Everyone seemed pleased when James’ Quidditch lecture was interrupted as hundreds of owls streamed in, packages and letters dropping into the laps of students. She hadn’t expected anything considering her owl, Celeste, didn’t drop anything off since the first week of October. However, today she fluttered down between the bread and fruit bowls, dropping off several letters and a small parcel onto Y/N’s plate, pecking at the bread crumbs on the table. She tore the letter open, inside it said:

Dear Y/N,

Are you still having a hard time with Charms? If so, perhaps I find some textbooks and send them over.

Don’t slack off this year. Send me a letter whenever you have the chance. (Make sure to tell Celeste to be quieter next time. You know I can, and never will get used to the owls.)

Mom

Her mother finally wrote to her. A sense of joy flooded her body as she placed the letter back down on the oak table. A part of her wondered if Celeste was dropping off her letters to the wrong house, the one back in Toronto as her mother never wrote back. She opened the next letter, immediately recognizing the messy scrawl:

October 19, 1975

Y/N! I thought you replaced me with one of your brits, but a false alarm, your letters just take a while to arrive. Must be tiring for Celeste to travel to and from Scotland then America and back. You know, whenever people see her fly in, they still recognize her.

Are you doing anything for Halloween? We’re throwing another dance. Going to be alone this year now that I can’t force you to come. I guess I’ll just watch half the school dry hump each other while I smuggle in firewhiskey.

How’s it going over there? I heard from a few students, even read in the papers about the war. It’s getting pretty crazy over here. Teachers have been meeting and trying to prevent students and parents from losing their shit. My mom has been worried too, writing to me like a lunatic and I’m not even in the UK. The MACUSA have been keeping quiet but they were caught having meetings with counsellors from the Ministry of Magic. Even heard that Jenkins is stepping down. If it keeps getting out of hand here, I can’t imagine what it must be like at Hogwarts. I truly thought the war was dying down, I was wrong. Keep your wand close. Surely, you’ll get away with a hex or two.

Until next time

Matthew G.

So engrossed in her new environment, her old life slipped to the back of her mind. There was a detachment from her reality compared to the one at home. A pang of guilt hit her, swallowing her up from the inside out until another pang hit, loneliness. If she easily forgot everyone, would anyone remember her? None of her old friends, apart from Matthew, had made a move to contact her since she left.

Often thinking about writing them first, she had to remind herself if they wanted to, they would. Especially with the knowledge that people still recognized Celeste.

Was she forgettable and if so, was it karma for forgetting too?

It put a mechanical vice grip on her heart, applying just enough pressure to be a constant reminder. With every beat, it tightened more and more.

Looking around the table, she saw her peers huddle in groups, familiar laughter ringing throughout. So noisy, so taunting. She may have been friends with Lily, Dorcas, James or even Marlene, but they had their own friends. Friendships that had years to develop before she came. She had only known them for less than two months.

Forgettable.

How hilarious, she thought.

“Hey,” a gentle voice cooed into her ear, “Are you okay?”

She hummed back absentmindedly.

James wore a concerned expression, his eyes knitted together, one raised higher than the other like it always does when he was worried. The look he shot her suggested he wasn’t convinced, although he didn’t press; instead opting to stir the conversation. “So, who wrote to you?”

“A friend and my mom —”

A snort so loud that it caused the rest of the marauders, random onlookers and even Lily (who had a look of pure disgust on her face) turned towards them. “What did you say?”

“I got a few letters?”

“No!” He bellowed, “Who sent you them?”

“My friend and my mom —”

Nearly choking on his sandwich, James clutched his stomach laughing. Laughing so hard he has to grip the table to prevent falling off the hall bench. "Haha! Mom?! MOM?” He mocked in a poor American accent, “What the fuck is mom? It’s MUM. Bollocks!”

“We say vitamin.”

“It’s VIT-A-MIN! Who says VIGHT-A-MIN?” Without a pause, James presses his entire body onto her shoulder, smushing her before grabbing the letter her mother sent her. His eyes scanned across the pages before hitting a certain word. “Back home? Maple trees? Where did you use to live exactly?”

“Canada.”

“Canada?! You don’t mean those snowy gits?” At this, Peter and Remus snort under their breaths. Even Lily had to force down a smile.

Staring deadpanned at him, in an unamused voice, “Really?”

“You are a bundle of surprises! I thought you lived… I’m not sure. I assumed somewhere like New Hork.”

“York,” Lily corrects.

“Tomato, tomato,” he jokes, playfully batting his eyes at Lily before biting into his sandwich, “You do live in London, right?”

“Right.”

James takes a moment, letting the conversation die down before he quickly glances at Y/N again. An undecipherable expression crosses his face before it’s promptly replaced with elation, “I take back anything negative I’ve said about Canada. They have an amazing Quidditch rooster. Have you gone to any of their games?”

A low grumble of sighs follows at the mention of Quidditch from James. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus shake his head and sighed dejectedly.

“Nah, I’m a New-Maj, remember? My mom — “

“Mum —”

“ — sorry, Mum — hardly understands the wizarding world, let alone what Quidditch is.”

His eyes were wide, whimsical, as a hand flew to his chest dramatically, “Rubbish! Bloody ridiculous! You’ve never seen a real Quidditch game? One day, I swear I’ll bring you to one! Or you can bring me to Canada one day and we can watch a home game!”

As James continued to rant, Y/N’s mind slowly drifted back to the bitterness in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she borrowed Lily’s quill and a few sheets of parchment, scribbling down letters in response.

Mom,

I’m fine with Charms, you don’t need to send anything. And don’t worry, I’ve been studying for my OWLs.

Love you, write soon.

The next letter was addressed to Matthew:

Matty Matt,

Of course, I didn’t replace you… yet.

Another dance? You would think the students’ protest last year would have influenced the professors this time. I guess it’s time for you to get wasted. I didn’t tell you last time but I think I’m going to a party. A friend of mine is throwing it and I know he’s going to force me to come no matter what. He briefly mentioned costumes and drinks. Plus, there’s going to be some kind of prank that I may or may have not been a part of? Sounds cool right?

Yeah, I’d say it’s been bad up here. I don’t know much about what's going on outside of school, though. The professors are hiding it well. I didn’t even hear about Jenkins stepping down. Keep me updated.

Until next time

She sealed the letters before sending Celeste off again, “Be quieter when you drop off the letters, yeah?”

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

It must be her lucky day.

The ringing of the bell went off, signalling the end of class. Professor Flitwick asked the students to stay behind so he could hand out quizzes the students completed on Monday in preparation for their upcoming test on Growth and Reductor charms the following Tuesday.

It was never a good sign when a professor flips your test over to prevent other students from seeing their mark. Flipping it over at a downwards angle, Flitwick handed Y/N her quiz.

Turning it over nervously, a tight coil formed in the pit of her stomach. A large P was plastered on the top right corner in bold red ink. She studied hard for this too. Angrily, she shoved her work into her bag and left the class. This was the third poor she'd gotten in a row. She should have told her mother she needed those Charm books.

“I swear I’m going mad! Her brother is a complete cow! He even — are you listening?”

She looks at the girl beside her, Marlene. Her glossed over, doe eyes must have served as an answer before the blonde shook her head.

“Sorry, distracted,” she mumbles, before forcing out a fake-happy tone, “Continue your story! I wanna hear!”

“Hey,” Marlene says in a softer voice, “If something’s bothering you, you can talk about it.”

“No, it’s okay,” she replies instinctively. She felt bad spacing out during Marlene’s story but her mind was running through and under hoops. The last thing any fifth year student needed was to fall behind in their classes, let alone feeling like nobody cared about them.

At that moment, she wished she was wrapped away in red and gold blankets to wallow in her self-pity party, away from prying eyes. She could feel the burning sensations of tears building up.

Dammit.

Y/N looked out the window to her left. The sky was melting with the warm hues of reds and yellows while the other half was being slowly engulfed into a cloak of twilight. Even from here, she could feel the cool air seeping in from the windows making her tug on the sleeves of her robes.

She continued, “I’m just tired — been a long day. I’m going to take a nap before dinner. See you.”

Judging by the look on Marlene and Lily’s face, guilt riddles her body. They both look sympathetic. The pity only made Y/N feel disgusting. In all honesty, Y/N will care later. Right now wasn’t the time and she desperately needed some shut-eye.

Before she left the room, she overheard them talking.

“What’s up with her?”

“Dunno.”

Great.

❉───────•~❉•᯽•❉~•───────❉

Sleep did little to ease her thoughts.

The same uneasiness she felt on the train ride to Hogwarts settled deep into her bones again. She thought she was past this. The worrying about friends, missing home, feeling alone, failing class, stressing about her future. The rational part of her brain knew it was just one silly quiz (and old shitty friends), but knowing herself, if she were to continue to have this mindset, she would only fail in the end.

Dinner ended and Y/N belligerently climbed up the stairs towards the library to attend today’s study session. The Charms quiz threw her into a loop and it was better not to dwell on it, opting to rather use her time for something useful.

Her marks improved significantly since she attended her first session two weeks ago. The last couple of assignments and quizzes she handed in that she worked on during the groups were some of her best work, ever. Additionally, her ability to retain information was improving at astonishing rates and she found herself participating in lessons more often. Unfortunately, she started to doubt her abilities again.

There weren’t as many students as usual. Perhaps it was because of the Quidditch meeting for all teams tonight, or because nobody wanted to spend their time in a library Friday night. She assumed it was the latter.

Although, the same student with black hair from Slytherin was there; tucked away in his usual corner. He was always there. Whether it was the study sessions, another OWL or NEWT student or he simply just enjoyed the library, Y/N could always rely on him sitting there in his little nook.

In the far back, surrounded by tall bookshelves sat Remus. Another student, a first or second year, judging by their height, seemed to be asking him a question, rapidly writing down something on a piece of parchment whilst they walked away. Remus leaned back in the brown chair, his right leg was folded over the other as he stretched.

She spent over twelve hours minimum with Remus directly since the first session, minus the time he was around James and the girls. Perhaps she only started to notice afterwards but she swore Remus wasn’t around this much before. Now, he was everywhere.

In the past couple of weeks she’d gotten to know him, she made a mental list in her head of him:

1. Remus loves sweaters. They weren’t flashy, seemingly preferring to wear ones with small designs, stripes or a solid colour. He wore green the most. He also wore cardigans. Two, in particular, he wore the most; one was white and the other was a muted brown. They were big and hung off his loose frame, the pockets were often stuffed with books, rumpled parchment and his wand.

2. He’s a coffee addict. He drank it in the morning, the afternoon, at the study session and sometimes with meals at dinner. He loved to dump pounds of sugar, so if he only drank black coffee, it usually meant he was in a bad mood. James even joked that he became Sirius whenever he drank black coffee, because haha! Get it? It’s BLACK coffee!

3. He frequented the library whenever he wasn’t with the rest of the marauders. He enjoyed poetry, wrote post-it notes after post-it notes to annotate his favourite parts. He even slept there from time to time, not without having to persuade Pince to not give him detention.

As if Remus magically sensed her, he took a large inhale before he stopped stretching, opening his eyes to look at her. A small smile was plastered on each other’s faces. He stuck up a few fingers to wave at her, motioning her to come over.

“Hi Y/N. I thought you didn’t come on Fridays?”

“I don’t but I have a test, Charms, Tuesday.”

“Oh, well I’m happy to help.”

“Thanks for the offer, Professor Lupin, but just being down here will help me focus.”

A scarlet blush settled on his face at the mention of his tutoring. “Well come sit with me then.”

Pushing the chair out of the way, she sat down beside him, pulling out her cassette player and earbuds along with her notes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus staring at the player curiously.

“Do you want to listen?”

“If you don't mind. I didn’t know you could use these here.” Picking it up, he turned the rectangular device.

“If record players work here, why not this?”

She hands him an earbud, alongside a small collection of other tapes she had on hand.

“Choose whatever you want to listen to.”

Without much thought, he pressed the play button. The upbeat tune of Waterloo by ABBA trickled into their ears. Y/N bobbed her head up and down before the song was suddenly stopped.

A sour grimace sat on Remus’ face before their eyes met, his nose upturned slightly.

“Why’d you stop it?”

“I hate ABBA.”

“What!?”

“I just don’t like their cheesy disco-pop-esk sound. They sound generic and random words are thrown in when they don’t add to the song.”

“Jeez— never met anyone who hated them that much.”

A ghost of a smile appeared before he flicked through her collection of tapes. He picked up Abbey Road by The Beatles. Opening the player up, he slid out Waterloo. With a click and the press of a button, Come Together played.

“So you hate ABBA but not The Beatles? Benny and Bjorn said they were influenced by them!”

“Keyword: Influenced; which is just another word for a shitty knock-off version.”

4. Remus Lupin is apparently a music snob.

“Well, I think both are good.”

“Respectfully, I disagree with you.”

“Whatever you say, professor.”

"I've been thinking a bit, why did you come to Hogwarts? Why not just stay at your old school?"

The sudden switch of topics threw her into a loop. “Wasn’t by choice. My mom’s a doctor and got a position here. It was too good to turn down. But it’s not bad. There’s less wizarding laws.”

He nods his head, "I'm assuming you have dual citizenship?"

"Mhm."

About a half an hour passed as she sighed for the umpteenth time before putting down her quill. Her chair scraped back noisily as Y/N’s hand balled up into a tight fist, feeling her fingernails bite into her palm. She’d been flicking through her notes, the words all blended.

At this rate, if History of Magic didn’t exist, Charms would surely be her least favourite class.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?”

She was at a loss, this was the third time Remus had offered to help and he was persistent. She felt horrible that she was taking up his time to help her on a stupid Charms test.

He continued, “If you think bothering me is an issue, it’s not. I run the sessions on Friday. It’s my job.”

“Fine, but there has to be something I can do in return.”

“Hmm,” Remus pondered for a second, “How about this, I tutor you in Charms and in return you give me your Potions notes? I'm dreadful at it.”

“Deal.”

“Great. Before we start, is there anything in particular that you have questions on?”

Silently tapping on the quiz she received today, Remus snatched it and quickly scanned over her answers and Professor Flitwick’s notes.

“I see what happened. You know, the curriculum taught at Ilvermorny is different. That’s probably why you can’t understand some of this shit.” He cleared his throat, “So as we know, the growth charm increases the size of your intended target…”

His voice, like a light switch, changed instantly. Instead of his softer deep, raspier voice, it became commanding and steady. He never stumbled over his words and articulated his points elegantly. She found herself enraptured by him, understanding why he was in charge of the study groups.

Eventually, Remus takes a pause, “Does that make sense?”

“Yes. You know, you’re really good at this. No matter how much I asked Flitwick or even Lily I could never get it.”

A large blush bloomed on the apples of his cheeks before he shyly rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes. “I’m not that good.”

“No time for modesty, Professor Lupin!”

“Okay, okay! So here, do you see what went wrong? There would be a reaction with those two spells if —”

A boy, small, most likely a second year, stood at the foot of the shared table holding a large red and gold book. His hair, dark ginger, similar to Lily’s, was cut short. He fiddled with his fingers as he continued to stare at the two.

“... Um, hi. You're Remus — right?”

“Yup. Did you need help with something?”

“Yes! I’m having trouble with the Transfiguration spell, beetle into button.”

A look of understanding passed through his face before Remus turns to look at her, “Duty calls. It’ll be quick.”

