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aidanzamiri · a month ago
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The Great Indoors (2021) Horace Page Central Saint Martins MA Collection 2021 Photography by Aidan Zamiri Fashion by Horace Page
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maniacalmarauders · 4 months ago
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"One spring afternoon I discovered a bowl on my desk with just a few inches of clear water in it. And floating on the surface was a flower petal. As I watched, it sank. Just before it reached the bottom, it was transformed into a wee fish. It was beautiful magic, wondrous to behold. The flower petal had come from a lily. Your mother."
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batmansymbol · 2 years ago
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relistening to half-blood prince. it’s always been my least favorite of the series by far, but you know what, here in the dismal twilight of my mid-twenties, i’m realizing there is something great about jkr writing an entire harry potter book about how much she hates networking events.
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the-meme-monarch · 3 years ago
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I got r e a l l y into the play I’m doing in theatre so at popular request (ie @ellagracesu’s request) I’m uploading my drawings and headcanons of the characters here! It’s called Midnight Club! a monster spoof of The Breakfast Club
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sublimeclod-blog · 3 years ago
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Finished comic page 2
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she-writes-with-kisses · 3 months ago
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Enoch O’Connor - Quiet
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Masterpost of Masterlists
Miss Peregrine’s Home For Peculiar Children Masterlist
I left the comfort of the library, making my way across the house to my destination as the whispers from the other inhabitants made me curious.
the"who's she?" I heard a voice ask as I scurried across the hallway, books piled in my arms.
"her? oh that’s (y/n)" I heard Olive say before I disappeared again, realizing I forgot a book.
"whats her peculiarity?" I heard again and I jogged back to the library, darting into their vision again.
"you'd have to ask her yourself" she said before waving to me, causing me to pause, the large books carrying a comforting weight in my hands.
"hi" I whispered to the red head, nodding my head as I glanced at her and the newbie she was with before dashing away.
"hey Enoch" I spoke quietly as I entered his room, placing the books down in the small corner where a small pile of cushions sat piled  with a blanket.
"hey (y/n)" he murmured, twisters in his hand and a mix-matched doll in his other.
I took a seat in the pillows, crossing my legs as I picked up the blanket, pulling it over my legs as I picked up one of the books I grabbed from the library.
"what the book this time?" he asked after a moment, his eyes not not straying from his work.
"The Picture Of Dorian Grey" I answered absent mindedly my eyes scanning the first page before we fell back into our normal silence, the old record player spinning in the background, the sound of Mozart drifting in through the air.
everyday was like this.
music playing in the silence as we sat, just enjoying each others presence.
he didn't mind that I didn't like to speak to loud in fear of my peculiarity, and I didn't mind the hearts in jars that came with his peculiarity.
I could talk to Enoch without fearing my voice. he listened closely so I didn't have to speak up.
"did you see the new peculiar?" I whispered after a while, catching his attention as his head snapped towards to me.
"new peculiar?" he questioned and I looked up from my book.
"well I assume he's a new peculiar. Olive was showing him around while I was in the library." I explained.
he just huffed before glancing at the door, probably to make sure Olive didn't bring the newbie to his workspace and room.
"he asked about my peculiarity" I add and his head snapped towards me.
"did she say anything?" he asked, his voice hurried and protective.
"she just said he'd have to ask me himself" I shrugged before turning to my book again.
"not if I can help it" he muttered under his breath and I smiled softly at my friend.
we fell back into silence as the others outside screamed with excitement and joy, like every day.
voices began to drift in through the door, instead of the window and I shrunk into my little pillow haven, to avoid being seen.
"what now" I heard Enoch hiss as he dropped his little clay doll onto the table, the noise distracting him from his work.
"and this is Enoch's space." Olive's voice began to say as footsteps got closer.
"Who's Enoch?" I heard the boy's voice from before.
"Enoch's well.... he's Enoch" I heard Olive say before they entered the room.
"Hey Enoch" Olive waved before walking further into the room, towards me.
"Hey Olive" I smiled softly to the redheaded girl.
"hey (y/n)" she smiled taking note of the book in my hands.
"Dorian grey today?" she asked and I nodded.
"Who's this?" Enoch interrupted, glaring at the new peculiar as he moved closer to me.
"this is Jake-" Olive began as I glanced at the new peculiar's eyes and it dawned on me.
"Abe's descendant, isn't he?" I asked, barely a whisper and she nodded.
"you knew my my grandfather?" he asked and I nodded.
"yeah, I did" I answered and he took a step closer to me, only to be blocked by Enoch.
'whats your-" he begin before Enoch cut him off, looking at Olive.
"Have you introduced him to Emma or Horace yet?" he asked and she nodded.
"then we should head to dinner then" Enoch raised an eyebrow before  grabbing a few books from my pile as I stood up, collecting the rest.
"come on" he muttered, walking behind me as we walked out.
we walked up to the library in silence.
"whats wrong?" I asked after a while as we just entered the library.
"he was asking questions" he huffed and I smiled at him, trying not to laugh.
"he's new, I remember I asked questions on my first day" I smiled and he shook his head, dropping the books on the table, where tomorrow I would inevitably collect them from again.
"but you weren't annoying" he disregarded my defense.
"I'm sure some people found me annoying" I sighed and he shook his head.
"no one did. you listened to Millard about his book, you helped Horace with the nightmares, the girls absolutely adored you and you helped Fiona in the garden and Hugh with the bees so they like you" he answered and I shook my head.
"I'm sure it wasn't like that" I argued and he shook his head, walking over to me and pulled me into a hug the second I had put down the books I had been carrying.
"are you truly okay Enoch?" I asked, wrapping my arms around his body, feeling his arms holding as if to make sure I was there.
"I just don't want him to bother you" he mumbled into my hair and I let out a small giggle.
"I doubt he'll get very far" I answered and he just hugged me tighter, pressing a kiss against my forehead.
"not if I can help it" he responded before letting me go, leaving his hands on my arms as he looked me in the eyes.
"hey, you'd tell me if he bothered you right?" he asked, glancing as I nodded, smiling softly.
"come on its almost six" I grabbed a hold of his hand and we walked out of the room, towards the dining room just as Miss Peregrine called out to us, summoning every child to here, like a mother would summon her children.
and in a way that's exactly what Miss Peregrine was to us.
"there you are (y/n), Enoch!" she exclaimed, moving around to us, quickly pushing us to the two empty seats.
"we were only dropping the books off at the library Miss Peregrine" I smiled up at our mother figure before she smiled at us.
"and which book did you dive into today?" she asked as we took a seat.
"The Picture Of Dorian Grey" I smiled and with that all questions were directed to Jake, asking everything they could.
Enoch and I continued to hold hands under the table and I tried not to laugh at Jake's bewildered expression as he tried to answer.
dinner was a rather loud affair, words rattling between glasses as Jake tried to ask his own questions.
"wait a second I have one question. I know everyone's peculiarity except one person" he began and everyone tenses up.
"well Millard how is your book going?" Enoch tried to derail the conversation but it was to late.
"(y/n), whats your peculiarity?" he asked and I frowned.
"stop bugging her" Enoch commanded and silence fell upon us.
"Enoch, I might as well tell him, he'll find out anyways" I explained softly.
he let go of my hand, crossing his arms as he pouted.
"I can create sonic booms when i scream, it's the reason why I talk quietly" I answered quietly and we all sat quietly, tension rising higher then it was before.
"oh" I heard him say and I dropped my head.
"there's a comic about a hero with that power" he said and my head snapped up to look at him.
"really?" I asked quietly and he nodded.
"her name is Black Canary, she's really popular actually" he explained and I smiled.
"thank  you for telling me Jake" I smiled softly and with that we sat in silence, finishing our food quickly before we all shuffled into the  movie room, to watch the dreams Horace dreamed up.