“Of course, take your time.”

It was not quick. Understandably, very few were successful at the ginger’s age to perform the spell, but thirty minutes passed and the second year still didn’t understand the basic concepts. No matter how many times Remus had reiterated his point differently, the boy couldn’t retain it.

“I just don’t get it.”

“You learned this last year, it's a quick revision. I’m not sure what part you’re talking about. Look, do not wiggle or twirl your wand left, direct it towards the right. You have to picture the spell in your head before saying the incantation.”

He guided the boy's hand steadily before performing the spell himself.

“I don’t understand!” The boy whined.

He sighed, “Then we keep trying —”

“It’s too hard. Why are they teaching this crap anyway?”

“Could you stop complaining?” He snapped, closing his eyes before he realized what he’d just done. “I’m sorry about that. I’m… just tired. I can’t help you anymore, though. You should ask someone else,” Remus said brusquely, his eyes unnerving as he stared at the child. As a result, he yelped out a ‘thank you,’ rushing off in the opposite direction.

The muscles in his jaw tensed under the soft glow of the table lamps. There was a pale red tint rimming his eyes and he looked visibly paler than normal. Irritated, he bounced his knee rapidly, up and down, before looking out the large window beside them. The sky was mostly cloudy. Only the peak of the silvery moon appeared. A sliver was missing before it was fully complete.

He closed his eyes, before breathing in. His posture once stiffened, completely relaxed before a flimsy smile reappeared on his face, returning his attention to Y/N.

“Let’s continue, shall we?”

“If you’re tired we can stop.”

“No, s’okay. I’m fine — really.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, adding to her list:

5. Remus was always so hard to read.

147 notes · View notes

translations-by-aiimee · 3 years

Text

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 26

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 26 - Photograph

From the South Third Ring Road overpass, turn right and cross a small road covered by empress trees to reach Shenjiayuan.

The fragments of low-rise buildings and the chaotic street stalls on both sides of the street were standoffish in such a modern city. However, this was one of the country's famous antique marketplaces, and tens of thousands of people came here every day with lots of money to spend, risking being baked by the sun and getting heatstroke by lingering around each of the stalls, hoping to find one or two hidden treasures stashed away in a corner somewhere. It was an industry gaining some traction. There were many speculators, collectors, tourists, calligraphers, painters, and even gamblers among them. They firmly believe that a city thousands of years old hid unknown wealth somewhere. It was this mentality that gave them a similar look; intoxicated and wild-eyed with a long outstretched tongue, drooling over the crude high antique imitations on the stalls.

This was the place where Lin Yan made countless memories when he was a teenager. The middle school he went to was nearby. After school, he often came here alone with his schoolbag on his back. Back then, there weren't as many people. There was a very polluted river nearby that hadn't been turned into a landfill yet. The air was always filled with the smell of stinky salted fish. The vendors who set up stalls hadn't yet learned to casually laze about while sneaking glances at the faces of customers to judge how much money they could cheat out of them.

The old days were like rolls of yellowed newspapers. A young man in a light blue school uniform walked through it, exchanging his pocket money for a piece of colored glaze from the late Qing Dynasty. He squatted in front of a stall to sift through the options. The old man at the stall was smoking a cigarette while telling the story of Liulichang in the late Qing Dynasty. Lin Yan didn't know why he was only interested in street stalls when kids his age were saving up to buy posters of celebrities. Just like when they were gushing over the Belgian chocolates their relatives brought home, he was still obsessed for years with the pot full of honey hard candy the old lady in front of the school had.

The wood, rice paper, and the dusty rusticity of the old objects held a taste of time, and teenage Lin Yan couldn't help but be immersed in it. Like a lone fish in the stream.

The sun was shining on the ground at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Lin Yan carried a bulging bag in his left hand and a cup of roasted sencha milk tea in his right. He paced slowly in the crowd, the grass green V-neck T-shirt and cotton calf-length pants standing out. He didn't know why antique hunters liked to wear black, the dust on their clothes making them look like they had just crawled out of the ground.

"Here, it's weirdly hot. Do you want a sip?" Lin Yan shook the milk tea, the ice cube hitting the wall of the cup with a soft thud. Onlookers thought he was talking to the air when actually there was an invisible person next to him helping take off some of the weight of the bag. That mean, even though Lin Yan was carrying a lot of things, it didn't take much effort.

Xiao Yu lowered his head and took a sip where Lin Yan had touched. He bit on the straw a few times and turned his head.

Lin Yan wanted to laugh a little, and brought the cup back to the corner of his mouth.

A-Yan said that Xiao Yu might remember more following him around, so Lin Yan took him to the antique market after breakfast, hoping that something from his own time period might bring something back. Who would've guessed that, after going through all these stalls, lots of purchases were made but there was no progress with the ghost's memory. Lin Yan glanced at the bag in his hand. It was stuffed with clothes bought from a well-known Hanfu store in Shenjiayuan. They were well-made and expensive. Most people only bought them to complete a Hanfu set for their collection. For Lin Yan to buy these kinds of clothes on a daily errand, that was really a rare sight. Even the clerk couldn't help but do a double take.

Xiao Yu didn't understand the time they were currently living in, so he stood his ground and refused to adapt his style to the times. Lin Yan rolled his eyes and glared at him bitterly. He thought, you're the boss here making me throw away my money while I'm just your servant who follows behind you and pays.

Right after they left one store, before he could recover from the purchase, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped when he passed a woodworking shop. Lin Yan looked at the store’s gorgeous decorations and pieces of pearwood and red sandalwood furniture, whining that he really couldn't afford this stuff. Xiao Yu ignored him and dragged him inside. Thirty minutes later, Lin Yan swiped his card to check out under the watchful eye of the clerk and bought a beautiful Tongzhi wood guqin.

"Oh great ancestor, what more do you want?" Lin Yan tucked the order slip from the woodworking shop into his pocket and glared daggers at Xiao Yu.

Xiao Yu shook his head nonchalantly.

There were more people on the street. Some of them didn't know the treasures that they had found, and they couldn't hide their excitement, sneaking a peek at what they have just bought. Some of them had grim faces, looking like they had been ripped off. There were also groups of foreign tourists wearing Lei Feng hats gathered at the roadside to buy shadow puppets. Occasionally, they turned around and curiously look at the antique city, which was built in the traditional Chinese-style.

In the market area to the south, there were large ancient buildings imitating Ming and Qing style architecture. The bustling narrow street seemed like scene straight out of the Water Margin. The wooden window on the second floor were pushed up, supported by a short stick. Looking up, he could see customers sipping tea. The shopkeeper was a short man, busily carrying a large teapot back and forth.

The narrow street lead to a large emerald-green stall covered with plastic tarps to offer shade from the sun. Lin Yan and Xiao Yu walked under the shadow of the tarps when they heard a familiar voice yelling loudly.

"Look at how green the colour is and how good the water head* is! You won't be able to find another one at this price anywhere in Shenjiayuan!" The peddler selling jade pieces had a round belly, one foot on the stool, holding up a transparent fortune bracelet, spittle flying everywhere. The plainly dressed middle-aged woman in front of the stall looked hesitant. She took the bracelet and took another look at it.

*(T/N: Water head [水头] refers to how light shines through jade. Kind of like how the light would look if it were shining through water. There's a list of transparencies if you want to look at how jade is graded, but basically the best jade has a vivid colour with even transparency across the whole piece.)

"It's too expensive, lower the price a bit." The woman said sincerely.

"It's so green, so transparent, I can't go any lower. Miss, if you want a lower price, it'll affect my livelihood. Don't waste my time." The peddler grabbed the bracelet, his eyes bulging.

"I wanted to buy it for my daughter as a birthday gift. It's too expensive. It'd be a pity if she dropped it. Give me the lowest you can go."

"Here." The peddler rolled his eyes. He took out his calculator, punched in a few numbers, and showed it to the woman in front of him, "Is this all right? I can't go any lower!"

Lin Yan couldn't help but lean over and glance at the numbers on the screen. He let out a laugh.

The peddler squinted at him.

Lin Yan shook his head. He took the bracelet and said to the woman: "Don't buy this, he's fooling you."

"Hey, hey, what are you trying to say? I'm running an honest business here. If you don't believe me, go around and ask. . ."

Lin Yan smirked. He put the roasted sencha tea cup on the stall and held the bracelet at a different angle. The curved surface reflected the light from the plastic roof. He said to the woman buying the bracelet: "Look at the blurred edges of the reflection. If you look closely, you can see that there are very fine meshes on the surface." Lin Yan raised the bracelet to let the light through. "There is purple fluorescence inside, indicating that the reason this bracelet is so transparent because of acid washing and a glue filling."

"Also, notice how the green is only sitting on the surface and doesn't reach the middle. That means it was dyed after the fact. This thing is worth one or two hundred yuan. Don't buy it."

The peddler's nose and eyes scrunched up. At first glance, they looked like a dried walnut.

"Oh." The middle-aged woman hurriedly stuffed an envelope containing the money back into her bag, repeatedly thanking Lin Yan.

When she left, the peddler huffed. Pissed, he turned his head away, not looking at Lin Yan. Even his swollen belly seemed to be flatter than before.

"What else should I do when I notice that someone with money on the street?"

Lin Yan roughly flicked the peddler's forehead: "Everyone here has money. It's embarrassing to lie like this, there's no skill in it."

Several surrounding stalls burst out laughing. The peddler rolled his eyes back to normal. He grabbed Lin Yan’s milk tea and poured a few mouthfuls out of the plastic lid. He muttered while he crunched on the ice cubes: “I don't fool people in this business. It's not my fault their eyesight is poor. No refunds is the standard."

This much was true. Antique jade sales rely on good eyesight. Figuring out which store has more genuine products than fake depends on the customer. They can't return them either so the shop doesn't have to admit they were fakes. Lin Yan clicked his tongue: "These people don't know what to look for. You're just trying to make your father think you're good at this job."

The peddler rolled his eyes, knowing that he was in a bad position and couldn't say anything.

Lin Yan had been a frequent visitor to this antique market since he was a child. Since choosing his major in university, he preferred to come to the small stalls to practice his appraisal skills when he had nothing else to do. See what was selling for a high price but was bought for a low price. He was also kind and helped others pick out the best items, so many peddlers knew him. For example, Lin Yan first met this guy's father, a very honest old man. He even took out the receipt with the price he paid for it when he bargained with customers. Unfortunately, when Lin Yan graduated from high school, the old man fell ill and his son took over the business. and this was the leeching peddler in from of him.

Lin Yan wasn't polite with him. When he walked around the stall, he took out a copper box from under the table. Inside were piles of Ming and Qing paperweights. These objects were all family heirlooms that the original stall owner received from nearby residents’ homes when he was young. Lin Yan had just remembered this box of objects then dragged Xiao Yu over to look at them. Brass mirrors, jade bracelets, thumb rings, snuff boxes, tobacco pipes; Xiao Yu looked over them all and just shook his head. Lin Yan threw the last piece back into the box and patted the dust on his clothes, a little frustrated.

"That box has been there for ages and no one's ever touched it. What are you looking at it for?" The peddler kept squinting at him and was too curious not to ask about it.

"Looking for Ming Dynasty artifacts for my classes." Lin Yan actually didn't know what he was looking for. He moved on and put the box back.

"Ming Dynasty?" The peddler didn't care about the bracelet anymore. "Old man Liu has lots stashed away."

"No, no, no. . ." Lin Yan hurriedly refused, but he thought about it and sighed, "Forget it. I've been shopping all day and haven't gone there. I'll give it a try."

"Don't say the wrong thing. Good luck." The peddler made a face.

The shop run by old man Liu was quite famous in Shenjiayuan. Not just because he was the only antique peddler to sell only sell antique pictures, but also because he was notoriously grumpy. Every day, he'd leave the shop and hang up his old camera in the park to make money. Whenever he went to the shop to buy something, the owner was never there. Walking down the street, he ran into him wearing an old Mao suit, cursing and waving around. His thin mantis-like face was slanted and a pair of glasses rested on his nose at an angle. Sometimes the lens' were shattered like cobwebs, and sometimes the lens' weren't there at all.

His shop sells old photographs of the old city, hung densely from the floor to the ceiling. Because old photographs were difficult to reprint, they were also very expensive. The sub districts of Qianmen, Dashilan, old gardens in the setting sun in 1872, passers-by in long gowns with thin faces and numb eyes. The TV station came to interview him, but only half the program was filmed. From photographers to reporters, old man Liu chewed them all out without exception. The interview never went anywhere, and the shop still didn't have any business. The old man still walked around outside with his camera everyday.

The shop was in the northwest corner of Shenjiayuan and its location was considered unlucky. There was a symbol meant to ward off evil spirits designed by a famous Feng Shui master hung on the door. Xiao Yu couldn't enter and stood at the door waiting for Lin Yan.

Lin Yan looked at the ominous storefront. For the first time, he felt reluctant to part with Xiao Yu.

Unsurprisingly, Old Man Liu wasn't in the shop. A seven or eight-year-old girl in a red jacket was facing away from him. She was pointing at a photo on the wall and muttering something. When she heard someone enter the door, she turned back and grinned at Lin Yan.

Lin Yan was a little surprised. This little girl was his neighbor. Although he didn’t know where she lived, he often saw her running around in the yard downstairs in a dirty red dress. Sometimes when Lin Yan went out to buy dinner at night, he saw her playing with cats in the yard, no one coming to bring her home. He hadn't seen her often in the past month and he didn't expect to see her here.

Was it possible she was related to that strange old man? No wonder no one cared about her playing outside everyday, Lin Yan thought.

"Why are you here by yourself?" Lin Yan knelt down and asked her in a soft voice.

The little girl was lean, her eyes staring straight at Lin Yan, grinning silently. Lin Yan suddenly felt that the little girl’s smile probably made people feel uncomfortable. It didn’t seem right to call it a smile, but just a casual grin. The corners of her mouth were upturned but her eyes were dull. Wearing such an old jacket in summer, she seemed to be left behind by the times, like the rest of the photos in the room.

Lin Yan hesitated on whether he leave and wait outside for the strange old man.

"What the hell you XX, I XXXX. . ." Lin Yan was distracted, and suddenly there was a thud. Old man Liu hugging his broken camera fell through the front door. He fell on all fours in an extremely embarrassed posture, landing on the only part of the floor that had sunlight hitting it.

"A-Are you okay?" Lin Yan rushed over to help. Unexpectedly, the old man gave him a sour look. He rolled over and sat on the ground, patting the dirt on his knees, and continued his tirade of curses towards the door relentlessly. Lin Yan stood awkwardly off to the side, neither leaving nor staying.

The old man felt he had cursed enough. He grunted and got to his feet. When he turned his head and saw Lin Yan, his eyes widened like he had discovered a whole new world, and said with a quacking voice: "What are you doing here?"

"I came to buy something." Lin Yan didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Shouldn't that be the first thing the shop owner thinks of when he sees a customer in the store?

"Leave. What is there to buy? Young people are clueless." The old man held his stern gaze and walked around behind the counter, irritated: "Why are you still standing there? You have no business being here!"

Lin Yan didn't want to talk nonsense with the old man, so he pat his back and turned to leave.

"Hey! Wait!" The old man yelled. Lin Yan had just reached the door and was so frightened by the voice that he came to a halt.

"You look good, I'll take a picture of you." The old man suddenly walked out from behind the counter with his camera in hand. He grabbed Lin Yan by the collar and pulled him into the room. After couple of pushes, he stood beside the little girl. He squatted down involuntarily, and the shutter sounded with a few clicks. The old man's furrowed face appeared from behind the camera and he smacked his lips with satisfaction.

After the shutter, several photos appeared from the top of the camera. The old man took one in his hand and glanced at it. He pulled one out and shoved it at Lin Yan: "You take it."

Lin Yan was shown the strength of this old man. He turned his face angrily, trying to walk out, rubbing his shoulder: "I don't want to."

"Take it!" The old man yelled in Lin Yan's ear, making his ears ring.

Lin Yan took it and glanced speechlessly. He saw that in the black-and-white picture he stood like a wooden pole, staring expressionlessly at the wall. The background was dimmed, and the entire thing looked like a horror picture people would share online.

What's wrong with. . .

Lin Yan eyes widened and a nerve in his head popped. He couldn't help taking a step back, looking at himself in the photo. When he looked at the spot where he was standing when the picture was taken, it felt like a bucket of ice water was poured over his head.

The little girl who took the picture with him just now wasn't in the photo. He was the only person in the black and white background straight out of a horror movie.

Lin Yan hesitantly looked up. The girl in red was standing where he stood, wearing an out-of-date ragged jacket, grinning at him biting her fingernail.

"Hehe, hehe." The old man held up the camera to his crooked eyes and a piece of the lens fell to the ground. "Perfect, great picture."

Lin Yan crawled out of the house.

The sun was bitterly hot and the bustling street was swarming with people. Xiao Yu was standing casually by the doorway. Lin Yan couldn't say a word, swallowing hard. He rushed over and wrapped him up in a fierce hug.

#dig a grave to dig out a ghost translation #dig a grave to dig out a ghost #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #yaoi novel #yaoi #bl novel #danmei novel #danmei

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 3 years

Text

End of the Tunnel: XII

Description: It’s almost been a year since Freed Weasley was lost to the Battle of Hogwarts, and for George Weasley it might as well be an eternity. He is lost in the dark, no color to be found. Until suddenly there might be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Warnings: Today is nothing but fluff my dears, if you’ve read this far you deserve it.

MASTERLIST

***

Ron and Hermione’s wedding came two months later.

While some may have assumed it was because the young love birds couldn’t wait to get married, the rest of the Weasley offspring knew it was all about avoiding Mrs. Weasley’s love of overplanning.

George was helping his brothers hoist the tent, just as they had done for Bill two years before, and Hannah, upon Hermione’s request, was speaking to the Grangers. When she had first approached them, they had been nervous, and then relieved when she slipped in the small detail about her blood. It seemed Hermione didn’t have a lot of family, and had Hannah not been there, they would have been the only muggles in attendance. Truly, a daunting prospect.

Eventually the vanished to get ready for the ceremony, and their seats were replaced by the ever-radiant Fleur Delacour. Until that moment Hannah had only heard stories about George’s sister-in-law but there was no time to stare in speechless awe. Never one to be rude, Hannah introduced herself.

“Hannah Gladdis.”

“Oh yes, I know you,” Fleur said, “You’re my next sister-in-law, yes?” Hannah could only blink in shock. “You are with George, no?”

“Yes, yes, I’m with George, I just didn’t know people thought we were engaged.”

“Are you not?”

“No, we’re not.”

“In time.”

“I’m not sure about that, I’m not sure his mother likes me much,” she admitted awkwardly, and Fleur let out a soft laugh before taking her hands with her own.

“It does not matter if his mother likes you, it does not matter if his sister or his brothers like you, it does not even matter if his great aunt Muriel likes you. Does George love you?”

“Yes, yes I think so.”

“Do you love him?”

“With every bit of me.”

“Then you will marry him.”

“But-.”

“They called me Phlegm.”

“What?”

“His sister called me Phlegm. Hermione said it too. Even his mother let it slip a few times. And yet I remain.”

“That’s terrible.”

“It is life, and it is how I know that it does not matter if they all hate you. It does not matter if you are a muggle. It does not matter if you are part goblin. If George loves you half as much as Bill loves me, you will marry him.” Hannah stared at her, swelling with her assurance. She let her eyes wander to George, dressed in his best suit as he chased a small toddler waddling across the lawn, sighing softly. “I look forward to your wedding, Hannah,” she said, standing, smoothing out the red satin of her dress before joining her husband close to the front row. Hannah watched as she pulled her child onto her lap, kissing the white tufts of hair with incredible fondness. Bill wrapped an arm around his wife and Hannah smiled, they were a perfect portrait of love, one that she couldn’t help but feel a tinge envious of.

The envy couldn’t last long though, not when George appeared, having given up his chase.

“Fleur wasn’t scaring you away, was she?” he joked, and Hannah quickly shook her head.

“Definitely not.”

“Good, wouldn’t want my family fighting.” They both blushed at his choice of words but said nothing as he linked their fingers together pulling her towards their seats. As they sat his hand found knee and gently tilted them closer.

They sat in comfortable silence as the chairs filled up around them. Sloane and Draco slipped into seats beside them, maintaining their invitation from a drunk Ron. Draco hadn’t been sure about coming, but Sloane had insisted, she wasn’t going to miss the marriage of two war heroes. The unlikely group didn’t say much as the final seats filled, and the pianist struck the first note of a classical song Hannah didn’t recognize.

The senior Weasley’s began the procession, dressed to the tee. Hermione didn’t have any siblings and Ron had too many to choose from, so they had forgone the mess of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Mrs. Granger came next, escorted by Harry, joyful tears already streaming down her face.

Then, in unison, the crowds stood, turning to watch as Hermione stepped into view. Hannah was unable to contain the gasp that slipped from her lips. Hermione looked like a fairytale as she stepped down the aisle, father guiding her towards the altar. There was no glitz and glam, no lace, only the softest white crepe but the simplicity of the dress only allowed her radiance to shine brighter. Someone had placed white flowers through her French twist and a simple veil hung over her eyes.

At the end of the aisle, Ron was bright red, eyes glossy as she approached him. He was wringing his hands nervously, subtly bouncing on his toes.

When she reached the altar, the vows began. George took her hand as they listened, running his thumb thoughtfully along the back of her hand. The vows moved quickly and when the officiant announced ‘you may kiss the bride’ Ron grabbed her, surprising both her and the audience by dipping her before melding their lips together. The crowd burst into applause, George hooting beside her as the two kissed for longer than anyone thought Hermione would have allowed.

The reception began instantly, Hannah watching in awe as the chairs turned into tables with the flick of a wand. A wonderful dance floor was situated in the center, soft golden lights turning beautiful patterns across the floor. Hermione had tried to explain how she had managed them a few days ago, but Hannah had left feeling only more confused than before, so she simply stared in awe.

The glasses were never empty, and the food was delicious. The conversation was never dull, and everyone was filled with overwhelming joy. Even when the cake tipped over in an incident involving Crookshanks, a garden gnome, and Harry smiles remained bright and cheery. Hannah recognized several people who had visited her bar, and they came over to say hello, surprised that she was there and promising that they would be stopping by to get another round of her firewhiskey. George recognized several more, introducing her to everyone who stopped to say hello.

The bride and groom were making rounds to the table when they stopped in front of their table.

“You look beautiful,” Hannah gushed, pulling her into a spare seat. Hermione blushed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“And of course, the ceremony was lovely, but you really know how to throw a party,” Sloane added.

“Oh, the party was all Ron, he’s rather good at planning when he sets his mind to it,” she admitted, twitterpation evident across her face. “I’m just surprised there’s no reporters trying to crash, we were getting requests all week. Of course, we told them no, but that hasn’t stopped them trying before.”

“Oh, that would be my fault,” Sloane admitted.

“Tell me all your secrets.”

“I signed it as mine. Anyone who comes around will be informed that I have claim on the story.”

“And they listen?”

“Oh yes, you’ll find I’m rather persuasive,” she said with an almost evil smile, “I’m not reporting either, but I thought you might prefer a bit of peace on your wedding day.” Hermione embraced her, thanking her repeatedly. Sloane only responded with a lopsided grin.

“The story’s yours,” Hermione promised, “Say whatever you like, and you tell the paper if they ever want anything the Weasley-Grangers won’t talk to anyone but you.” Now it was Sloane’s turn to hug her, both girls squealing ‘thank you’s as Hannah laughed. Hermione thanked their group one more time as Ron led her away, shining brighter than a new penny as he paraded around his beautiful wife.

George kissed her forehead before searching for his mum, and Sloane and Draco went to dance, leaving Hannah with a moment of silence.

A slow song filled the tent as the first dance began. Hannah watched as Ron twirled Hermione around the dance floor with unexpected grace from the gawky man she had seen trip over dust mites. Slowly, other couples joined them, and she looked around for George, hoping to earn her own dance, but he had disappeared.

“Could I steal a dance before my brother comes back,” a deep voice asked and when she turned, she was surprised to see Bill standing in front of her, a hand extended. She glanced around for Fleur, to ask permission, but she was nowhere to be found either. “It’s alright, she suggested it,” Bill said, and her worries disappeared, taking his hand as he led her to the dance floor. He spun her quickly into the correct position as they moved around their space on the dance floor.

“We’ll be lucky to have you in the family,” he said, and she blushed, laughing softly at his admission.

“Your wife said something similar earlier this afternoon.”

“I know, that’s why she sent me.”

“Oh?”

“We’re all glad you’re here, my mother especially. She raves about you to our father when she thinks no one’s listening, and when you left after Sunday dinner, she was a blubbering mess. You gave her hope, so if for a second you’re ever worried that someone doesn’t like you, I want you to remember that.” A tear slipped down her cheek and she quickly brushed it away.

“I’m just not… the same.”

“Neither is George.”

“But I don’t know if he’s going to propose, and I don’t want to get my hopes up,” Hannah admitted, eyes flickering to her empty ring finger.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and if that’s not unconditional love I’m not sure what is.” She blushed, eyes blurring a bit more.

“Do you really think so?”

“I know so. Speaking of, here he comes now,” Bill said before spinning her into the arms of her beloved boyfriend. He caught her with ease, adding a spin of his own before clasping her between his arms. When she glanced back to thank his brother, she found him already holding his wife as they swayed.

“Enjoying yourself?” George asked and she nodded.

“I am.”

“Wonderful, otherwise I’d have to fill you with more champagne.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I could handle another drop.”

“Nonsense. One can never have too much champagne.”

“I’m practically floating from all the bubbly.”

“That’s why you haven’t stepped on my toes,” he teased, and she gasped, batting his chest softly. “Only kidding, my love,” he said and then dipped her until her hair brushed the floor before sweeping her back into his arms, kissing her as he embraced her.

“I thought you didn’t dance,” she giggled breathlessly, and he shrugged.

“I’ve decided it depends on the dance partner.” He twirled her again, watching with awe as she laughed, stumbling into his chest. He pulled her close to kiss her, hand resting on her cheek. She loved kissing him, it felt like drinking sunshine and the way he held her like no one had before made her feel like a giddy schoolgirl.

“Wizard weddings are so beautiful,” she whispered, not completely meaning to say it out loud. “The decorations are next level.”

“Maybe you’ll get one of your own,” he said before his eyes widened, it was clear he too hadn’t meant to say that out loud. She giggled nervously, and in a desperate attempt to diffuse the tension he spun her around until they were laughing to hard to be nervous. They danced for hours, jumping around with friends when the violins picked up speed and swaying softly as they held each other when the music softened.

And that was how the night ended. With laughter, suggestive winks, and arms wrapped around each other until they were sure they were drunk on nothing but champagne and love.

#george weasley #george weasley smut #george weasley fluff #george weasley angst #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley x reader fanfiction #george weasley x reader smut #george weasley x reader fanfic #George weasley x reader imagine #george weasley x reader angst #george weasley x reader fluff #end of the tunnel

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saudadeonly · 3 years

Text

burn my heart out: rewrite the history pages (Chapter 4)

Read on ao3. Part 8, consisting of 4 chapters.

Death Eater!Sirius Black AU

Lord Voldemort wages war on Hogwarts but he is unaware of the years-worth of battle fought against him.

(or, several instalments following the Battle of Hogwarts with Sirius Black standing on the wrong side)

In which the House of Black tailors the tapestry of fate.

Word count: 6425

___

James’s knees have gone out from under him, the words streaming out of his mouth far, far away from English or any spells known to man; they’re his mother’s prayers, ancient and further away than the possibility of their survival. It’s only thanks to Marlene’s quick swish of her wand that James doesn’t end up on the floor and remains upright, half-standing, half-floating instead, but the book he was holding isn’t afforded the same luxury. It falls to the ground and slams open, revealing familiar handwriting curved over the pages, covered by an ever-moving picture of James, Lily and Harry; James pressing a kiss to Harry’s wild hair, Harry grinning and Lily’s mouth pressed to Harry’s chubby hand, all of them swaddled in thick, winter-coming clothes. Remus used to read pages-long letters in that handwriting; it’s burned to the back of his eyelids and the words the letters used to convey are the first ones he remembers when he wakes up. He doesn’t know how the picture he took got into the hands that loop their letters this way.

“James,” Remus whispers, stepping in close to take on James’s weight. He doesn’t dare look at the book or the picture again. “James,” he repeats, louder this time, as he presses his fingertips to the sweep of James’s ribs, where he was always sensitive, “we have to go, we have to –”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. He doesn’t know how to help them get out of this one. Lily and Harry were supposed to be safe. He saw them out as far as he could and kept them protected as far as the Invisibility cloak would allow him to. It was his idea to use the passage underneath the Whomping Willow, even if Lily said that they shouldn’t, but there was nowhere else to go. If it was his idea that got them captured – or worse, by now – he will never forgive himself.

“Yeah,” James says anyway, nodding as he rights his glasses on his drained face, “yeah, let’s go.”

They rush out of the Great Hall, the two of them and others Remus cannot, for the life of him, think of right now, and they go down the corridor, through the side door of the Entrance Hall and out into the torch-lit courtyard. There is a shadow that passes behind the colonnade on the side but Remus sees the group of dark-robed figures next and he can’t look away.

Lily struggled. She is still struggling even with a stream of blood from her temple down the side of her face but her efforts are futile against the strength of the woman holding her against her chest. Aubrie Rostami, he remembers with vivid clarity, the young leader of a werewolf pack he talked to on Dumbledore’s orders. A lifetime ago but she told him his, as well as the other side’s, efforts were in vain and he believed her. Now, with Lily’s wand tucked into the belt around her narrow hips, his naivety about her words adds insult to injury.

“You have come to watch,” Voldemort says, a cruel smile playing at his lips. Beside him, Harry is caught in the arms of a masked Death Eater, who doesn’t seem to be struggling with keeping him in place. Harry has his Padfoot plushie hugged to his chest and probably doesn’t sense the danger drawing down over him. “I hoped you might.” He swishes his wand.

It’s too unexpected to counter, too sudden to make a grab for their wands – they all go up in the air, suspended in it but still able to move until Voldemort points his wand at them again and adds, almost lazily, “Immobulus.”

A desperate sound escapes Lily. “James,” she says, an apology, a plea, as Aubrie drags her little ways to the side, toward the tattered part of the group, leaving Greyback the only werewolf not standing with the Death Eaters. “James, I –”

“It’s okay, Lily,” James says, tears in his eyes. “It’s alright, I love you, I love you.”