Enoch quickly followed me into the room, taking a seat on one of the couch, grabbing my hand and tugging me down in front of him, pulling me close to him as he glared at Jake.
"you okay?" he murmured into my ear and I glanced up at him, nodding.
"I'm just glad he didn't expect a demonstration" I smiled a little before turning back to the projected image.
Enoch only smiled down at me, holding me close as his hand rested on my own, tangling our fingers together as he pressed a kiss against my head.
moments like this were frequent here, and it was often the other children would  witness this sort of affection between both Enoch and I.
but it was always moments like this that made me know that Enoch would always be there to protect me.
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acertainidontknowwhat · 2 months ago
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I find it extremely frustrating that several classicists/ancient historians who have made brilliant observations about a text or have come up with deeply thought-provoking ideas still regurgitate seemingly awful interpretations. Gareth Schmeling – who is probably the foremost authority of Petronius, he wrote a 700 page commentary on the Satyrica – still sees the Satyrica as engaging in the tamest form of satire and only at the expense of the lowest sorts of people in Roman society, thus defanging Petronius. If anything, according to Schmeling (and Costas Panayotakis as well, another Petronian scholar) Petronius sees himself as ascending to the heights of Horace and Vergil through the Satyrica. I find that idea perplexing because Petronius seems to profane Augustan authors through his parody of their works. I don't think Petronius necessarily is aiming for a place alongside Vergil and Horace. I think Petronius wouldn't mind a place next to Ovid though, another writer who can be called silly if one takes a shallow look at him, but contains such depth underneath.
I was thinking about this because on a podcast I was listening to the historian Lindsay Powell mentioned Cleopatra's abandonment of Mark Antony at the battle of Actium, which is still a popular line even though it is complete BS. Antony and Cleopatra knew they couldn't win that navel battle: they were outnumbered, soldiers and commanders had been defecting to Octavian, and they had been under a blockade for some time. Antony and Cleopatra both fled so they could possibly fight another day on more favorable terms. But here we have an esteemed historian continuing to reinforce what is essentially ancient Roman propaganda.
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rapturerecords · 17 days ago
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Going well on the way into the new ‘20s for this year in the store window, I’ve managed to secure of a couple of mysterious floating televisions with some help from the Little Sisters. They seem to enjoy them very much; though the reception gives something to be desired, almost like tuning into a dream. You can just about make out the tune in the background as "My Heart Belongs to Daddy".
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You know what they say about sitting too close to the TV set.
As always, we’ll take this time to remember Patti Page, singer of “Doggie in the Window” who also passed away on New Year’s Day.
See if your favorite record, 8-track, cassette, wax cylinder, or transcription disc was featured this year:
BioShock
“Bei Mir Bist du Schön” - Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 1562
“Bei Mir Bist du Schön” - Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23605 (reissue)
“It’s Bad for Me” - Rosemary Clooney and Benny Goodman - Columbia Records 40616
“Papa Loves Mambo” - Perry Como - RCA Victor Records 20-5857
“20th Century Blues” - Noël Coward - Columbia Records ML 5163
“The Party’s Over Now” (1959) - Noël Coward - Columbia Records ML 5163
“Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams” - Bing Crosby - Victor Records 22701
“Beyond the Sea” - Bobby Darin - ATCO Records 45-6158
“Night and Day” - Billie Holiday - Columbia Records 3044 (reissue)
“The Best Things in Life are Free” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 24327
“If I Didn’t Care” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 2286
“Danny Boy” - Mario Lanza - The Magic of Mario Lanza - Heartland Music HL 1046/50
Anniversary Revisits: 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019
“(How Much is That) Doggie in the Window” (1966) - Patti Page - Columbia Records CS 9326 (in-game version)
“The Doggie in the Window” (1953) - Patti Page - Mercury Records 70070 (original version)
“You’re the Top” (1934) - Cole Porter - Victor Records 24766 (original version)
“La Mer” - Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Grappelli - Djangology RCA RGP-1186 (reissue)
Cohen’s Quadtych: “Academy Award” vs. “The Ballroom Waltz”
“Academy Award” - Stanley Black - Music De Wolfe DW/LP 2977
“Too Young” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1449
“Just Walking in the Rain” - Johnnie Ray - Columbia Records 40729
“Waltz of the Flowers”
Looking for BioShock’s Django Reinhardt
BioShock's Soundtrack Timeline Quirks and Hiccups
BioShock 2
“Ten Cents a Dance” - Ruth Etting - Columbia Records 2146D
“Dawn of a New Day” - Horace Heidt and his Musical Knights - Brunswick Records 8313
“It’s Only a Paper Moon” - Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23425
BioShock 10th Anniversary Revisit and Eclipse
“Someone’s Rocking My Dream Boat” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 4045
“We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3379
“I’m Making Believe” - Ink Spots with Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
“Bei Mir Bist du Schon” - Benny Goodman with Martha Tilton - The Famous 1938 Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert - Columbia Records ML 4359
Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogey Man“ - Henry Hall and his Orchestra with Val Rosing - Columbia Records FB 2816
“Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640
“You Always Hurt the One You Love” - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 18599
“Paper Doll” - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 18318
“Dream” - The Pied Pipers - Capitol Records 185
“Chasing Shadows” - Quintette du Hot Club de France - Royale Records 1798
“Nightmare” (1938) - Artie Shaw - Bluebird Records B-7875 (in-game version)
“Nightmare” (1937) - Art Shaw and his New Music - Vocalion Records 4306 (re-recording)
“Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” - Bessie Smith - Parlophone Records R2481
Father’s Day in Rapture
“Daddy Won’t You Please Come Home” - Annette Hanshaw - Velvet Tone Records 1940V
“My Heart Belongs to Daddy” - Mary Martin - Brunswick Records 8282
“Daddy’s Little Girl” (1976) - Mills Brothers - Ranwood Records R-8152 (in-game version)
“Daddy’s Little Girl” (1950) - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 24872 (original version)
BioShock Infinite
"Ain't She Sweet" - Ben Bernie - Brunswick Records 3444
"Button Up Your Overcoat" - Helen Kane - Victor Records 21863
"(What Do We Do on a) Dew-Dew-Dewey Day" - Charles Kaley - Columbia Records 1055D
"Indian Love Call" - Sigmund Krumgold - Okeh Records 40904
"Me and My Shadow" - Sam Lanin - Lincoln Records 2628
"Black Gal" - Ed Lewis with unidentified prisoners (recorded by Alan Lomax)
"I'm Wild About That Thing" - Bessie Smith - Columbia Records 14427D
"Makin' Whoopee!" - Rudy Vallée - Harmony Records 825-H
The Cylinders of BioShock Infinite
"Shine On, Harvest Moon" - Ada Jones and Billy Murray - Edison Standard Record 10134
"The Bonnie Blue Flag" - Polk Miller - Edison Blue Amberol Record 2175
"After You've Gone"
"The Easy Winners"
"Solace - A Mexican Serenade"
“Just a Closer Walk with Thee” - Elizabeth’s version
“Just a Closer Walk with Thee” - Selah Jubilee Singers - Decca Records 7872
“The Grand Old Rag” - Billy Murray - Victor Records 4634
Albert Fink's Magical Melodies Presents: "God Only Knows"
“Ah! La femme il n’y que ça“ - Mon. A. Fertinel - Improved Berliner Gramophone Record 1148
“God Only Knows” - The Beach Boys - Capitol Records 5706
"Fortunate Son" - Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fantasy Records 634
Burial at Sea
Episode 1
The Complete Records Behind the Music
"Midnight, The Stars and You" - Al Bowlly - Victor Records 24700
"She's Got You" - Patsy Cline - Decca Records 31354
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" - Johnny Mathis - Columbia Records 40784
"The Lady is a Tramp" - Mel Tormé - London American Recordings HL N.8305
"Tonight for Sure!" - Ruth Wallis - Wallis Original Record Corp. 2001
"Stranger in Paradise"
Episode 2
The Complete Records Behind the Music
"Back in Baby's Arms" - Patsy Cline - Decca Records 31483
"Easy to Love" - Sammy Davis Jr. - Starring Sammy Davis Jr. Decca Records DL 8118
"Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" - Glenn Miller - Bluebird Records B-11474
"La Vie en Rose" - Édith Piaf - Columbia Records 4004-F
“La Vie en Rose” (English version) - Édith Piaf - Columbia Records 38948
“La Vie en Rose” in 2007′s BioShock
"The Great Pretender" - The Platters - Mercury Records 70753
"You Belong to Me"
Classic Fallouts
"A Kiss to Build a Dream On" - Louis Armstrong - Decca Records 27720
"Slave to the Blues" - Ma Rainey - Paramount Records 12332
Fallout 3 (Galaxy News Radio)
"Civilization" - Andrews Sisters and Danny Kaye - Decca Records 23940
“Butcher Pete (Part 1)” - Roy Brown - De-Luxe Records 3301
“Rhythm for You” - composed by Eddy Christiani & Frans Poptie - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 40
“‘Way Back Home” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Happy Times” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Dear Hearts and Gentle People” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Crazy He Calls Me” - Billie Holiday - Decca Records 24796
"I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3987
"Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall" - Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
“Swing Doors” - composed by Allan Gray - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 37
“Jazzy Interlude” - composed by Billy Munn - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 37
“Boogie Man” - composed by Sid Phillips - KP Music Recorded Library KP048B
“Treadin’ Light” - composed by Sid Phillips - KP Music Recorded Library KP048A
"Anything Goes" (1934) - Cole Porter - Victor Records 24825 (original version)
“I'm Tickled Pink” - composed by Jack Shaindlin - Cinemusic Inc. CMR 406
Galaxy News Radio soundtrack LP
Fallout: New Vegas (Radio New Vegas, Mojave Music Radio, Black Mountain Radio)
"It's a Sin" - Eddy Arnold - RCA Victor Records 10-2241
"Jingle Jangle Jingle" (1942) - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36604(in-game version)
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1962) - Kay Kyser's Former Orchestra - Capitol Records ST 1692 (re-recording)
“It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” (1979) - Ink Spots (Bill Kenny) - CBS Special Products P 18042 (in-game version)
“It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” (1941) - Ink Spots - Decca Records (original version)
“Heartaches by the Number” (1983) - Guy Mitchell - Candlelite Records CU 188LP (in-game version)
“Heartaches by the Number” (1959) - Guy Mitchell - Columbia Records 4-41476 (original version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1950) - Peggy Lee with the Dave Barbour Quartet- Peggy Lee’s Greatest - Camay Records CA 3003 (in-game version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right (Get Me Some Money Too)” (1947) - Peggy Lee - Rendezvous with Peggy Lee - Capitol Records 10118 (re-recording)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1942) - Peggy Lee with Benny Goodman and his Orchestra - Columbia Records 36652 (re-recording)
“Joe Cool” - composed by Nino Nardino - A Sam Fox Production SF1007
“Joe Cool” - composed by Nino Nardino - A Sam Fox Production SF1007
“Blues for You” - composed by Philippe Parès (aka Gabriel Parès) - A Sam Fox Production SF1012
"Big Iron" - Marty Robbins - Columbia Records 4-41589
“Blue Moon” - Frank Sinatra - Sinatra’s Swingin’ Session! - Capitol Records W1491
“Jazz Blues” - composed by Gerhard Trede - CBS Records EZ Cue Library CBS EZQ 172
“Roundhouse Rock” (1970) - Bert Weedon - Fontana Records 6007 012
“Orange Colored Sky” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1184
Fallout 4 (Diamond City Radio)
“Butcher Pete (Part 2)” - Roy Brown - De-Luxe Records 3301
“Orange Colored Sky” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1184
“Pistol-Packin’ Mama - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“The Wanderer” - Dion - Laurie Records 3115
“Sixty-Minute Man - The Dominoes - Federal Records 12022
“Atom Bomb Baby” - The Five Stars - Kernel Records A002
“It’s All Over But the Crying” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 24286
“Grandma Plays the Numbers” - Wynonie Harris - King Records 4276
“Personality” - Johnny Mercer - Capitol Records 230
"The End of the World” - Patti Page - Say Wonderful Things - Columbia Records CS 8849
Fallout 76 (Appalachia Radio)
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” - The Beach Boys - Capitol Records 5706
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1962) - Kay Kyser's Former Orchestra - Capitol Records ST 1692 (in-game version)
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1942) - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640 (original version)
"We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)" - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3379
“Sixteen Tons” - Tennessee Ernie Ford - Capitol Records 3262
Guardians of the Galaxy
"I'm Not in Love" - 10cc - Mercury Records (Phonogram) 73678 (abridged)
"Fooled Around and Fell in Love" - Elvin Bishop - Capricorn Records CPS 0252 (abridged)
“Spirit in the Sky” - Norman Greenbaum - Reprise Records 0885
“Escape (The Piña Colada Song) - Rupert Holmes - Infinity Records INF 50.035
"Hooked on a Feeling" - Blue Swede - EMI Records 3627
"I Want You Back" - The Jackson 5 - Motown Records M 1157
"Go All the Way" - Raspberries - Capitol Records 3348
"Come and Get Your Love" - Redbone - Epic Records 5-11035
L.A. Noire (KTI Radio)
“Pistol-Packin’ Mama” - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“Stone Cold Dead in the Market” - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan - Decca Records 23546
"Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall" - Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
"Manteca" - Dizzy Gillespie - RCA Victor Records 20-3023
"Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens" - Louis Jordan - Decca Records 23741
"Red Silk Stockings and Green Perfume" - Sammy Kaye - RCA Victor Records 20-2251
“Black and Blue” - Frankie Laine - Mercury Records A-1026
"'Murder', He Says" - Dinah Shore - RCA Victor Records 20-1525
"Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette) - Tex Williams - Capitol Records Americana Series 40001
“Hey! Ba-Ba-Re-Bop” - Lionel Hampton - Decca Records 18754
Mafia II (Empire Central Radio, Delta Radio)
“Everybody Eats When They Come to My House” - Cab Calloway - Columbia Records 38171
"Sh-Boom" - The Crew-Cuts - Mercury Records 70404
“Victory Polka” - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“Why Do Fools Fall in Love”- Frankie Lymon - Gee Records GG-1002
"Honey Love" - The Drifters - Atlantic Records 1029
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640
“Why Don’t You Do Right (Get Me Some Money Too)” (1947) - Peggy Lee - Rendezvous with Peggy Lee - Capitol Records 10118 (re-recording)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1950) - Peggy Lee with the Dave Barbour Quartet- Peggy Lee’s Greatest - Camay Records CA 3003 (in-game version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1942) - Peggy Lee with Benny Goodman and his Orchestra - Columbia Records 36652 (re-recording)
"A Guy is a Guy” - Doris Day - Columbia Records 39673
Destroy All Humans!
"Sh-Boom" - The Crew-Cuts - Mercury Records 70404
XCOM The Bureau Declassified (KNOV Radio)
“Runaway” - Del Shannon - Big Top Records 45-3067
“Who’s Sorry Now” - Connie Francis - MGM Records 975 (57-S-622)
"Smack Dab in the Middle" - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 29511
“Riders in the Sky” - Vaughn Monroe - RCA Victor 20-3411
"Man of Mystery" - The Shadows - Columbia Records 45-DB 4530
“I’ll Never Get Out of this World Alive” - Hank Williams - MGM Records 11366
See the previous years’ lists here:
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
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why-i-love-comics · 4 years ago
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Tusker info page
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biggest-stupidhead · 3 months ago
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Black Tea and Cigarettes
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AN: Uh yeah so this is a lil something I’ve been working on for a month now and I’m finally ready to post it hehe. I have it bad rn for Emma Stone, specifically her Cruella. 