“Touching,” Voldemort sneers. “Unfortunately, we have other things to do than to listen to you desperate lovebirds.”

“Please,” Lily says, tears running through the dirt streaked across her cheeks, voice strained through the pressure across her neck, “please, not Harry, take me instead, please.”

She must have said it a thousand times over during their walk up to the castle, begged each one of the cold, hidden faces for the life of her son; it doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking.

The Death Eaters don’t stir. They all have their masks on, except for Bellatrix who has covered her face with manic delight instead and Narcissa with her bright head bowed at the very back, but Remus doesn’t see the one he’s always looking for. If Sirius, even masked, were among them, Remus would know him by the easy way he moves, the way his spells cut cold and precise to the others’ wicked delight. It is for the better, perhaps, that Sirius is not here; Remus wouldn’t be able to stand knowing that when faced with the choice himself Sirius would easily give Harry’s life away.

Bellatrix is the only one that reacts. “My lord,” she murmurs as she turns to Voldemort with gleaming eyes, “if the Mudblood wishes so –”

“You’re right, Bellatrix,” he says, gaze flicking towards Lily as he runs the tip of his finger down the length of his wand. “There’s no harm in a little entertainment before we go on to the next part and Nagini has not properly eaten.” His eyes, red as blood, slide to Aubrie, the Death Eaters behind him chuckling. “You,” he snaps. “Bring the Mudblood here.” A scornful glance at Lily, his face cold. “Don’t worry, I will be more merciful than I was with your dear Severus.”

Remus’s stomach turns at the remark. Snape’s body turned up months ago, mangled and tortured beyond recognition, with scores down his face and sides, his bones broken a hundred times over; it is not a high bar of mercy to clear.

“No,” James shouts, his body straining against the magical restraints, to no avail. “No, don’t hurt them, please!”

Aubrie glances at the colonnade across from her then looks back at Voldemort and nods, her expression steeled. Remus follows her gaze but there is nothing there but dust and shadows, dancing with the flickering lights.

Aubrie tightens her grip on Lily, then, when they take a step forward, stumbles over the ground and ends up pushing Lily away from her, far away from the reach of her or the other werewolves’ arms, nearly to the foot of the staircase of the side entrance, where Hogwarts’ students, pale-faced, are now beginning to gather. Lily gasps out a breath, two, and stays, heaving, on the ground.

“You imbecile!” Bellatrix screams, pointing her want at Aubrie. “Do you half-breeds know how to do anything right?”

Aubrie smiles, guilelessly, at her. “Oops,” she says, tucking her hands behind her back, the lines around her eyes and mouth cut in marble. “Stupid werewolf, me.”

Bellatrix exclaims, the curse flashing out of her wand too familiar to warrant any kind of actual words. Except a purple curse slashes through its trajectory, away from Aubrie, and the combined force of the two spells slams into a wide pillar to the side, sending up a flurry of dust and debris.

Among the surprised exclaims that break out, Bellatrix looks toward the source of the second spell and finds, as the rest of them do, a masked Sirius Black strolling out from behind the columns on the opposite side. “I would appreciate it, Bella,” he drawls, hands in his pockets, “if you didn’t break an alliance I worked for months to obtain.”

“Sirius,” James gasps out, the sound more relief than anything else if it weren’t for the hope filling it up, “Sirius, you have to –”

“Silencio,” Sirius says, flicking his wand at James, whose mouth remains open around the non-existent words and eyes wide. Marlene a few paces behind him is pressing her mouth into a pained frown. Remus doesn’t want to know what she was about to tell him back in the Great Hall or how many more seeds of hope that would now be crushed she would have planted with it.

“Sirius,” Voldemort drawls with a tilt of his head, eyes narrowed, “how wonderful of you to join us.”

Sirius, positioning himself next to Aubrie, dips his head into a quick, precursory bow. “The Hogwarts grounds are vast, my lord,” he answers, his voice muffled enough it betrays no emotion. It doesn’t make sense, any of it, his book in James’s hands or his name in James’s mouth, inflected like an orison, because there was nothing he had to gain from it if this is the side he’s chosen now. Remus has never understood him but he never thought he’d let them get so close to the brink. Not ever and especially not after they saw each other in Hogsmeade, when Remus thought a line had clearly been drawn: not Harry.

Voldemort’s face doesn’t clear but he inclines his head and moves his gaze to Aubrie. Sirius’s hand reaches behind her, to where exactly Remus can’t really see but Aubrie tilts her chin up.

Before Voldemort can exact his fury over Aubrie, however, there’s a rustle among the students and they part to the side to let a tall, thin figure steps past. His blond hair reflects reddish in the torchlight as he pauses only for a second by then moves forward. Lily pulls herself to her feet with the help of a student’s extended hand instead but when she tries to follow after, an invisible wall seems to stop her.

“Barty,” Voldemort says, echoing the name murmured among the students, teeth bared the tiniest bit in an appropriation of a smile, cold as death. “You should have been back long ago.”

Barty Crouch moves toward the crowd of Death Eaters with a sort of fluidity Remus wouldn’t expect of someone who was just addressed in such a displeased tone by Voldemort. His robes are ripped at the top of his left sleeve and his leg is dusted with white so he might have an excuse but still, Remus can’t imagine he’d be that confident. He bows before Voldemort but his eyes flick toward the glowing sphere Voldemort’s snake is floating in. “Forgive me, my lord,” he says. “I got held up.”

Voldemort considers him and the robes lying out of place. “No matter now,” he answers, waving him off, “if you found it.”

“I did, my lord,” Barty says as he straightens and pulls a pouch out of his pocket. The Death Eaters around Voldemort quiet as Barty pulls the top of the pouch open and fishes out a mangled, dull silver piece that Remus recognises to have been some sort of tiara once. “I took the liberty of taking care of it.”

There is a second of stunned silence, the tiara’s remains falling off the tip of Barty’s finger as he reaches behind him and pulls a silver dagger out instead. He turns his wrist, the torchlight glinting along the blade, flashing poison-green, and chucks it directly at Nagini.

The dagger flies through the air, its trajectory straight, and Remus knows he’s witnessing something important, something monumental, like a dice roll moments before a jackpot or bankruptcy, like a ship on top of a wave before it breaks; he holds his breath, the air in his lungs stilling before it rushes out of his lungs as the dagger hits the sphere. It bounces off and clatters to the ground, only inches away from the broken tiara. Nagini curls inside the sphere with gleaming eyes, her tongue slipping out her mouth, unharmed.

Voldemort yells, wand lashing out, and Barty flies back, arms flailing around, his shout not as surprised as it should be. Except it’s not Barty that skids across the ground several feet away; his hair has bled into black, his skin tanned and when he looks up, a wheezing sound escaping him, his features have angled into the face of Regulus Black. It takes Remus a second to recognise the sound as laughter, breathless as it is, out of sync with the sharp, emotionless face he last saw. Linsy told them but, even now, Remus doesn’t quite believe it, cannot reconcile the dawning of Regulus’s death with the man that just took a hit at Voldemort.

Across the courtyard, Sirius is indiscernible under the mask, the knot of his Adam’s apple bobbing the only sign he’s even noticed. His hands are buried deep in his pockets. Otis Shah, the leader of another werewolf pack Remus talked to what seems like years ago now, pushes to the front and keeps his steady eyes on Sirius.

“You.” Voldemort’s skin has gone paler than possible, eyes wide. Even Bellatrix is silent, left out from the stream of murmurs that rises up among the Death Eaters. “You’re dead.”

“I guess not.”

There is a short scream of pain when Voldemort points his wand at Narcissa. “Bring me that,” he orders, gesturing to the pouch fallen from Regulus’s hands. “Restrain him, Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix obeys while Narcissa steps forward, straight-backed, but picks up the pouch with unsure fingers. It seems that an aeon passes before her soft-footed steps bring her close enough to Voldemort to hand it over. As soon as she’s done so, she slinks back to Lucius’s side, her eyes passing between Regulus’s face and Sirius’s motionless form, the silver mask secured over his expression nearly the same shade as her cheeks.

The courtyard stands still as Voldemort pulls out several charred objects: a leather-bound book, a golden goblet, a ring. A moment of silence passes. Then a scream tears out of Voldemort, so violent it echoes in Remus’s bones, so cruel it turns into the only thing it could have: “Crucio.”

Regulus trashes into his standstill, body convulsing of its own accord with nowhere to run and Remus cannot stand the sight of him but it’s not a pain he’d wish on him or anyone. He is Sirius’s brother but he is more than that; he is someone who grew past him, bigger than him, who turned against Voldemort, the only thing Remus has ever wanted for Sirius to do. Remus cannot bear to look at Sirius’s reaction, if there is any at all.

Regulus stills, chest heaving. “I’ll keep the locket as a keepsake,” he says hoarsely, staring up at Voldemort with deep, Black-grey eyes. Inexplicably, Remus wishes it were someone else’s eyes proclaiming their defiance, someone else’s words drawing a line of sure-fire stance.

Someone clears their throat and everyone turns to look at the source of it. In one smooth movement, Sirius pulls off his mask and flings it onto the ground. It fractures, almost exactly down the line of the constellations, silvery bits smashing around. He has his wand pointed at Voldemort in the next split second, his face forged into single-minded determination, as familiar as coming up for air after diving down to the bottom, his simple movement an act of war for itself. “Avada Kedavra.”

Not pointed at Voldemort, Remus realises belatedly but at Nagini, still caught in the glowing sphere. He can’t imagine why killing Voldemort’s pet is so important to Sirius and Regulus but he’s willing to concede their already-questionable sanity must have chipped away by now.

A large chunk of stone flies up in front of Voldemort and Nagini and explodes into green fire, the sickly light washing over the astounded faces all around. Sirius Black, the most loyal of supporters, going against Voldemort himself. An alliance built for years, thrown away on a dime for the one person Sirius has always been most protective of: Regulus.

The explosion and the astonishment give him a few precious seconds but Sirius doesn’t use them to go to Regulus. Instead, he shouts, “Now!” and fires his next spell at Bellatrix and her manic-gleaming eyes. She was the only one who didn’t stop to gawk and whose wand summoned up the chunk of stone in front of Voldemort.

The clash of their spells, a knock of wordless curses, cutting and precise, lights up the night and through it, Remus sees Otis Shah punch the Death Eater holding Harry. His fingers break with the impact but the Death Eater pitches to the side and Otis doubles down, unflinching as his bones splinter. “Run, boy!” he yells at Harry, who lands, sprawled and scraped but ultimately unharmed, on the ground.

Sirius has taken on both Bellatrix and Voldemort in that time, not sparing a glance for Regulus trying to get out of the magic binding him or the werewolves jumping the other Death Eaters, but seems to be holding his own until his wand slashes through the air a split second before Bellatrix’s, confident in its motion, infallible in its target. Bellatrix is knocked back, gasping for air as she rolls across the ground, her wand falling away from her.

“Crucio!” The word out of Sirius’s mouth revibrates with a strength that makes Voldemort’s knees go out from under him, his mouth open in a sky-slashing scream but Sirius doesn’t keep it longer than a second. Instead, his eyes go to Nagini, then to Regulus. At the very end, they follow the small figure prickling through the battle.

Harry has picked himself up and is running across the cobbled courtyard but his short legs aren’t fast enough to get him away; Greyback, throwing off another werewolf, leaps through the air and is at his heels in a matter of moments, his sharp, yellow nails brushing over the top of Harry’s black hair, the sound of his footsteps reaching up to grab at Remus’s throat.

“Harry!” Lily’s hair is a beacon in a sea of black and brown but she might as well be across the world for Harry, separated by a mountain of danger and fire that he cannot brave alone, and he dashes away from them. “No!”

Harry ends up throwing himself into Sirius’s arms instead, from where Sirius has half-braced himself to catch him, just as Greyback lunges after him and, unable to stop his momentum, slams directly into the two of them. They go tumbling back, Sirius’s body like a shield around Harry’s as he takes the brunt of both Greyback’s force and impact with the stones. Remus’s breath catches in his throat, traitorously, stupidly, not only because it’s Harry, but because it’s Sirius’s arms that are secured around him.

The movement in the courtyard stills as the three of them end up sprawled across the ground, Greyback across Sirius’s legs, Harry’s dark head tucked against Sirius’s shoulder.

Otis crosses the few feet between them and pulls Greyback off Sirius with his good hand, aiming a kick at his stomach and another one at his ribs, leaving him gasping out. The last kick, centred directly at his face, breaks his nose and makes him go still.

Sirius’s lips are moving, the words they’re shaping inaudible, and Harry is nodding reluctantly as they slowly pick themselves up, Sirius getting his knees beneath himself. He draws himself up, his hair a halo of black and dust framing his face, arms firm around Harry, a silver ring glinting on his finger. His wand lies a few feet away, snapped in half. This is how tragedies go, Remus knows, an inevitable fall from grace, a turning point; the beginning of the fifth act, a certain bitterness in the fact that there isn’t any other way this could have ended.

A sob rips out of Lily. “Harry.”

Only a meter away from Remus, but still too far away, James’s face is drained, slashed open with grief and fear. “Please,” he murmurs, the sound dragging over Remus’s skin, skimming down his spine; suddenly, he is standing back in that Muggle town, years removed, his life going to pieces around him. “Sirius, please.”

“Sirius,” Voldemort says as he gets to his feet, batting away the offered help of a Death Eater and reaches out a hand, pale and unwavering. It’s obvious what he’s about to offer: a redemption for the havoc he wreaked, a way out of his predicament. “Bring me the boy.”

Sirius looks around, the grey of his eyes bottomless, incomprehensible with the way he’s caged his heart so fully. They flit over Otis, still standing over Greyback, stop momentarily on Regulus, now motionless on the ground but with his eyes wide open, and pass over Narcissa’s pale, pinched face; they settle on the phoenix feather stretched thin between the two halves of his wand. When he looks back at Voldemort he swallows and says, “No.”

The word hangs in the air, descending slowly upon the faces of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but it settles somewhere deep in Remus’s chest, pressing up to the shape of, That was ours, that Remus made space for so carefully in the outskirts of his heart two years ago. Harry, with James’s face and Lily’s eyes and Remus’s heart, is theirs, down to the bone; but he is Sirius’s too, his choice and his redemption.

“Give me the boy,” Voldemort says, voice a bit lower, those ruby-red eyes narrowing.

Wordlessly, Sirius nudges Harry out of his arms and behind himself, arms forming a protective brace around him as Harry clings to his back. The Death Eaters have spread out, forming a wall of bodies between the two of them and the Order and Hogwarts’ residents. Between Harry and his parents.

Sirius keeps his eyes on Voldemort but his calm and even words are only for Harry as his hands tighten on Harry’s torso. “It’s alright, pup.” He glances at Otis. “Now would be a good time to make your exit.”

“And miss all the fun?” Aubrie says loudly, grinning as she looks at Bellatrix, who’s picking up her wand off the ground, with gleaming eyes. An incline of her head and the werewolves get behind Sirius and Harry, their backs to Voldemort. Only now it becomes apparent to Remus that, trough the entirety of the battle, no werewolf looked to Voldemort for instructions. An alliance I worked for months to obtain, Sirius’s voice echoes, pushing a sudden realisation that whatever this was for Sirius it certainly wasn’t an impulsive decision if he had offered the werewolves something even Dumbledore hadn’t. “I rather think not.”

“Better future, didn’t you promise?” Otis adds, moving in line with the other werewolves. Bone sticks out from his fingers, blood pooling around. Still, the brace of his mouth is nothing but firm.

Remus’s throat burns; brave as they might be, dedicated and fierce, they will be no match for the Death Eaters once they decide to use their wands. Sirius must know it, too – that they are willing to die for this. For Harry.

“It’s waiting for you,” he says.

“Only if it’s waiting for you, too,” Aubrie shoots back. She pulls Lily’s wand from her belt and arcs it high above the heads of Death Eaters, all the way to the barrier keeping Lily and the students at bay. Lily’s fingers grapple for it.

“You, Sirius?” Voldemort asks, the soft, silky sound dragging through the air. “Not Regulus, not Severus. You.”

Sirius inclines his head. “Snape did betray you,” he says, the cadence of his voice a slow, agonising dance of death, a promise of, I won’t get out of this alive but neither will you, “but I wasn't yours to begin with.”

“Traitor!” Bellatrix hisses but the sound carries, her face white with rage, her wand pointed directly at Sirius. “I’ll kill you.”

“You can do better than that, Bella. Didn’t Aunt Walburga ever teach you?”

“No, Bellatrix.” Voldemort levels his wand at Sirius, pale hand steady. “I will do it.”

“My lord, such betrayal requires pain, he played us for fools for years –”

“He has the boy,” Voldemort cuts in smoothly, face a grimace. “I do not wish to lose more time. These dramatics have gone on long enough. Besides,” he adds slowly, “the greatest pain for him will be knowing that he leaves all the others here at my mercy.”

Sirius swallows, his eyes blinking closed for a moment, but he lifts his chin and doesn’t budge. Perhaps that’s all Sirius has left to give of himself: a last sacrifice, a declaration of love and lies and apology, laid bare on the cobblestones of Hogwarts, poured through the cracks of the ground it’s built on, raw with how final it is, fragile with the way it was for nothing at all; the act of a dying man, a reminder that even now he would rather crawl home than walk among them. Still, Remus wants to tell him, still it mattered. It will matter.

“Please,” Lily whispers, her voice hoarse. “Please, don’t – take me instead, please –”

Sirius, in his last moments, turns his eyes to Regulus, who is shaking his head in desperation, the pained sounds crawling up from his throat ripping a black, bleeding line into the meaning of devastation. “Guess even the two of us playing together wasn’t enough, huh?” he says, soft between him and his brother, something untouchable spread out in front of them, pulsing. “Désolé, Reggie.”

“This is your last chance, Sirius,” Voldemort murmurs. “No matter your motivations, you have been a good subject. See reason now and all will be forgiven.”

“Easy now, Harry,” Sirius says and Remus’s heart might rip its way out of his chest with how painfully it’s tugging, knowing that Harry is Sirius’s last thought. Harry sobs and curls closer. “It’ll be alright, little one.”

“So be it.”

The motion of Voldemort’s wand, the incantation falling from his lips, the flash of blinding green light; all of it is familiar, achingly so, and it leaves a bitter taste in the back of Remus’s mouth.

“No!” Regulus moves, breaking through the strain of magic around him, and Remus sees it as if time has slowed down; the scrambling off the ground, the desperate, rushed strides towards his brother, his hand, closing around the dip of Sirius’s shoulder, Sirius’s own hand coming up to wrap around Regulus’s fingers. Two brothers, one a Gryffindor, the other a Slytherin, different in everything but that which matters, both so brave, both so clever. Neither moving to save the other from death and take it on himself, but remaining next to each other. To die side-by-side. Together.

The light hits them – Remus can’t tell who it hits, because they are one, these brilliant boys; they are the stars they are named after, they are Blacks, with magic in every nook and cranny of their being, they are brothers, in blood and in name, in everything that they hate – and someone shouts. The world erupts in motion, rallying, wild, fierce, but Remus stays still, unable to watch, unable to look away, and wonders if he is the only one that can feel the magic, old, old magic, sizzling through the air, the taste of it pungent, its sound buzzing in his ears.

But even the Blacks, with their stories written in the stars, are mortal and when Regulus and Sirius collapse, their hands still linked, Remus thinks that the worse sound he has ever heard have to be the screams that rip out of McGonagall, out of James and Lily and Marlene. It’s not until Voldemort moves forward that Remus realises: he was screaming too.

There is no time to let the action sink in, however. The werewolves have surged forward, a tide of beaten bodies and broken spines, fighting for a future that may never come, their edge of surprise lost – the first retaliating spells cut a quarter of them down. The students follow their lead, firing off spells at random but their magic is nowhere near enough to get any of them to Harry.

“Fools,” Voldemort says and waves his wand as he steps past Sirius and Regulus’s limp bodies, towards Harry, who still stands, petrified, next to the safety Sirius tried to preserve for him. Nagini drops down from her sphere and curves her body after him. “Goes to show that even the greatest bloodlines can be tainted.”

Bellatrix points her wand at Sirius and says, “Crucio!” and Sirius’s body flails through the air, silent as only dead men can be. Her triumphant laugh echoes around the courtyard, drowns out all the other sounds in it, followed by a chorus of others’ as the werewolves continue to fall.

Only one doesn’t follow her lead and through the carnage, Remus catches sight of the blonde head bending down behind Bellatrix, the trembling hand that closes around the handle of the dagger that Regulus, minutes away from death, threw. Narcissa Black Malfoy draws herself up, eyes trained on Nagini, now freely slithering across the ground a pace behind Voldemort, toward Sirius and Regulus’s bodies, and moves. And then the end of the world comes bathed in green light.

It begins with Lily’s scream, unearthed from the deepest parts of her chest, thrown out into the world that seeks to take her son; it continues with Narcissa’s hand coming down in a quick, steady arc, with Nagini’s body convulsing and then stilling on the blood-splashed stones; it ends with Voldemort’s wand falling from his limp fingers, his body following a moment, a blink of a second, later. His vacant eyes, like the blood spilling from Nagini’s body, receive no mercy from the dark sky.

There is a moment of utter stillness, of complete silence and then Harry’s wails shoot over the entire battle, over the werewolves that push harder, over Lily and James that break free and dive for him. Remus finds himself among the ones that raise their wands against the furious onslaught of Death Eaters, the words, wasn’t enough, huh, beating out of his chest with the knowledge that it was; it was, Sirius, it was.

“What have you done?” Bellatrix half screams, half gasps out, turning on Narcissa, raising her wand towards her sister.

Narcissa has none of Bellatrix’s strong, ferocious features but she lifts her chin in the same haughty manner, the way Sirius and Regulus did, prepared to go down if that’s what it takes. “I have lost my sisters, my cousins and my husband to him,” she says, her jaw set, as she lets the dagger fall down and grabs her wand instead, pointing it directly at Bellatrix. “I will not lose my son, too.”

“Fool,” Bellatrix spits out, slashing her wand at Narcissa, who parries it with a quickness Remus wouldn’t have expected of her. It devolves into a fierce back-and-forth but Remus is forced to look away when a curse comes flashing his way.

He ducks out of the way and sends a retaliating one, pausing only for a moment to make sure it hits home. He turns and finds Otis half-heartedly ducking out of the way of white spells. While the Death Eater isn’t focused, Remus sends a Stunning Spell his way and doesn’t wait for him to hit the ground before he spins his wand on another one.

A part of Remus doesn’t want the battle to be over because when it is, there will be no way to keep the fresh memories at bay. He is nearly lost in it, in the dodge-and-shoot rhythm, when a familiar throaty shout reaches him.

“Lily!”

Heart thrumming up to his throat, Remus turns and sees, to his and James’s horror, Lily facing off against Bellatrix and deflecting a curse that would have likely finished off Narcissa, who is pressed against a column with no wand in hand. Her stance is sure, feet spread wide apart to keep her steady, and the sheer fury carved into her face gives even Remus pause. The best duellist of their generation, back on her feet, and ready to make a lasting impression.

The spells shoot out of their wands in rapid succession, far too dangerous to disturb from either side and it makes all the others pause and watch. More than once, they have to dodge out of the way of a redirected spell. Lily's sleeve darkens with her blood; Bellatrix's leg buckles every few, unsure steps.

“Is that all you have, Mudblood?” Bellatrix taunts, with none of her previous delight; her voice is full of rage and if she had had time to think about it, Remus is certain there would be grief there as well.

Lily jumps out of the way of a red streak, hair flying, and twists her arm through the air, making her wand only a blur of light wood. The purple spell hits, right over Bellatrix’s heart and she falls much like her master did: with none of the ceremony that seemed to have been reserved for her in life, the way all mortals fall.

“No,” Lily says, pushing her hair out of the way, face stripped of all anger and slowly washed by exhaustion. She crosses the space back to James, who is kneeling with Harry, and folds herself into his arms. Remus hears her murmur, “This is all I have.”

Half-lost, he steps forward to join them but a sharp cry makes him look up instead. Fawkes has appeared in the sky, gleaming gold and red, with Dumbledore holding onto his long tail. They land in the middle of the courtyard, Fawkes unharmed and Dumbledore with a charred beard but their presence seems to be enough to make the rest of the Death Eaters concede. Lucius Malfoy, kneeling by Narcissa’s side with his fingers over her cheek, is the first one to throw his wand to the ground.

The rest of the happenings seem like peculiar snapshots to Remus: the able picking up the injured, checking the dead, Dumbledore binding the Death Eaters, Fawkes bowing low over a few bodies, the werewolves slowly coming together. He can only watch, pain spiking up every time he breathes.

When everything settles like dust, McGonagall is the first one to move, limping and with dirt-smudged robes, almost toward Dumbledore until she steps past him – to Sirius and Regulus, Remus realises with a painful tug that begins in his lungs and ends somewhere around his liver. “Sirius,” she says as she drops down beside him, her hand gentle over his slack face, painted in dramatic, torchlight-falling lines: high cheekbones, arching brows, sharp jaw. Remus’s eyes burn. He thought, for a moment, that he might get to look into his eyes again and tell him – tell him something, anything, that would have crumbled away this bitter ache; now he can’t even scream. “Sirius, I’m sorry.”

The words seem too familiar for someone so far removed from Sirius, from the pain he caused and the bridges he burned. She had her fondness for them in their school years but to be so openly mourning the death of someone she must have thought was a Death Eater less than an hour ago seems – it seems –

There’s a familiar presence in his space, a gentle hand between his shoulder blades. He faces Lily, who has Harry in her arms and is looking up at him with glassy eyes. Her lips are twisted down and her eyelashes dotted with tears, the side of her face crusted with blood. Remus draws her against him, pressing his cheek to the top of her head, and hopes her warmth makes it down to all the parts of him that have frozen over.

“Hi,” he breathes when Harry reaches for him suddenly, small fingers grabbing over his shirt. He takes him from Lily and wraps his arms around him as Harry clings to him, just like he clung to Sirius. Blood soaks his fringe, pooling around the new wound across his forehead, and Remus uses his wand to Vanish it away for the time being, then draws him tighter against himself, thankful despite everything that it isn’t this small body that’s lying among the motionless ones strewn across the courtyard. “Hi, little one.”

There’s a sob behind him and he turns to see Marlene crouched down with her hands pressed across her mouth, shaking her head. Her eyes are focused on Sirius and McGonagall but she leans into Dorcas when she kneels beside her and hugs her to her chest. It’s not unlike how she was all those years ago on a cold December night, crumpled in on herself on the floor of his small apartment, begging them to tell her it’s not true. Remus’s heart wants to go out to her but it is shackled by its own pain.

James’s approach is slow, the antithesis of a man rushing to his friend’s side, desperate to find out if his heart still beats; his steps are heavy with the knowledge that no life is waiting to greet him. He folds his knees underneath himself and reaches for Sirius’s hand, his face contorted into anguish, brown skin sallow. Remus has seen the expression on his face too many times throughout war and aimed at the face beneath his even more than that. Only Sirius, Remus think with more painful humour than he feels, could have broken their hearts over and over, years after they were supposed to let him go.

“James.” McGonagall looks up at James with big eyes, her forehead creased up. Her hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist, quick enough it makes even James look at her in surprise. If it hadn’t been such a strange day all together, Remus might have thought McGonagall to have truly lost her mind. “Tell me I’m not imagining it,” she says, voice hoarse, as she brings James’s hand to Sirius’s neck and presses his fingers there.

James lets out a low, breathless sound and bows down to press the side of his face to Sirius’s chest. “It can’t be,” he whispers.

“What is it?” Marlene asks, drawing herself up, swaying on the balls of her feet. “James, what is it?”

McGonagall lets go of James and Sirius to push herself toward Regulus and feel against his neck, too. She stays silent for a few moments, chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. Then she faces back to them, her lips curved up into a near-smile. Her laugh comes out sudden and small, disbelieving and out of place among the downtrodden winners, but it makes something in Remus’s chest bloom up.

“They’re breathing.”

___

A/N: To the tumblr anon who asked me if they could write "so and so finds out about Sirius": please don't let the fact that this part of the story is done discourage you from writing the rest of your ideas. I'd still very much love to read them.

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samwise-though · 5 years

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Sabrina’s Top Ten

This is a little bit (a lot bit) out of my blog’s wheelhouse, but I ask you guys to bear with me! For one of my seminars, I have to do a Top Ten project, in which I talk about ten different things relating to Pop culture, music and/or theory. So, if you don’t want to read this, that’s fine! I’m putting the bulk of the post under the cut!! This is basically just me commenting on how weird pop culture is, and fangirling about Taylor Swift.

(Sorry Dr. Burke, you’re absolutely going to have to read about Taylor Swift, and I am realizing that after Adorno I’m incredibly cynical about popular culture now)

#1: Taylor Swift: Archive, Collecting and Identity

I think as I began this year, there was this feeling of necessity to blast off with the song “22” from @taylorswift’s album Red. All the way back in 2012 little fifteen-year-old Sabrina knew that when she turned 22, she would be playing that song All. Day. Long.

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Here’s the thing though: while yes, I did listen to “22” more than any of the other songs on Red that day, I also spent a lot of time listening to the rest of the album as well. I came to the realization that I could identify with the album better than ever. There was something so profound about the way @taylorswift captured that moment in time, in her life, and have it still remain so relatable. I spent a long time considering this, but it wasn’t until I encountered Jean Baudrillard’s The System of Objects that I really began to find a way in which to understand what was happening for me (and undoubtedly many others, considering Swift’s success). In chapter two: “A Marginal System: Collecting” Baudrillard references Maurice Rheims’ ideas of collecting for children, “For children, collecting is a rudimentary way of mastering the outside world, of arranging, classifying and manipulating”. Ultimately, collecting is a way in which we learn to form identity - and what is an album, if not literally a collection of music that in and of itself acts as an ultimate tool of identity construction? I’ve been listening to @taylorswift’s music since her official 2006 debut. That is a lot of time spent self-identifying with a musician and her music. Constructing even part of your identity from something that is a collection that is very much a large part of someone else’s identity is such a weird concept. Why do we do that?

Even more interesting though, is the fact that Taylor has said on multiple occasions, that her albums are like diary entries (not to mention the great number of other people drawing that particular comparison). Thus making each album that she has released up until this point a small archive, collecting and ordering that point in time. Either way, @taylorswift continues to find success in creating archival collections that are reflective or refractive of her own identity.