Summery: You take a new job for the aspiring fashion designer Cruella de Vil. She promises trouble and you can bet that she’ll deliver......
Word Count: 2.5 K 
Warnings: none yet ;) 
_________
The city was buzzing as of late, shops were filled with hushed whispers, newspapers filled with the hottest gossip about the uproar in the fashion world. You scowled down at the paper past the rim of your cup, truthfully you didn’t care much for gossip. But this story had captured your eye, or rather the large picture that had been slapped on the front page. A young woman standing before the gates of the Hellman Hall, she held a cane in one hand and the leash to the Baroness’ iconic Dalmatians in the other. The headline read: 
Cruella claims fortune after the arrest of the Baroness
You clicked your tongue and flipped the page to read the story. At your feet, your Doberman shifted and rested her head on your thigh. You reached down and stroked her silky fur comfortingly and she sighed contently. 
“Such a mess.” You muttered as you scanned through the pages upon pages that the paper had devoted to the gossip. 
“How could anyone do such a thing?” You asked as you read through the section that covered all of the charges that were being filed against the Baroness. You had known that she was an awful woman, you had attended some of her events in the past for your work. But never would you have guessed that she was capable of murder. You pushed your cup of coffee away, having lost the little appetite you had left. You tossed some euros on the table and left the paper, wanting nothing more to do with it. 
You took your time on your walk back, mulling over the situation in your head. You assumed that your colleague, Roger would be involved in the case, seeing that he had spent a good chunk of his career working for the Baroness. You wondered if he would receive any charges due to his involvement, it seemed that Cruella was still hungry for more, and you figured it was not beneath her to sue all parties. 
Shit, you would if you were her. Your steps faltered, parked on the street right in front of your building was Cadillac de Vil, with two men leaning on the hood. In the back, you could see the Dalmatians as well as two other dogs. 
“Morning madame.” The larger of the two men tipped his hat to you and Nike, your dog let out a low growl. 
“Good morning…” You answered wearily as you tightened your grip on the leash. 
“May we borrow you for a moment?” The thinner man asked and you shuffled your feet nervously. 
“What’s the occasion?” You asked smoothly, surprising yourself with how well you masked your anxiousness. 
“My name is Jasper, this here is my… erm colleague Horace.” Jasper steered the conversation away from your question, which only made you more uneasy. 
“What business do you have with me?” You remained persistent, and he chuckled tensely. 
“Why don’t we take this conversation inside.” Jasper gestured towards your townhouse and you inhaled sharply. You weren’t eager to let these strangers into your home, and Nike clearly felt the same, her hackles stood on end and her lip was curled into a snarl. 
“Well, I would hate for you to leave your dogs in the car…” You gestured towards the dogs in the back seat and they both turned to follow your gaze. 
“We’ll bring ‘em along.” Horace reasoned with a shrug. You sighed, you should’ve just flat out declined and gone about your day, but you were curious. So you motioned for them to follow you in. Horace opened the door and the dogs poured out in a mess of fur and wagging tails. Nike took a few steps back, bumping into your thigh as she lifted her face away from the wire-haired mutt that was eagerly kissing her chin. 
“Down Buddy, that ain’t how ya greet a lady.” Horace scolded and the brown dog relented, you led them up the stairs and inserted your key, pushing into the building. The dogs eagerly flooded into your parlor and began sniffing about, tails wagging and ears cocked. You released Nike and she immediately began sniffing the other dogs and following them with a watchful eye. 
“Pretty dog you got there.” Jasper complimented and you offered him a curt smile. 
“Thanks. Now, tell me what this is about.” You said, peeling the leather gloves off of your hands and slapping them down on the coffee table. Horace sank onto your couch, making himself at home, Jasper shot him a scathing look but said nothing. 
“We’ve been sent here on the behalf of Cruella de Vil  and Roger Radcliffe. Cruella is trying to put a legal team together and Roger strongly recommended you.” Jasper said and you let out a bark of laughter. 
“Roger? That old fool?” You asked around your laughter. 
“Yes?” Jasper looked thrown off by your amusement. 
“He just doesn’t want to go in alone, surely. What could Cruella possibly offer me that my firm doesn’t already give me?” You asked, sinking into your armchair,  crossing your legs, and smoothing out your trousers. 
“Well, surely it would be more exciting, never a dull moment with Cruella,” Jasper added the last bit under his breath and you quirked a brow. 
“I can’t say that I’m sold.” You leaned back in the seat, eyes cold and locked on the lanky man. 
“Well, how about this, come in for lunch. We can discuss the position in greater detail than alongside Roger. Sound good?” Jasper seemed a bit desperate and you wondered what he would be coming back to if he failed to recruit you. 
“I suppose.” you shrugged, it wasn’t as if you had anything better to do. To your left Horace let out a sharp gasp, Nike had gotten onto the couch, her ears pushed forward and her chocolate eyes trained onto the man before her. 
“And bring your dog.” Jasper said, pointing at Nike who’s head turned at the mention of “dog”. 
“Why? So Cruella can make a coat out of her?” You joked and Jasper’s face paled. 
“She would never-”
“I was joking.” You dismissed him, standing quickly and motioning towards the door. 
“Let’s go then.” You ushered the large group out of your house, grabbing your gloves and Nike’s leash on your way out. As you tugged the gloves on Horace held the door open, allowing the dogs to scramble into the back seat. Nike looked up at you with wide eyes as if asking if she really had to sit in the back with the strange dogs. You smiled at her and patted her side before guiding her into the back of the car. Once she was in Horace climbed in, squeezing in the middle of all of the dogs, leaving you to sit up front with Jasper. 
__
You had never been to Hellman Hall, but you had heard stories. Most people claimed it to be haunted by the precious Baron, and now people said that the poor woman the Baroness pushed off of the cliff also roamed the halls. Logically, you assumed that this also meant that the young Estella also lurked on the grounds, trapped for all of eternity. The thought caused a shiver to wrack your body, hoping that this was all in your head. As the car pulled up the drive, you saw the grave, the grass just beginning to grow over the exposed dirt. 
The building seemed to be cast in a fog, surely it had to do with the sea below, but still, it made the property look very eerie. You leaned forward in your seat, craning your neck for a better view of the towering mansion. 
“Impressive innit.” Horace boasted proudly from the back and you hummed in agreement. 
Jasper parked the car and rounded the car to open your door for you, and then pushed the seat forward to let Horace and the dogs loose. You snagged Nike by her collar and clipped her leash on before she could run. You followed Jasper up the elegant staircase and inside the massive front doors. Maids and butlers were bustling about, scrubbing the marble floors and preening the vases of flowers. A bald man greeted you, his eyes were soft yet you could see the weariness in them. 
“Miss (L/n), welcome. May I take your coat?” He asked and you hesitated, but ultimately slipped out of the coat and passed it to him, leaving you in your silk dress shirt. Jasper led you up yet another set of stairs, the dogs at his heels. You were beginning to grow anxious, Nike nudged your hand, letting out a soft whimper. Jasper paused before a set of oak doors, he shot you one last uncertain glance before knocking softly. 
“Enter.” Her voice was smooth like honey, yet it carried no warmth. Jasper pushed the doors open and you stepped inside, the Dalmatians and the wire-haired mutt pranced in and settled at the sides of the desk. Her head was down, her hand moving quickly as she sketched on a pad. Sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk was your old mentor Roger, who was looking back at you with great relief. 
“(Y/n)! I knew you’d come!” He stood, scrambling to fix his perpetually crooked tie. 
“Roger.” You greeted tensely as you stalked across the room and stood beside him. 