With the release of Lover and the inclusion of her diary entries as an addition to the deluxe versions of the record, it follows in the history of including controlled snippets of her life in the physical copies of her albums. From the first five albums, she included secret coded messages within the lyrics of each of the songs. In 1989, Taylor included copies of polaroids with lyrics written across the bottom of them, each numbered - so you knew you got certain ones, and not others. As well, starting from 1989 @taylorswift has also included voice memo recordings from her writing and recording sessions, so that fans can have a better understanding of her creative process.

All of these details add to the personal feeling that @taylorswift‘s albums seem to emanate. This feeling is only magnified through the additions of the diary entries in Lover (deluxe). Each album is a carefully constructed archive of @taylorswift‘s life, that her fans then go on to add to their own ‘Taylor Swift collections’ and continue to alter their identities through the new piece of the collection that she has created.

#2: The Reproducibility of Childhood

If there is anything in recent memory that should be considered with Benjamin and mass-reproducibility in mind, Disney and the company’s capitalizing on re-making all of their old animated films should be discussed.

They did this really clever marketing tactic in which they pretty much re-do the original trailer they released for the original movie, shot-for-shot with the new film footage:

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I will admit it didn’t work quite as well with the 2015 version of Cinderella, in which they altered a greater amount of the story, as compared to The Beauty and the Beast. Obviously, the trailer that has found the most success thus far with this tactic, was the most recent release of The Lion King.

What is the most intriguing thing is that Disney is embracing the past iterations of the movie, basically just repackaging the old story in (for most of the movies) live-action acting rather than animation and selling the audience very nearly the same exact thing. And not only are they very blatantly reselling the masses the same thing, but they are also saying, with these side-by-side trailer comparisons that “hey, look, we're doing this thing exactly the same way” and without question, we buy into it because it is familiar and feels of childhood. Having read Adorno’s Culture Industry Reconsidered, I feel as though we should really be taking a moment to question why we are allowing Disney to amass so much capital from movies that we have already seen. By drawing on our cultural memory of these movies that were so fundamental to many children in Western society growing up, Disney is literally monetizing our childhood memories. It is just as Adorno says, “The culture industry fuses the old and familiar into a new quality.”

While these movies get a shiny new paint job, it is still blatantly the old and familiar.

But I guess Disney has always been about capitalizing on memory.

#3: The ‘Classics’ and Aura

I have spent a lot of time over the past year, shaping my identity. I made a lot of life-changing decisions, one of which was to go to grad school. It was not a quick decision, and it more or less happened over the span of a year, during an English course I took. The class was a lecture on Victorian and Edwardian literature. I found myself really fascinated by the Victorian novels that we started the class with. When we got to Thomas Hardy’s Tess of the d’Urbervilles I was a goner.

I fell in love with Hardy’s story and my love for the Victorian and 19th-century studies only solidified further throughout the semester. However, my entire experience at the university has been plagued with serious imposter syndrome. Thoughts of how “I don’t belong here,” and that “I don’t really know what I am talking about” were the soundtrack playing in my head every single day. I was always worrying that I had grossly misunderstood the texts we were studying, my interpretations were wrong, and that I would make myself look like a fool. All of these feelings, when analyzed at a later time, were all rooted in the idea that we were studying ”The Classics,” narratives that were part of the Western Literature Canon. How could I possibly understand literature that was considered “Great”?

There is a constructed aura around the literary canon that is also extended to the place in which that canon is taught. A very elitist feeling that has been cultivated since the beginning of higher education. For me, when making the decision to continue my university education by taking the leap to apply for Grad schools, this aura only grew - to the point in which it almost feels that it will be impossible for me to get into a graduate program. It feels as though Graduate programs are meant for a specific group of people - and somehow I am evaluating myself to not fit into that group.

But what exactly is it that still continues to be such a fundamental influence over the population that University is considered elite, and those narratives should be the ones to makeup Western Literary Canon? Is the legacy of Colonialism still so etched into our ideas that we literally still believe that the novels that a bunch of white dudes agreed were good are the be-all-and-end-all of good literature?

What’s bothersome about this is, I didn’t get to start asking those sorts of questions, and experiencing a wider array of literature until I reached my upper-level seminar courses, for my honours degree.

Courses that you cannot take unless you are a part of the honours program.

Ironic isn’t it? The elitist aura can only be questioned from well within the elitist institution.

#4: The Avengers: [Streaming]Game

Marvel’s first cycle has now come to an end with Avengers: Endgame. It’s odd to think just how emotionally attached the fans (myself included) have become to the superheroes that, many of which will not be returning after this installment in the Avengers franchise.

(Loki Gif included because bae deserved better - and a TV show that I have to pay for absolutely does not make up for it)

Marvel is now going to capitalize on certain character deaths (see above), by giving them TV series and prequel movies to help entice the masses that have been so invested in their stories up to this point in the cinematic universe. The problem is, though, any character receiving a show, it will only be aired on the Disney + streaming service.

The Disney + streaming service comes long after Netflix, Hulu, Amazon Prime and other streaming services have already established themselves. The issue that arises out of this system of individual streaming platforms, is that subscribers have to either subscribe to every new platform that arises or else to pick an choose which content they are willing to not have access to. It's a ridiculous system, and it will make it nearly impossible to have conversations with those around you because it should be a safe assumption at this point - ad if not now, certainly in the near future, that no, they probably haven’t watched it, because they don’t have access to it.

This is obviously just a new way to control the products that companies produce. But it also brings to mind Benjamin and his ideas regarding mass production (”Work of Art”). Has the aura of the film been diminished because of the sort of re-producibility that come out of easy access (watching it any time you want), or, has there been a new mutated aura created for these films and tv shows because of the lack of access people may have to multiple platforms?

I guess we got what we wanted, easier way to access the tv shows and the movies we love, but at the cost of having to choose where we are willing to spend our money. It's a very Adornian thought, in that we wanted something, it was produced to the best possible economic value for the companies creating them, and then we continue to buy into the product.

#5: Sparknotes and Memes

If you have a twitter account, and like literature, you should really check out SparkNotes’ twitter account.

They have become more and more popular over the last few years due to their use of the relatable internet language we know as memes. They, of course, are not the first company to engage with their users in such a way, many companies have been using social media to brand themselves in a very personable (and personified) way.

By doing this, they are making themselves appear more accessible to today’s youth, who are primarily influenced by what they see and interact with on the internet.

There is something less sinister about SparkNotes utilizing the internet and memes to direct themselves to the younger audience - they are after all an educational aid group in which they are providing texts in more manageable and understandable terms.

Other companies, however, like fast-food restaurants who utilize social media as though they are an individual rather than a company... That is quite a bit more insidious.

#6: Concert Movies

I want to return to music once again. But not in the traditional sense. I want to discuss concert movies.

youtube

There is something so weird about concert movies! They seem to exist in a separate space from actually attending a concert with live music and listening to the album. There is something very artificial in the sense that most of the time it feels very engineered, because of camera cuts and camera changes, and the difference in going from a front-row perspective to the camera shot cutting away to a wide shot so that the stadium is in full view. But then it also fulfils its purpose as “live music”. There is this sense in which it feels like you can’t look away, in case you miss something, even though you can pause it!

It is a heavily controlled, or perhaps, curated experience. Realistically, there are so many different cameras that are recording the same moments, that in post-production they are able to choose the best possible moments to cut together to provide to the viewers (I avoid the word audience here, because there is, in fact, a physical audience that we as viewers of the movie, are separated from).

I looked into the history of concert movies, and a quick google search led me to Pink Floyd: Live at Pompeii a concert movie in which Pink Floyd played a short set of songs to no audience and recorded it.

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Which is an odd concept, especially when you think about how it inspired other artists to film concerts.

That they played.

To no one.

I could see with Pink Floyd it being more of an artistic venture, but more recent concert movies like: Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience, Reputation Stadium Tour and Justin Timberlake + the Tennessee Kids all are more framed as giving the viewers the opportunity to experience the show, but still having them remain apart from it. Some of these concert movies feel as though they were produced to allow those who did not have the opportunity to attend the show in person the chance to experience what that might have been like, others are made with the intent to give the viewer a little bit more of the backstage/behind the scenes experience. What all of them have in common, however, is the opportunity for the artists to profit once again off of the shows that they have already played.

Whatever the purpose is behind the movies being produced, they all are this weird experience of not-actually-being-there and knowing exactly what it would have been like to have attended.

#7: Instagram: Curating the Self (Definitely inspired by Sophia’s Presentation)

The Instagrams of popular artists are heavily curated to really emphasize their brands (”that’s very on-brand for you”), and who they are trying to portray themselves as. I feel as though no one really does this better than @taylorswift.

Shortly before she released reputation she wiped her Insta clean and started sharing gifs of different parts of a snake - a motif that she fully embraced for that particular era in her career. It was a practice she embraced again, leading up to the release of the first single of Lover. While she didn’t wipe her Instagram clean again, she did lead up to the release with little hints and teaser images that were all very inspired by the colour scheme and feel of the new album:

If you look at any artist’s Insta account you will find at least some of this curatorial work.

This brings us once again, back to the class on collecting, archiving and how collecting plays into identity construction. Each artist is curating their identity that they want to show the world (not unlike the discussion that we had involving Lana Del Rey and the front that she presents to the world, instead of her true self).

The work that goes into the Instagram account is mirrored in every public appearance, every show they play, and every interview they give. It is an odd concept when considering it in regards to the artist, but it becomes even weirder when we consider it in terms of just everyday people. We curate our lives on social media platforms to present ourselves in the best way possible. And we don’t have millions of people watching us while we do. Perhaps the hope is that the ideal that we portray could someday be reached, and that's why we continue to collect the images and videos to construct the ideal identity for ourselves.

While my life certainly isn’t very glamorous, I definitely do at least some curatorial work on my own Insta.

#8: Nostalgic Television

There has been a resurgence in the love of some older series like Friends and Gilmore Girls through the access to the full series on streaming platforms. Some of these shows have not aged very well (see: a good deal of Friends’ jokes), but the love for them continues anyway.

Recently, tv shows such as those named above, have been branded as “nostalgic television” and has been slated to be psychologically beneficial to help with anxiety.

But why do we remain so attached to TV shows such as these? Well, supposedly, just like the way we are drawn to watching the remakes of Disney’s movies as I mentioned earlier, it reminds us of our childhoods:

Will Meyerhofer, a New York-based psychotherapist and author, says watching our favourite old shows can be a useful tool for dealing with anxiety and mild depression.

"For my clients, these old shows are like the food they grew up with. 'The Brady Bunch' or 'The Facts of Life' or 'The Jeffersons' is like that beloved baloney sandwich on Wonder Bread with just enough mayo the way mom used to make,” he told TODAY.

A recent Facebook post on The Mighty health community got hundreds of responses to the question: "What TV show from your childhood would you want to marathon-watch on a bad flare day?" The answers ranged from "The Waltons" to "Barney Miller."

That's because television from yesteryear can make us feel safe and secure in a world that feels increasingly chaotic.

“In therapy terms, it's an instant — and for the most part healthy — regression in the service of the ego,” Meyerhofer said, adding that he unwinds with old episodes of "Star Trek: The Next Generation.”

We long for a time when we felt safer, less stressed and when we were able to really enjoy the things we liked. TV shows that we watched as we were growing up provide us with the nostalgic fulfillment that we need to feel happy - even if it is just for the length of a thirty-minute Friends episode.

#9: Screen TIme

Something I noticed when I was watching Reputation Stadium Tour... for research... there was very few people who were actually just watching the show. There were many screens visible in the crowd at all times.

Something that has become very prevalent in concert culture, is that you don’t actually experience the concert first hand, you view it through your phone screen, as you record.

It is something that I have noticed myself doing, and have set the limitation of only allowing myself to record two songs out of the entire concert.

By viewing the concert through the recording, the actual experience of the concert is altered, and even though you are standing there in the room, you are participating at a distance, rather than being involved in the moment.

The need to record and to photograph, I would argue, comes out of the feeling of necessity to archive and sort every memory that we have. Concerts are special occasions and we don’t want to forget them - and if we don’t have a video or photo, did it really happen? We need to archive every moment so that we can go back to it later and remember how great it was.

But how great was it really if you were staring at your phone screen the entire time?

#10: The Rise of KPop in Canada and the US

There seems to have been a shift lately in Western popular culture in which Kpop (Korean Popular Music) is now being considered more mainstream.

Groups like BTS have found success on Western pop charts, their collaboration with Halsey, Boy with Luv, peaked at #10 on Billboard’s hot 100. Other Korean groups like Blackpink and Twice are also making a name for themselves on Western pop music charts.

What is interesting is that Kpop doesn’t really follow the same frame that most of the Western pop does. A lot of Kpop seems to be more dance-influenced, thus influencing the music stylistically and opening a lot more interesting opportunities for music videos.

Kpop is something different and separate from what Western Pop is comfortable with, and what influence it will have on the framework of the norm will be very interesting to see. I do wonder what Joshua Clover would have to say about Kpop groups and their involvement in popular music, and whether or not he would classify them in with the “Abject, feminized, and inauthentic: *NSYNC, Backstreet Boys, and Britney Spears...[who] dominate the list of best first-week sales”(103). There is, after all, something about the rhythm-based and often synthesized melodies that are prominent in Kpop that feels like a call-back to boy bands and pop stars of the late 90′s and early 00′s

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Well, that is it for my top ten! If you made it to the end, and are not my Prof [who does have to read it all the way to the end - Hi Dr. Burke! You made it! ] Thanks for reading!!

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raccoonwritings · 5 years

Note

In your bio it says you take prompts, now this is kinda a basic idea but: Eliott and Lucas goes to Party and Eliott gets really drunk and starts flirting with Lucas even though they are already together.

I do take prompts and I really loved this one so I wrote about both Elliot getting drunk and Lucas getting crossed.

Both are under the cut!

Elliot

Lucas makes sure to ask his boyfriend before they head to thepregame if drinking on his meds is safe. He trusts him when he says he’s alreadytalked to his doctors and they’ve approved drinking every once and a while,just as long as he takes all his medications in the morning and doesn’t drink toomuch too frequently. Lucas doesn’t think that’s too unreasonable and so whenthey reach the pregame an hour later, he doesn’t stop his boyfriend from takinga beer or two out of the fridge in rapid succession. He decides it’s best if hedoesn’t drink, though, just in case Eliott gets sick and he needs his strengthto carry his much taller boyfriend’s drunk ass back to his apartment. He canstill have a great time without alcohol.

The pregame doesn’t last long before the entire group headsto a party at Emma’s, Eliott’s hand firmly planted in his as they walk thestreets. Their friends are walking ahead of them, shouting and laughing andencouraging them to move their asses. Hecould see Eliott was slightly buzzed and grinning wildly, and there hasn’t beenanything to cause concern yet, so Lucas watches quietly while he grabs anotherbeer or two or three.

Almost two hours into the party, Lucas is standing in thekitchen with his friends, laughing and scoffing at the inappropriateness of Basile’scomments about girls, which have gotten better over the course of the past fewmonths, with Eliott’s help. He nurses his first and only beer of the evening andlistens to the boys drone on and on about their mediocre sex lives, while he knowshe’s got it good. A loud noise calls his attention to the entrance to thekitchen, where Eliott is propped up on the door frame. He’s noticeably drunkand goofy smiling at Lucas before appearing to sober up, at least a little bit,and strut over to his boyfriend.