“We were just discussing-” 
“Have a seat darling.” Cruella cut him off and you pulled the chair out, sinking into the uncomfortable seat. 
“Did Jasper fill you in?” She asked, her pen scraping loudly against the paper. 
“Briefly.” She glanced up, shooting a cold look at Jasper who’s lip tweaked in slight annoyance. 
“Incompetent as always.” She said before placing her pen down reluctantly. 
“I understand that you are a well-known lawyer yes?” Cruella asked, her leather glove clad fingers tapping against her desk in a bored manner. 
“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” You agreed as you straightened up in your seat. 
“Roger seems to think highly of you.” She pressed and you shrugged. 
“I’m good at what I do.” 
“How would you like to work for me?” She quirked a brow and you smiled. 
“I’m not sure what gave you the impression that I’m looking for a new job.” Roger kicked your ankle and shot you a horrified glance. You narrowed your eyes and scowled at him before returning the gesture. 
“How could you say no?” Cruella chuckled as she reached into her purse and pulled out a checkbook. 
“I’ll pay you handsomely, and you will travel along with me to all of my shows.” She began to scribble on a blank check before sliding the check across the desk to you. Your eyes betrayed you and widened in surprise when you saw the numbers. She chuckled and reclined back in her chair. 
“(Y/n)...It will be like old times!” Roger egged you on and you sighed, running a hand down the side of your face. 
“Something tells me that you’re going to be a handful.” You huffed, taking the check and sliding it into your pocket. Cruella’s eyes lit up, another throaty laugh escaping from the depths of her chest. 
“Darling, that's the fun of it.” She cooed and you felt your cheeks heat up a bit at the pet name. Roger clapped you across your shoulders and then rubbed his hands together excitedly. 
“You made the right choice, this is an amazing opportunity to-“ 
“Roger, shut up before I fire you and keep (Y/n) all to myself.” Cruella’s brow quirked and Roger quickly clamped his mouth shut. 
“Now, let’s talk business.” 
__
You had been right, she was a handful. She asked so much of you which was both flattering and annoying. It was as if she expected everything handed to her on a silver platter, or at least that’s what you initially assumed. But you learned that she worked for what she had now, late nights in her office sketching and then moving to the sewing machine to sew the fabrics that she had meticulously designed. 
Her next show was fast approaching, and you could tell that the pressure was on for her. It would be her first independent show as a new designer, you had assumed that you would be jotting down legal business and attending to other legalities that came along with running a business. But she assigned that to Roger, who eagerly accepted and then retreated back to his office downtown to work out the kinks. You had been confused when she stuck her cane out in front of you, barring you from following Roger. 
“You’ll be with me.” She said it like it explained everything, but you found yourself staying late and working out numbers, ensuring that she didn’t burn through her newfound fortune. You were beginning to feel more like an accountant than a lawyer. Your patience was quickly dissipating, growing tired of crunching numbers and steering event planners to the correct people. It was when Cruella absently asked you to fetch her lunch that you snapped. 
“I’m not your assistant you know.” You growled lowly, setting your pen aside and shooting her a withering look. 
“No?” She hummed, tugging at the hems of a vibrant gown she had been working on all week. 
“No.” You snapped, eyes trained on her back as she pulled out a measuring tape, lining it up along the waist of the gown. 
“Come here.” She instructed, back still turned to you, you were curious so you humored her, coming to a halt a few steps away from her. She turned and adjusted the glasses that were perched on the bridge of her nose, pushing them up as she inspected you. 
“Honestly, I’m not concerned if you’re good at what you do. I never was.” She admitted as she took a step closer to you, extending the measuring tape and resting a hand on your shoulder. You tensed under her touch, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she stretched the tape all the way down to your feet. 
“I saw your name in the paper a few months ago. You were assigned to Horace and Jasper’s case when they were arrested,” she said as she then pulled the tape back to her chest. 
“I remember.” You spoke softly, taken aback by her touch. 
“Tell me, would you have represented them well?” She asked, this time pulling the tape above you and sliding it around your waist, pulling it taut and forcing you to step ever so closer. 
“Of course, that’s my job.” You held your breath as she inspected the numbers before nodding as if satisfied. 
“How noble of you.” She muttered as she pulled the tape free of your waist and returned to the mannequin. You found yourself more confused than when you had come across the room looking for more answers. So you returned to the small desk she had permitted you in her office and furiously continued tallying up the expenses for the show. 
This was going to take some adjusting, but you were too stubborn to quit, and for some reason unknown to you, you wanted to please her. It seemed wrong, she treated everyone around her like shit, and it wasn’t necessarily that you wanted to change her, more so understand her. It was oddly fascinating, how mysterious she seemed, her undeniable brilliance when it came to altering fabrics into exquisite gowns. If there was anything you appreciated about her it was her drive, and you wanted to know what had lit that fire insider of her. 
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momocedro · 4 months ago
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More than Iconic
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Pairing: Cruella de Vil x (Fem!)Reader
Summary: You were like a little sister to Artie. You weren't as knowledgeable in fashion as he was. But you sure as hell knew how to design an outfit and make a show happen. A shame you can't see your own artwork be masterpieces.
Warnings: Movie Spoilers
A/N: I've recently watched Cruella when Disney+ took the premier access out and please.... SHE'S SO ICONIC!!!
“Sweet but Psycho” - Ava Max
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You were at the warehouse late, designing the image you saw in your head for a show you had gotten dragged into by Artie. You loved the guy. But, you often question him. You were very lost in thought that your pencil lead had broken; right at the part you were most invested in; creating an unwanted line through the dead center of the sketch.
"Ah! Blimey..." You growl, “Perfect...”
"Quite the language you got there darling," a deep, alluring feminine voice calls out to you
You turn to Cruella, looking down at you through the hole in the upper floor.
"Apologies milady," You sigh, "Pencil broke at the most invested part..."
She disappears as you hear high heeled feet walk above you, then descend down the stairs.
"You’ve been holding out on me?" Cruella asks, taking your sketchbook from right underneath you
"Oy!" You nip, "Give that back!"
"Oh darling, you've been hiding this out from me?" She asks you
You had made a mock up design of an outfit for Cruella out of pure boredom. You used the inspiration of the aesthetic of the show you were hauling together and using inspiration from Cruella herself to put the design together.
"Where on earth did you come up with this masterpiece?" She asks you
"I wouldn't call it a masterpiece milady," you sigh, trying to hide your blush, "I was simply using inspiration from the set design aesthetic and yourself-"
"Oh... I.. Inspire you darling?" Cruella looks down at you, giving you a devilish smirk
Your heart races. Artie gave you the run down of why she acts the way she does. But even through all of her harsh comments and remarks, you found something about her that was... So alluring. You weren't sure what it was exactly.
Could it be her eccentric hair? Hazel eyes? Her devilish smirk? Maybe her entire self?
"Always... Milady," Your breath hitches
"Well then darling I should inspire you more often," she smiles
She places the sketchbook back in front of you and begins walking back up the stairs.
"You always do..." You whisper under your breath, smiling to yourself
"What was that darling?" She asks you, turning to face you at the bottom of the stairs
"Oh, nothing Milady," You smile at her
"Hmm if you say so," She says
"Goodnight Milady," You give your goodnight remarks
"Best if you get some shut eye yourself darling," Cruella's voice disappears into the upstairs void
You would have, if you weren't so worked up about the damn show you were throwing together. However, you believed that was enough visual sketching.
Hmm... What if...
You turn your sketchbook to a fresh, blank page and you reach for a new sketching pencil..
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Cruella walks down into the designing department below her living quarters the following morning. She was astounded to still find you where she had last seen you. But, you were hunched over, fast asleep over your sketchbook and some...
Fabric?
She walks over to your slumber body and notices a Dalmatian print coat, mixed with traditional black. Nowhere near completion however, she was shocked. The last couple of shows Cruella has crashed, you were always working the electronics, Jasper and Horace work the transportation, Artie on the fashion and Anita on the publicity. You? You weren't one for fashion or any of the sort. Yet here you were: going out of your element for the Lady in Black and White.
"Oh... Darling," Cruella sighs
A smile crept along her face as flattery overcomes her. She steps away from your slumber body as she grabs the nearest quilt and throws it over you, sneakily taking the half-done outfit away from under you. What she didn’t know was that you had opened one of your eyes. A small smile creeps along your face as you groggily watch her walk back up the stairs.
Artie can finish that outfit...
You were about to catch up on sleep as you have burned the midnight oil on starting Cruella’s outfit. But, you also didn’t care if Cruella ends up not using your design, you were trying to simply find something better to do after finishing your visual aspect of theater production.
“Y/n...” Artie whispers into your ear
You don’t answer.
“Y/n!” He says, slightly more aggressive than the last. 
You jolt awake but at the cost of you losing balance; causing you to fall out of your chair.
“What now Artie?” You ask him, trying to apply pressure to your arse, hoping it would ease the pain 
“Were you here... All night?” He asks
“I was working on the visual aspect of the production later tonight...” You yawn, rubbing your eyes, “Guess I got carried away and began making an outfit...”
“An outfit?! But you’ve always done the productions... Not the fashion...” He says
“Well maybe I’m just messing around with fashion,” You jokingly argue with him
“You’re definitely onto something though darling,” Cruella stops back in
You immediately stand up and begin straightening yourself out to become more... Presentable for Cruella.
“I like how you made this part of the coat look like... Dalmatian skin,” She goes into detail, “How did you do it?”
“Well... I took white suede leather and just experimented with it,” You yawn, “Turned out better than I had designed it in my sketchbook.”
“You sure have an eye for making designs,” She smiles
“Me? Oh no milady,” You brush off the compliment
“I’ll take over form here with this outfit of yours,” She says, “But you...”
She comes walking up to you, leaning into you, closely.
“You better go home and get some shuteye,” Cruella smiles, “We’ve got a big night planned.”
“Y-yes Milady,” You chuckle nervously
You and Artie watch Cruella walk back up the stairs with your sketch and half done outfit in her hands. You look back at Artie; who is also giving you a devilish smile.
“Don’t even say anything,” You growl at him
“Since when were you the one designing outfits for Cruella?” He asks you, walking over to grab some fabrics
You watch him grab an outfit off of the rack; presumably to make any last minute changes to a model’s outfit for tonight.
“Technically I wasn’t, I was horsing around with something new.” You make an excuse, “She’s just taken a strong liking to that design I was working on.”
“Mmmhm,” He ‘believes’ your lie
“Not the first time I’ve burned the midnight oil,” You yawn
“You burned the midnight oil... For her?” Artie smiles
“Shhh!” You growl, “I did... More than once...”
“Does she know?” He asks
You shake your head.
“Well,” Artie starts, “You should tell her how you feel soon...”
“I could,” You sigh
“You aren’t going home yet are you?” He asks
You nod, “Got too much to worry about right now. Plus, that wake up call got me feeling pretty awake.. But, I may in about an hour or so... I need to program my lightboard...”
“Well, why don’t you do that right now?” He suggests, “Wouldn’t that take you a long while before tonight?”
“Not me,” You slightly laugh, “Quickest I’ve programed my lightboard was 10 minutes.”
“Shut the front door,” He says, acting all surprised
“I’ve told you about that time Artie,” You laugh, grabbing your jacket, “I’ll see you tonight rockstar.”
You had long programed your lightboard and you had left that out in your dining room table. You were in your room, standing in front of your closet.
“Well, if you want to say rockstar, then you better also dress like one,” Artie tells you
“But- I’m not in the show. I’m working behind the scenes,” You add
“Oh come on,” Artie scoffs, “You want to impress Cruella further?” 
“Well, yeah,” You blush
“Dress to impress,” He smiles, “Look rugged when you show up.”
“Look rugged.. Got it,” You say
You had found a ripped crimson shirt with a combination of ripped skinny jeans and some decent but a little worn out boots. You settled with a red, white, silver and black jacket you had designed for a punk rock festival you had gone to months prior. You ring your arms through its sleeves and stretch out your arms; the jacket falling perfectly on top of your shoulders.
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The evening came and you were as shaky as ever. You were never the one on stage taking all of the attention; but it was making those people on stage look good that got you jittery.
“Well well darling you sure know how to rock a look,” Cruella comes up to your set up
“Thank Artie for that one,” You smile, wrapping some cords, “I have no fashion sense. He just told me the kind of outfit to put on. But, enough on me, Well look at you milady.”
Cruella acts surprised as you take her hand to give her a twirl in her coat. You smile as the both of you stare at each other, smiling uncontrollably.
“Big night yeah?” Cruella smiles
“Always milady,” You sigh
“Are you alright?” She comes walking over to you, watching you set up
“Just... Jitters...” You sigh once more
“Look at me Darling,” She says calmly
You lightly gasp as you feel her hand run right over yours. You look up at her from your set up; concern actually filled her face.
“You are going to do just fine,” She says, “Artie said it himself, you put on masterpiece shows.”
“A shame that I can’t see these myself,” You nervously chuckle
You watch Cruella chuckle to herself. You smile yourself as she leans close, placing a small kiss upon your cheek. Your cheeks heat up.
“That’s for my outfit,” She smirks at you
She slowly turns on her heel and begins walking away from you, preparing to stand in place for her show. You watch her strut away from you.
“You must like her don’t you?” Artie teases you
You jump at his sudden appearance from Artie. You clutch your chest as you try to breathe normally.
“You haven’t told her how you feel about her yet?” He asks
“Because she’s... Wow... And I’m.. Ehh?..” You tell him
“You are a great theater technician Y/n,” Artie encourages you, “Why don’t you talk to her after tonight’s show? I’m sure she likes you back.”
“You-You think she-she likes me back?” You ask him
“You are so bloody blind Y/n, I see the way she looks at you,” He laughs, “Take what you will with that information.”
You watch Artie walk off to the walkway to set up for the show. 
Cruella.. Looks at me?... Differently?...
“You ready kid?” Horace asks you, walking up to the stage
“As ready as I’ll ever be..” You smile, laughing off your nerves
You press your master button; you had programmed that very button for the lights to change to red. You watch as Jasper creates a power chord. However, something seemed off to you. But, you had no time to think as the chords progressed louder and louder. 
“Ladies and gentleman!” Horace announces, “I present to you... Cruella!”
You watch as Jasper begins walking down the runway; models dancing around either the fountain or runway. You pressed a button along with keeping the master button pressed down. The button aside from the master button, added a different kind of light to the red. You look up and see her. Cruella works her way down the runway. You press another button as you and Cruella were prolonging the eye contact. You look down for a split second and you realize that it wasn’t the button you were meant to press. 
Bloody hell!...
But, it seemed to work with the aesthetic you were going for. No one was complaining about it so you let it slide. You look up once more and see Cruella at the end of the runway; staring intently at you. 
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You weren’t sure what was going on inside you. You felt... Drawn to her. Like, her eyes told you; “Come here darling...”
Gods she is stunning...
You felt the music blasting right into your ears, the energy... It was immaculate. It didn’t match any of the shows prior to working with Cruella. You felt... Alive. 
Maybe I should go up there...
You were actually going to step away from your lightboard and practically run to Cruella... If the sirens hadn’t blared. 
Oh, stars...
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Panic sets in your chest as you frantically packed your lightboard. The only thing you owned. Fortunately enough, you were able to pack them fast enough. But, where would you run off to first? 
Home? No... I wouldn’t be able to hide very well, especially with a decently sized lightboard... 