“Hey, handsome,” he says, the smell of alcohol on his tongue.Lucas only realizes what’s happening what Eliott smoothing leans against thecounter next to him, a move he has noticed many guys do with him. Eliott’sdrunk ass was flirting with him.

“Hey,” Lucas responses with a pop of his eyebrows. The boysmust be noticing what’s happening because they promptly make an excuse to leavethe kitchen to let Lucas deal with his shitfaced boyfriend. Or maybe theywanted Lucas to get some action, who knows.

“You know, you’re quite the looker,” Eliott compliments andruns a hand through Lucas’ hair.

“Oh, really, tell me more,” he inquires a bit sarcastically,seeming throwing Eliott off his game.

“First, babe, you have to tell me if you came here withanyone,” he requires casually, while his hand comes up to cup Lucas’ cheek.

He moves his face closer to Eliott’s, so that their lips arealmost touching. “Yeah, I did.” He gives him sex eyes, but Eliott doesn’t seemto get the message, because he removes his hand from Lucas’ cheek and takes asmall step back.

“Oh, like your boyfriend?” Eliott slurs slightly.

Lucas snorts. “Yeah, I did. He’s pretty cute, too.” Lucas smilesup at his boyfriend, whose face falls almost instantly.

“Oh okay!” His tone is forced excitement. “I’m just gonna gothen.” Before Lucas realizes it, his boyfriend has left him standing in thekitchen all by himself, dumbfounded. What just happened? He was flirting withEliott, calling him cute and he just walked away? Lucas knows he isn’t understandingsomething, so he goes in search of his very drunk boyfriend.

It takes him a few minutes to weave his way through the crowdsof people dancing, kissing, grinding. He doesn’t see Eliott anywhere in theliving room or dining room and he doubts he could make his way up the stairswith all the alcohol in his system, so Lucas decides the best option would be toscope out the rooms on the other side of the first floor.

The first room he peeks into is a spare bedroom and he findsa couple making out half naked and quickly removes himself from the areabecause he has not desire to see a girl naked. Like ever. The second room islocked, so the option is crossed from Lucas’ list and he heads towards the bathroomat the end of the hall when he hears familiar voices.

“Eliott, what’s going on?” A voice asks. Lucas knows within secondsit’s Imane.

“I j-just, I saw this really c-cute boy standing in thekitchen with his friends, and I went o-over to talk to him and he’s so much cuterup close, Imane, he really is. I’m p-pretty sure he’s the love of my life. B-buthe came here with someone, his b-boyfriend, and he looked so h-happy when hetalked about him. He has this really sweet s-smile, b-but, he’s taken and I can’thave him. He’s never gonna smile about me, Imane.” Eliott was crying hard, andLucas was so incredibly endeared by the fact that his boyfriend was so enamoredby him, even after a year of dating, that he wanted to be the one Lucas wassmiling about. His heart grew several sizes hearing about how crazy Eliott isabout him. His boyfriend is, without a doubt, the sweetest person in the entireworld, Lucas knows this. The only thing about the situation Lucas hates is thatEliott is crying this hard and his boyfriend sensors are up and at attention.He needs to make it stop.

“Eliott, I think you might hav-” Imane cuts herself off whenshe sees Lucas enter the bathroom. Lucas didn’t realize that the rest of thegirls were in the bathroom with Eliott as well. He gives them all a smile.

“Hey,” he says, glancing around the room at everyone. Henotices that Eliott is too busy crying to look at him. His heart breaks andpieces itself back together.

“Hi Lucas!” Daphy exclaims and Eliott looks at him.

“Even his name is c-cute,” Eliott whispers through his tears.Holy hell. Lucas loves him so much.

“Wanna take over here?” Imane inquires, knowing Lucas isgoing to be the only one to settle the crying boy down.

“Yeah, I’ll take over. Thanks girls.” He switches placeswith Imane, who was standing in front of Eliott, and watches all the girls fileout. He starts talking when the door closes.

“Hey handsome, why are you so upset?” Lucas looks at hisboyfriend with a gentle smile on his face.

“Don’t call me h-handsome. You have a boyfriend. That’s whyI’m upset.” Eliott snuffles and boy, Lucas wants to just wrap him up in hisarms and hold him there forever.

“You’re right, I do. He’s one of the sweetest people I knowand I’m completely head over heels in love with him.” Lucas leans up to coverEliott’s cheeks with his hands and wipe away the tears streaming down the loveof his life’s cheeks with his thumbs.

“I’m r-really happy for you, I p-promise, but you s-should prollygo. He might get upset that you’re in here with another guy.”

Lucas giggles softly, “I think this is exactly where hewould want me to be actually. In a bathroom at a house party, taking care ofhis boyfriend’s drunk ass.” His voice is so sincere, and love oozes out of him,especially when Eliott’s eyes snap up and meet his. He hates how Eliott’sbeautiful blue eyes become so overtaken by redness when he cries. He hates whenEliott cries and would give absolutely anything in this universe to make itstop.

“What to do you-” Eliott starts, but gets interrupted byLucas, who pulls Eliott’s face close to his and rubs their noses together.

“You’re my boyfriend, you absolute ninny. That smile you sawin the kitchen was about you. Those smiles are almost always about you. You’remy everything and I’m never gonna let up on the fact that you flirted with methinking that we weren’t together. Just to inform you, we’ve been dating justover a year, and if you think I’ve ever letting you go, you’re ridiculous andmost likely drunk.” Lucas finishes, winded and out of breath and so, so inlove. Eliott is smiling something big and lopsided and Lucas stands up on histippy toes to kiss his boyfriend, who tastes like alcohol and tears, but it’sstill the best kiss in the world because it’s with his boyfriend.

They pull apart and Eliott just stares at him. “I’m so luckyand really drunk, I’m gonna throw up now.” Lucas processes all the words asquick as he can, but not quick enough to avoid Eliott throwing up all over hisshoes. God, he really loves him. He ignores the vomit on his feet and helps hisboyfriend to the toilet, slowly rubbing his back while he heaves into the whiteceramic shitter.

Yeah, he may be a great party with throw up on his sneakersand a drunk boyfriend throwing up into the toilet, but there’s no place he’drather be.

Lucas

“No, no, guys. Him!” Lucas is pointing in the direction of a very tall, very handsome stranger standing in the corner of the crowded living room.

Yann is making sure he knows who Lucas is pointing to. “Him, Lucas?”

“Nooooo! The tall, dark, mysterious one in the black leather jacket!” Lucas whines incredulously. He hears Arthur and Basile snickering and he does know quite why, but honestly he doesn’t care. He has his sights set on that boy and he was going to get him.

“Oh, you mean Eliott?” Yann asks Lucas, seemingly knowing everything.

Eliott. What a cute name. How has he not met him yet? Wow, Lucas is smitten before he even meets him. He has to meet him like yesterday. He slurps down the rest of his beer. “I’m gonna go flirt him up!” He hops up from the couch, noticing Yann’s smug expression.

“Yeah? Gonna go flirt him up?” Yann smiles then holds his drink up to his lips.

“Yeah, Lucas, go get him!” Arthur laughs and gives him a reassuring pat on the back. Basile gives him two thumbs up and Lucas is good to go. He’s totally got this in the bag.

When he looks to find Eliott, he’s disappeared, presumably into the kitchen, because Lucas hears what he assumes is his voice. It’s the only beautiful one he’s heard all night. He follows the sound and finds Eliott leaning up against the counter, chatting with an objectively pretty girl. No, absolutely not. He will not allow this girl to flirt with his future man. He rudely interrupts their conversation and finds that he doesn’t really care.

“Hey, sweet thang.” In retrospect, not the smoothest thing he could say, but he’s intoxicated, so he’s not exactly thinking with the most clarity.

Eliott turns to him and he wants those eyes on him all the time, all day everyday. He eyes Lucas up like a piece of candy and the look sends signals straight down south.

“Hey babe,” his smooth voice almost makes Lucas’ eyes bulge out of his head. His ears are melting and his heart stutters at the ‘babe’.

Time to turn up the charm. “You come here often?” That’s one of his best lines, he knows.

Eliott raises his eyebrows, and smiles. “All the time babe, don’t know how I could’ve missed a pretty face like yours.” Fuck, this guy was good.

“Guess you’re not observant then, cause I’m here all the time, handsome.” The last word was involuntary. Sometimes his brain adds unnecessary words to his sentences. He doesn’t appreciate it.

“Aw do you think I’m handsome?” Eliott giggles and gives Lucas a big smile. The smile is mesmerizing.

“Mhmm very pretty,” he blurts out, but doesn’t bother to feel embarrassed. He does hear something behind him though, and when he turns he sees his friends standing there nearly shitting their pants with laughter. What’s so funny? He frowns. He’s just trying to get some from a cute guy.

“Why the frown?” Eliott looks at him curiously and with concern. He’s just about to tell him why when the thought occurs to him that he doesn’t even know if Eliott is single. He can’t flirt with a taken man, he doesn’t roll that way.

“Are you here with anyone?” Lucas’ eyes bore into Eliott’s. Eliott stands there for a minute too long and Lucas is dreading the answer.

“Nah, babe,” Eliott is speaking and there are hands settling on his ass, pulling him forward and positioning him right in between Eliott’s legs, “I’m all yours.” The last words are whispered into his ear right before he feels Eliott nibble on his earlobe. Lucas lays his palms on Eliott’s chest and leans into him. The nibbling on his ear stops, “mhmm babe, are you crossed? You reek of weed and booze.”

Lucas ducks his head and suddenly feels the need to pull away, but when he does, the hands on his ass keep him right in that spot. “I may have smoked and drank a bit. I get it if you don’t want to hookup with me.” The hands apply pressure, and Lucas gasps. One of them peel off and take Lucas’ hand, guiding it towards his crotch, which Lucas feels is big and hard. Fuck.

“You have no idea how much I want you. Can you feel it?” Eliott makes Lucas’ hand cup the tent in his jeans and his thoughts are running rampant. Eliott wants him. This has to be a dream. Lucas hopes it never ends. “I just want to make sure you want this.”

Lucas thinks his head may snap from how fast he nods his head. “Please.” It comes out way more whiny than Lucas intends, but he doesn’t care. The next thing is feels is Eliott’s tongue in his mouth and he sighs obscenely. There’s another noise behind him, but he doesn’t bother to look or be concerned with it. Whatever it is, it isn’t bothering them.

They continue like that for a few minutes, with Eliott eventually pressing him up against the counter and grinding up on him before Lucas takes a pause. “Baby, what’s wrong?” Eliott asks, brushing a piece of hair from Lucas’ fallen quiff out of his face. Everytime Eliott calls him a variation of ‘baby’, he can feel his cheeks flush.

“I’m a little tired,” Lucas says, playing nervously with the zipper on Eliott’s hoodie, “can we go back to your place?” he briefly glances up and can only see fondness on the boy’s face.

“Of course cutie. Let me get my coat.” Lucas nods and Eliott jogs off in search of his jacket. When he does return, he smiles at Lucas and puts an arm around his waist with the purpose of steadying him, but Lucas just thinks it’s because Eliott wants his hand there, which isn’t entirely untrue.

They leave the party, not even bothering to say goodbye to the boys, because Lucas is going to a hot guy’s house and there are way more important things to think about. He can feel Eliott’s hand in his and enjoys the walk thoroughly, despite it being slightly chilly out. Scratch that, it’s very chilly, but that might be because Lucas isn’t wearing a jacket or any outerwear at all, really. He must of left it at home or back at the party, maybe? Oh well, it doesn’t matter now, except Eliott seems to notice it.

“Are you cold, babe? Would you like my jacket?” Lucas hates saying yes, but he’s very cold so he nods shallowly. Eliott smiles as he shrugs his jacket off and holds it out for Lucas to slip his arms through. The first thing he notices about the jacket is that Eliott is big. Either that or he just enjoys oversized clothing because Lucas is actually swimming in it, but he doesn’t care. He’s warm and cozy and honestly a bit sleepy. His yawn signals that to Eliott, who inquires about it and when Lucas agrees that yes, he is just a bit tired because it’s late and he’s very intoxicated, Eliott takes it upon himself to scoop Lucas up bridal style and carry him the rest of the way to the apartment.

Lucas must have fallen asleep somewhere between where they were when Eliott gave him his jacket and Eliott’s apartment because he wakes up in a cozy bed under blankets and no jacket. Eliott isn’t here, but he can hear movement in the bathroom and assumes that’s him. When he enters his bedroom, Lucas’ mouth waters a little bit. He’s shirtless, and in just boxers, and Lucas wants to keep eyeing him up and maybe even jump him like a tree, but his eyelids are competing with that desire.

“Hi baby, how are you?” Eliott says, noticing he’s awake when he crawls underneath the covers with Lucas.

“Mhm good. Cuddle me?” He asks, not a shred of shame evident in his voice.

Eliott does so immediately. Soon, Lucas is warm because of body heat and blankets and snuggles into his chest, falling asleep easily and resolving to definitely asking Eliott out on a date when he wakes up.

The next morning, he awakens in the clothes he wore to the party last night and with a pounding headache. His boyfriend pulls him closer and snuggles into the crook of his neck so he can sleepily make fun of Lucas forgetting that they were dating. Lucas denies that ridiculousness, because how in the world could he ever forget that he was dating Eliott? Well, thanks to Yann, Eliott now has video proof and will not be letting Lucas forget this for a long time.

#prompts

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jade4813 · 5 years

Note

I love your fanfics so much. The way you write makes me feel like I really am experiencing what the POV character is. I wish I could write like that. Do you have any tips for aspiring writers?

Nonnie, thank you so much! I actually do have some tips. Just stuff that’s helped me over the years.

1) Remember that even the best writers weren’t born that way. The absolute best writers had to get there. They had to practice their writing. They have to go through editing processes. Nobody ever gets the sudden desire to write, sits down, and writes War and Peace - or even Harry Potter - on the first try, with no need for editing or rewrites or polishing. It’s a process of gradual improvement. A lot of what you write, especially at the beginning, is going to suck in your opinion. And that’s okay! You have to suck a little to figure out why you think it sucks to figure out how to make it better! Seriously, you love my writing now, but believe me when I say that before “Year of a Relationship” (the first real story I posted online) were over a hundred really, really bad stories that nobody ever read but me.

2) Read a lot. Not only is it the best way to get a sense of voice and flow and plot structure, but it also is a great way to analyze writing without the pressure on yourself of self-critique. Find a story you know really well. Find your favorite part of it. Why is it your favorite? Why does that speak to you? Then take a step back and take a critical look at how it’s constructed, how the author used their words to create something you really loved. (It is also very useful to do this with writing that annoys you. You can analyze what you consider “bad” writing and it tells you a lot about what pitfalls to avoid.)

3) Embrace the thing in your writing that you hate the most. When you find something you think you “suck” at, it’s easy to try to avoid it. But that’s what you have to embrace and push yourself to improve. When I first started writing, my dialogue was…whoo. Let me tell you. I have a friend who I tried to write a story with, very early on in my writing career. She has since become a writer herself. We still call each other sometimes to remind each other of just how unimaginably bad our dialogue used to be. Seriously. So painful. But you can’t always write stories with no dialogue, so we forced ourselves to write dialogue. Lots of dialogue. Endless streams of dialogue. And we eventually got better. (But that first attempt was…wow. Seriously. You wouldn’t believe. So. Bad.)