“You’re coming with me darling,” A seductive voice whispers into your ear, taking you by the wrist
Your heart raced as you were dragged off into the London streets, with Cruella.
Dream come true really...
She pulls you into the nearest alley. You were pushed up against the harsh brick wall, covering you. You held onto her midsection as the police sirens blast by the both of you.
“Are you alright darling?” She looks down at you
You were mere inches away from her face, your heart was racing again. But, a lot more aggressive than last time.
Oh... She’s even more stunning up close and personal...
However, an answer doesn’t exit your mouth. A giant smile leaps across your face as you begin laughing. Soon, Cruella joins you in your laughing fit.
"I can't believe I just did that," You smile, trying to calm your laughter
“We did that darling,” She smiles at you
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The laughter dies down but the both of you never left each others’ embrace. You get lost in her hazel eyes. You were going to lean closer to her; in hopes to kiss her before you saw her fingers from the corner of your eye. You let out a slight gasp as she tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
“Cruella-” 
You were about to speak before you realized you called her by her first name. You begin stuttering, trying to find the right words for not calling her ‘Milady’.
“Shhh darling...” Cruella stops you
She puts a single gloved finger up to your lips, making you stop entirely. She smiles. Not the usual wicked smile you’re used to seeing around the workplace. A genuine, happy smile.
“Cruella works just as well as ‘Milady’ darling,” She smiles
You walk up the stairs to your apartment building; Cruella, with her hood up to hide her two colored hair follows you.
“You didn’t have to walk me back Cruella,” You say turning to face her
“Nonsense,” She reassures you, “I wanted to be sure you’d get home safely. But, if you would like... Come back to the warehouse in 10?... I want to celebrate such a brilliant show you have put on for me...”
“Back at the warehouse in 10.. Got it,” You laugh nervously
You were expecting Cruella to turn her heel and begin walking back to her place of stay however, she walks towards you. Like before, you were pressed against the wall. 
“M-Milady,” You gasp
Unlike earlier, the gap between your bodies ceased. Your faces were mere inches away from one another. You were scared to make the first move...
You should tell her how you feel soon...
Artie’s words echoed through your head.
“Cruella I-” 
You stopped talking all of a sudden. What you didn’t realize was that Cruella had closed the gap between your faces. The kiss was gentle, cautious. 
“Warehouse... 10 minutes... Don’t be late,” She wickedly smirks at you when she pulls her lips away from yours
The weight on your body ceases and Cruella turns her heel and begins walking to the direction to the warehouse. 
Cruella.. Just kissed me...
Chapter 2
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studylatin · 4 months ago
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September 1, 2021 And here I am — eighteen years old! Another birthday, une page blanche. I hope that I can work towards bettering my world and the world at large, even in the most minor of ways. Pictured is a delightful Horace poem on friendship, and my puppy using a keyboard as a pillow.
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brilliantbillionaire · 8 months ago
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Another update... Much, much more positive than the last one...
... At least at first
The plan was a complete success, guys. This is the good thing. We captured WiFi. He locked back up in a virtual prison and is locked up in a vault at Facility X. And even more importantly, we got Tasha and Naomi back. They are safe and back in the real world with us. 
While they are ‘just human’, I had Lizzy and Horace look over the two of them as they spent a long time trapped in a computer. They told me as far as they can tell, both of them are fine. Just somewhat shook up at worst. But they are staying over night at Mighty Med just to be sure. So that’s where I will be tonight...
But unfortunately... That is where the good news ends... And some of you that watched the exchange picked up on their being some else wrong now. But I want to make sure all of us are on the same page still.
WiFi accidentally revealed during the trapping process that he isn’t working alone... What’s worse, he wasn’t the leader I’m fairly certain, but he was simply a pawn (or at best, maybe an equal partner...).
Everyone in this family, everyone at the academy, needs to be on high alert. We are most likely in danger. I don’t know who exactly orchestrated this, but I will find out.
In the meantime, again, we all need to be on high alert and careful.
Outside of that, questioning WiFi is one of the top priorities at present. Learning what he knows, who he is working for, we need to learn this. 
With his powers of being able to freely jump from computer to computer in a matter of less then a second, and for the fact he can’t be released out of the virtual prison without use of a computer in the first place, Douglas and I will need some time to create a place where we can question him safely.
@douglas-davenport @caduceo-valentine @imtotallytecton @a-really-good-looking-toaster @a-way-better-ai-than-marcus @stormofskylar @bionicgenius @thelastkrane @chlomina-mourningstar @breanadavenport @dannydavenport @drlizzybknight @elliebionicsuperhuman @superbionicbree @quimby-fletcher @adam-is-the-best
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frost-queen · 7 months ago
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Cuddles with you (Charlie & Enoch)
Requested by: Anon, Forever tag: @grey-girl​, @missmelodramatic​, @spxce-frxckles​, @theletterhart​, @elllie-does-the-posts​, @be-patient-be-good​, @andrea-j-3​
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Reader x Charlie Sloane
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You were laying on the bed, reading a book. Laying on your stomach, you couldn’t help yourself but move your legs back and forth. Biting your thumb subtle, you glanced up to Charlie. He sat with his back towards you at his desk. Tapping his pencil against the wood whilst scratching his head. – “You alright?” – you asked, hearing him sigh loud. Fluttering with your eyelashes, you shifted your gaze to the wall brief. He hadn’t heard you. – “Charlie?” – you spoke a bit louder to get his attention. Finally, he heard you. Turning around in the chair, humming loud. With his pencil against his lips, he looked so quirky. – “You alright?” – you presented him with your question again, seeing him curl up a smile. – “I’m doing great!” – he called out. It made you laugh a bit as you knew him well enough, to know there was a hint of lie in his voice. – “Need any help?” – Charlie bit his lip brief, hesitate, then he shook his head. – “I’ve got it under control!” – you chuckled as he held his thumb up to you. Charlie turned himself around again, peering at his pages. With a smile, dived you back into your book.
You hadn’t switched a page yet as you heard him sigh again. This time a sigh out of slight panic. Turning your book a bit down, you questioned if he truly was alright. – “Are you sure you are alright Charlie?” – He answered without turning himself around. – “I am Y/n.” – the sound of his voice made you laugh loud. You hadn’t expected it to come out so high-pitchy. Clearly, he was struggling over the homework that he was doing. Closing your book, you knew what would please him. Sitting up straight on the matrass, you tilted your head to the side. – “You good sir, need a hug!” – you pointed out, hearing him chuckle loud. Charlie stayed seated as you puffed loud. – “That was not a suggestion!” – you called out, knowing he wouldn’t move on his own. Charlie would never simply just hug you without you explicitly telling him too. He was too nervous and shy for it. – “It was a request!” – you added to your words, moving your hands to your hips. Charlie turned around in his chair, laughing sheepishly at the tone of your voice.
Seeing that he wasn’t going to move, you demanded him to obey. – “Charlie Sloane! Get over here!” – you firmly said, pointing at the bed. Charlie jumped out of his skin, widening his eyes. – “Yes Y/n. If that is what you want…” – he stumbled out, pulling himself from the chair. – “It’s what you need!” – you specified, opening your arms to him. Charlie stood near the bed, staring at you while you rolled your eyes at him. – “I said come here!” – throwing your arms around his neck, you pulled him down with you on the bed. He fell with you on the bed, his arms hovering over your body. – “Charlie.” – you said, resting your forehead against his. – “Hug me!” – you whispered out, making him swallow deep. He slowly moved his hands down, around you. You wrapped your arms better around him as you felt Charlie grip you tighter. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. His breath sending a tingle up your spine. – “Isn’t this nice?” – you asked him, moving your fingers through his curls. Charlie hummed deep, kissing your neck gently. – “Good thing I know what you need!” – you laughed soft, hearing him chuckle as well. You continued to move your fingers through his curls, feeling him loosen up.