Every time I find something I’m less comfortable with writing, I force myself to write it more. It started with dialogue. Then it went to character perspective. Chapter stories. Humor. And, most recently, NC-17. I’d written NC-17 stories before but I was never comfortable with that aspect of my writing. I didn’t think it was very good. So, recently, I’ve forced myself to write a lot more NC-17. It’s the only way I’m going to learn how to improve.

4) Remember that even the writers you love still think there are things that they are trying to improve. There are things they still think they suck at. (Or times they think their writing just sucks in general.) So if you look at your writing and compare it to others and think, “Oh, my stuff is so much worse than theirs,” or even “they do this type of thing better than I do” then remember that every writer feels that way. It’s okay! Just don’t let that feeling stop you from writing.

5) If you’re really feeling like there’s a certain area of your writing that you need to improve but doesn’t seem to get better no matter how hard you try, be creative about ways you can tackle them. You can always ask for feedback from readers. I wrote before I wrote fanfiction, but fanfiction is where I learned to write. Because it’s where I learned what worked and what didn’t and where I got feedback and support I needed to be better.

Constructing a Scene: Having problems even knowing how to construct a scene? When I first started writing, way back when, my friends and I did something we called “storylining.” We created characters based off ourselves. (I know self-inserts or “Mary Sues” get a lot of flack and at a certain point, they should. But when you’re just learning to write, go ahead and create a character loosely based on you! Learning how to write is hard enough if you break it down into chunks. If you’re trying to figure out narrative structure and how to even relate a plot, you don’t need to add an extra burden of characterization and finding a different “voice.” Figure out how to structure a plot with a character you don’t have to think about. When you get that down, you can move into more complex and dynamic characters.) Then we’d figure out what kind of scene we wanted to do and we’d “storyline it.” It was a cross between improvisational acting and writing. We’d play the characters and act out the scene - and since we were all doing it, it didn’t take long before we lost our self-consciousness. Not only did that help figure out how scenes are constructed but because none of us could dictate what the others did with their characters, it was phenomenal practice for those moments when you’re writing and “this scene was supposed to just have Barry talking to Iris and amping up the tension a little bit but now they’re having sex against the door when it was just supposed to be a kiss and oh my god what are you guys doing this isn’t at all what I had planned?!?!?!?!?!?!?!” (As an author, you’d think you are in control of what the characters do. You would be so incredibly wrong.) Plus it was just fun.

Dialogue: Dialogue is one of those things you just have to do. You have to listen and write. For something most people do practically every day, I found it surprisingly difficult to learn how to write dialogue that sounded like something humans would actually say. What helps when you’re starting is just to write the dialogue and then read it out loud. By yourself or with a (supportive) friend. Did it sound natural or jilted? If it sounded jilted, how would you say what you just wrote? Even if that’s not in the voice of the character, the first step is to just make it sound like something that a human being would actually say. Then you can ask yourself if it sounds like something that character would say and tweak it until you can hear those words in that character’s voice in your mind. But even if you miss that, if your reader isn’t left wondering why your dialogue sounds like two aliens trying to approximate human speech (unless that’s what you’re going for), you’ve at least kept them in the story.

Also, reading it out loud will catch some absurdities that even professional writers sometimes do. Like having two characters engaged in conversation in a room with nobody else around say each other’s names every two lines. (”Iris, what do you want for dinner?” “I don’t know, Barry. What about you?” “How about pizza, Iris?” “Barry, I don’t know. How about tacos?” “I had tacos for lunch, Iris. How about Thai?” “Thai sounds good, Barry…” Seriously. Read that out loud and see if you don’t want to scream.) Just skimming the story, you won’t necessarily catch that you’ve done it. But if you read the dialogue out loud, you might notice how ridiculous that sounds. Of course Barry’s talking to Iris! They’re the only two people in the room! Who else would he be talking to? McSnurtle? Iris knows her name! She doesn’t need him to say it! (Seriously, think about the number of times in one-on-one conversation that you’ve ever said the name of the person you were talking to. It just isn’t something people tend to do in everyday life.”

Fleshing Out the Character/Scene/World: Once you’ve gotten the basics down, you can tackle more complex issues in writing. Take a romantic scene between Barry and Iris. On a basic level, you can have them say that they love each other (and there’s nothing wrong with that, particularly when you’re learning to write!). But at some point, you’ll want to set the scene in a way that gives the reader a complete sense of their love for each other that goes beyond words. It’s not just Barry and Iris saying “I love you” but the two of them sitting together on the couch, relaxing after a long and stressful day. Her curled up against his shoulder, Barry playing with Iris’s wedding band as they link fingers together. How you convey that they love each other without needing them to say it.

It’s another thing that takes a lot of practice. But a lot of that starts with just observing - other people and yourself. One way I learned how to do it was to just watch people in public. When I was at a restaurant or a park or a food court or anywhere that I could take a few moments to do so, I’d watch a person or couple or group across the room - far enough away that I specifically couldn’t hear their conversation. What relationship did I think they had to each other? What mood did I think they were in? And specifically what made me think that?

Of course, a lot of that is visual, but don’t forget the other senses. Someone who’s rushing down the sidewalk because they’re late to work is going to be visibly distressed. Their steps are going to be brisk. If they’re wearing a long coat or a dress, the fabric of those items of clothing may be whipping around their legs from the force of those steps. But there are other things going on, too. They may be muttering under their voice. If they’re in heels, maybe their footsteps are louder because they’re walking forcefully as they lengthen their stride. Or you don’t hear their heels at all because they’ve lifted their weight onto their toes, ready to break into a jog at any second. All of that adds to painting the scene.

And there are some things you have to observe about yourself. Have you ever gotten so scared that you could taste your own fear? What did that taste like? Or when you got scared, did you shut down, your brain unable to process what was going on? What was that like? Have you ever gotten so angry that you could swear you could hear the blood rush in your ears? If not, what have you noticed about what you do, taste, hear, etc. when you’re angry? How would you describe that to other people?

It takes a lot of practice. If you don’t know where to begin (when you get to that point), pick a type of sentence or scene you might set using an adverb. For example, “Barry saw Barry look sadly out the window.” Then break it apart. What does she see that makes her think that he’s sad? Are his shoulders drooped? Head bowed? Eyes filled with tears? Does she hear his heavy sigh? Why does she think he’s sad?

If he’s anxious, how does she know? Is he unable to sit still? Moving his legs restlessly? Tapping his fingers on the tabletop? Running his hands through his hair? Biting his lip? Breathing fast? Are his words quick and running together? Is she having a hard time catching his eye? All of that will set the scene.

Anyway, those are the writing tips I thought of off the top of my head! I hope they helped a little, at least!

#writing tips

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jooheongif · 6 years

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it's theory anon,hi!!how are YOU?i'm really good rn thanks:)) thank you for your kindness again,i'm really happy i could somehow help to help you feel even a tiny bit better and hope you're doing well now,too(and it's ok to not rest on your day off but it's also ok to do so if that's what you feel is right for you atm!).about the mf(ilm), i thought the same thing, it felt like a parallel universe type of story!i also really love plotlines about friendship, (again cont.i'll try to be briefer!)

(i’m so sorry i wrote a rly long reply so i’m gonna put this under read more !!)

2. friendship is beautiful and i feel oftentimes underappreciated(but not mx!there they go again being amazing) so i love the concept. personally i like not knowing what exactly the producers were thinking because having my own interpretation of something and seeing other ppl have their own fills me with wonder,like,that's art!so many people think so many different things and no one's wrong i love it!!your thoughts about them appreciating everything they've done so far,you're absolutely right(cont) 3. i hope they are able to bc everything's so hectic for the.i get lost just looking at their official schedule,i don't know how they do it but i also hope they are aware of all these things bc those are all mindblowingly huge accomplishments in my opinion and i just want them to feel like their hard work is worth it,yknow?(is this comprehensible?)and i know they feel pressure because as you said the business is nasty but yea i hope at the end of the day they can feel like (cont.???again 4. everything they've put so much of themselves into is worth it,i love their energy and fierce determination and i just don't want them to lose it but maybe as you said feel less pressured..but then the only way would realistically be to make sure they get awarded in the Real World so we're all doing our best in the system&hating it as you said:/ they just mean so much to so many people i want them to feel that too!i try to contain myself but here i go again! sorry it's so long AND i have more(con 5. also!thank you for your big reply and sharing your thoughts i mostly just agreed with (but you're right so what else can i do),i don't have mbb friends to vent to and fanperson(is there a gender neutral term for fanboy/fangirl?) over mx with and this is really nice and fulfilling(again,if i'm boring you,you can just delete the messages and not reply!) so THANKS!it's great to strive to be a better person but i feel like one(you) should also acknowledge the good things they're already doing(cont?) 6. you showed such pure kindness and really melted someone's(my) heart and that's a Big Deal!djkghddgwe can agree that we both inspired each other :') also please i feel like you're such a wonderful soul and you really deserve every bit of gratitude and appreciation i managed to express(i feel a lot moreprobably) so!yeah!reminder that you're lovely and deserve to be appreciated and i'm also very,very happy you're here!you made my day brighter for the 2nd time now wow!thanks! i hope you and(cont.:() 7. your gorgeous heart are taking good care and enjoying your day/night! and this cb!i really like it i haven't had time to listen to the entire album but jealousy!is a bop honestly it's my type of jam and the choreo is stunning and so are their voices!iwas so skeptical about the lyrics(they could've been like hero or stuck and those made me a bit >:/ honestly) but i really should've known they wouldn't fail me in any way ever!i can't wait to hear the rest of the songs i hope you enjoy them too!bye

hi theory anon, it's nice to hear from u again ! firstly, i am so sorry for the slow reply to this ! but im rly glad to know that u are doing good :-) i'm doing ok too thank u !! how are u ? kfjjfdsjfdf sorry that u had to read my tags but thank u for saying that !! i just feel so guilty when i do nothing bc im absolutely terrified of time passing too quickly ? just the thought of letting a few minutes go to waste is overwhelming ? even though i know it's not rational to think like this but ??? theres just this constant feeling that im running out of time so i try to get rid of it by always doing smth ?? and feel bad when i dont ? idk ?? but anyway im working on it and ill be ok ! sorry..not to be dramatic and tmi and all that kjdfdj istg this blog gives me too much freedom to say...too much :( (hope the internet folks that collect metadata never read the garbage i write bc..yikes they aren't gonna hav the best time) anyway..yea. what a paragraph to start off this reply :( sorry for the honesty and saying so much all the time btw :( not that being honest is necessarily a bad thing but ! idk every time i write smth i suddenly feel extra self conscious and feel like deleting it bc im rly embarrassed and always end up having big regret later when i reread anything ive typed up !! but i just keep writing them anyway bc...idk ?? i'd rly hate it if someone got discouraged from sharing their thoughts/worries/feelings which i think is a rly important human thing :( so yea im rly embarrassed w anything i write but i'll keep doing it anyway bc i'm all for that kind of stuff and sometimes i know its not easy and it takes someone a lot to share that and its a good thing and i dont ever want anyone to feel discouraged from doing that ! anyway i just felt like i rly needed to say all of this..but pls dont feel obliged to reply to this mess !! anyway back to mx ! you are right :( i also hope mx feel like what they've done is worth smth w/e their definition or standard of that is :( like.. all of the hard work they've put into being mx it certainly means so much to fans but i hope all the hard work they've put into being mx also means smth to them at the end of the day and they are happy w what they're doing and what they've achieved so far :( and yes we'd love mx to always be rewarded in the real world :( though we love them and we want to get them a win, i know that everyone has their commitments, means and different circumstances and we can only do so much :( but even if u think its just a small contribution, everything adds up and counts and i know that all mbb hav contributed in some way in helping them get another win for this cb ! there are some mbb who can't buy albums or streaming passes and things and i hope they don't feel bad for this :( even if all you can do is watch the mv once or twice, even if you could only vote, i hope you know that it all counts and matters !! abt mx's schedule, i get tired just by looking at their weekly one idk how they can even put up w it all ?? after this they'll hav their japanese album and things and then they'll have their concerts and on top of all that apparently [some of them are also studying] ????? they are so hardworking :( HOW do they do it !! just..thinking abt their schedule is overwhelming !!! also pls dont think that you're boring me or anything like that :( im so thankful for any msg i receive and the fact that u actually took the time to type out smth to send to me ?? im so grateful ?? u are never boring !! honestly even if u sent me a stainless steel dishwasher manual w the page length of like..23 bibles, i'd still love u for it and i'd prob read all of it :( btw thank u sm for saying all those kind things !!! receiving kindness for the 3rd time is rly !!!!!!! and once again i've done nothing to deserve it :( i dont even know what i can say to you that will ever be enough to thank u again or to top what u hav already said ! if there was like a...maslows hierarchy of kindness of smth, ur at the very top of that triangle and anything i say will never be as kind as what you have said !! for you, i can agree that we both inspired each other :-) but really thank u so much from the bottom of my heart :( i hope you know how kind and lovely u are too ! if nobody told u this today, i wanted to say that im rly grateful to know u and i'm happy that you're here !! thank u again for being so kind and thoughtful and for making me smile !! :( same, i havent properly listened to the whole album either bc ive just been letting it stream in the background (but i dont count that as a proper listen unless i listen w headphones tbh) ill give it a good listen one day ! also im a repeat 1 kind of garbage person until i feel the need to listen to a new song ?? and rn jealousy to me is a song that gets better w every listen ??? shes too powerful atm :( one day ill listen to another song but today is not that day ! Actually.....I think jealousy is my fav mx song ???? before this cb i didnt hav a fav bc i couldnt pick the song i liked most out of blue moon/blind/fighter/incomparable. i was just gonna base it off the one w the most play count out of those 4 but now i know its jealousy ! what are ur fav mx songs ?? btw i know im always saying that anything mx releases is always a masterpiece no matter what, but in all seriousness its ok if u didn't like smth they released. i don't think it makes u any less of a mbb if u didn't enjoy a certain release or if u only liked one aspect of a thing but not so much the rest of the thing. anyway not to sound so...stale and commonplace but for lack of a better word/sentence, at the end of the day your own reactions and feelings to a piece of art like music...it's all just subjective isnt it ?? not liking that thing doesnt mean that its not a masterpiece or its any less of a masterpiece to someone else either so !! it's ok !! anyway this is rly....ive written a lot and its all over the place and incoherent probably :( i'm sorry !! feel free to reply whenever u feel like it, or no pressure on never replying at all btw ! also feel free to disagree w anything i say ! thank u sm for talking to me abt mx bc ive also got no mbb friends so !!! thank you :( theres so many times where i rly want to start a conversation w someone but im too scared and also i've got no clue abt how to initiate conversation ! and the times when i do manage to...i get stuck on how to keep the conversation going ? but when i figure smth out then im coming for u @ friendship !! i hope u had a good weekend and that you got some rest and that ur doing ok wherever u are !! until next time, take care ❤️❤️❤️

#how did i..even end up writing so much im so sorry :-(#and sorry that this is all over the place !!#i hope i didn't go on too much of a tangent :(#ask #theory anon #Anonymous

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