It calmed him, leaving him at peace. – “I love you Y/n.” – he breathed out with his eyes shut. – “I love you too Charlie-bear.” – you replied. Charlie chuckled soft at his nickname as you pressed a kiss against his forehead. His arms tightly around you, you felt save in his arms. Charlie snickered loud, clenching you in his embrace. Before you knew it, started he to roll around with you on the bed. You laughed it out, rolling around with him. Charlie might need a good push, but once he was hugging you, it was the best feeling in the world. He could surrender himself in the hug so deeply, it made you feel so loved. He smothered you in hugs, kissing your neck as he knew you loved that.
***
Reader x Enoch O’Connor
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You gasped, jumping back when the jar of jam dropped out of your hand. It splattered all over the floor, making you cover your mouth up in shock. – “What is that?” – Emma had heard the crash, popping her head out from the hallway. Emma saw the broken jar of jam on the floor, gasping as well. – “Goodness Y/n are you alright?” – she asked, coming to your aid. She stepped around the pool of jam with her heavy boots. She quickly pulled your hands down to see if you didn’t have an injury. With a sigh of relief, she was glad that you were unhurt. – “What happened?” – Emma pulled out a napkin, to clean your hands. – “I…I…I…” – you stuttered out, not getting out of your words. – “Miss P is going to kill me!” – with panic in your eyes, you stared at Emma. Emma stopped cleaning your hands, taking a hold of them. – “No she isn’t. Tell me what happened Y/n.” – you took a deep breath on Emma’s demand to calm down. You groaned soft as Emma already knew enough. – “I’m so clumsy!” – you whined out as Emma stroke your back. – “You are not Y/n. We all have our days…”
Emma and you shared a look, hearing loud laughter from the hallway. It were the little ones. – “Stop!” – Emma called out in time, holding her hands wide open. Claire and Bronwyn abruptly stopped not far from the fallen jam on the floor. Exhaling relieved, you were pleased that Emma could stop them in time. – “What happened here?” – asked Claire, holding her doll higher up in the air. – “A minor accident.” – said Emma, motioning for them to step back. They both back up, moving away from the jam on the floor. – “We wouldn’t want any of you to step into glass.” – you called out, coming to your senses again. They both nodded, taking each other’s hand. They kept their distance in the door opening as Emma sighed tired. You handed her a towel as you kneeled down. You carefully started to pick up glass, placing it in the palm of your hand. – “Careful Y/n.” – you nodded at Emma, playing the glass carefully in your hand. Emma started to clean up some jam from the floor.
Claire and Bronwyn staid watching as they heard another person come into the hallway as well. – “What are you two doing standing so still?” – Enoch laughed out, coming closer to them. He laid his hand on Bronwyn’s head, turning towards the opening to the kitchen. – “What the hell happened here?” – he questioned. – “I was being clumsy again.” – you laughed mockingly at yourself. Emma glanced brief at you, showing you a look of sympathy. Enoch moved the little one’s their head aside to step between them through into the kitchen. – “Careful with that glass!” – he pointed out, seeing you carry so many splinters of glass in your hand. – “Where should I put them?” – Enoch scratched his head brief, looking around him. He collected a bowl from the counter, holding it out to you. You carefully placed the glass in the bowl. Emma was almost done cleaning as you helped her with the last bit. – “There like nothing happened!” – Stated Emma, relieved that the work was done. – “Great team-work.” – you leaned back against the cabinet, feeling it wobble a bit from the intensity that you leaned back. A vase started to wobble dangerously as Enoch caught it before crashing to the ground. – “What is with me today?” – you called out, frustrated at your own clumsiness today.
“That’s it!” – complained Enoch, grabbing you by the arm and leg. You squealed loud as he threw you over his shoulder. – “What… Enoch put me down!” – you screamed out, stomping with your fist against his back. – “No because you need a hug, Y/n!” – he patted you on your bottom with a laugh. Giving up, you let him carry you upstairs. You waved goodbye to Emma, who couldn’t stop giggling. – “You don’t have to do this, you know…” – you said with a sigh. – “Yes, I do, love!” – you heard him answer. – “You are clearly not yourself today, which means you need the extra care.” – Enoch arrived up the stairs with you. He moved aside for a passing Horace, who glanced curious at him and you over his shoulder. Enoch pulled a silly face to Horace before making his way over to his bedroom. – “Since when are you so caring?” – Enoch opened the door to him room. – “I always am if it is for you, Y/n.” – “I’m flattered!” – you replied as he shut the door. Enoch let you down onto the bed as you laid there for a moment with your arms wide.
Enoch chuckled teasingly at you. He came leaning down as you wrapped your arms around him. He guided his arms around you, falling on top of you. He didn’t want his weight on you, so he rolled over. So that he was underneath and you on top. You laid with your head on his chest, listening to the beating of his heart. – “My clumsy girl.” – you lifted your head up, glaring at him. Enoch laughed loud as a response, finding you rather cute as you tried to be mad at him. You let your head back down, drawing circles with your finger on his chest. Enoch’s arm were tightly around you. You melted on the inside when he kissed the top of your head. – “You are my world Y/n.” – he breathed out, pulling you closer to his body. – “And you are mine, Enoch!” – lifting your head, you kissed his lips. You could always count on Enoch to be there for you. He could easily spot when you needed love and take you away with him to cuddle. Cuddles with him where the world.
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hobisgalaxy · 11 months ago
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ART OF PRETENDING - CHAPTER TWO || H.P x Fem! Reader
↷ Masterlist
Liquid Luck
Word count: 2.8k
Warnings: swearing, harry being a lil shit, sexual tension
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The Slytherin trio sat in the Great Hall, watching the first years get sorted into their houses.
"Can you believe we used to be that small when we were first years?" said Draco to his two best friends.
"Yeah," said Y/n. "When I used to be taller than you."
"You were an inch taller than me."
"Whatever, it was funny seeing you get all riled up because I kept on calling you a 'shortie'"
Draco smirked. "But who's the shortie now, huh?"
"Fuck off."
Blaise and Draco laughed.
Just then, the light in the Hall begins to gently dim and all eyes turn to Dumbledore, standing at the top of the Hall, hand raised to the enchanted ceiling, where clouds respond to his gestures and shroud a gleaming full moon.
He began to speak, "The very best of evenings to you! First off, please join me in welcoming the newest member of our staff, Horace Slughorn."
Mild applause ensues.
"Professor Slughorn, I'm very happy to say, has agreed to resume his old post of Potions master. Meanwhile the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts will be assumed by Professor Snape."
This was greeted by stunned silence. Dumbledore frowns, then attempts to generate something by clapping his hands. A few Slytherins join in and some dim-witted First Years.
"That is all for tonight," said Dumbledore. "Now, let the feast . . . Begin!"
A sudden burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses had filled the Hall once again.
"Never knew I'd see the day Snape finally gets the Defense Against the Dark Arts post," said Y/n, digging into her food. "Now that we have Slughorn for Potions, he'll probably go on about how 'fantastic' Potter is. Wait until he finds out that the boy is dead awful at the subject."
"Must you always have to bring him up in every sentence you say, Y/n?" said Blaise. "I'm starting to think that you still like him."
"I'd rather pitch myself off the Astronomy Tower if I ever catch feelings for him ever again."
✧˖*°࿐
The next morning, Y/n and Daphne Greengrass, who was also a student in Slytherin house and was one of Y/n's closest friends, made their way to the Dungeons. They had just come from Transfiguration and were now on the way to their next lesson, Potions.
"So, when's the next Quidditch tryouts?" Daphne asked. "I might try out to be a Chaser. I heard Blaise was going to try out, too"
Y/n, who was one of the Beaters and the Captain of the Slytherin team, sighed. "I'm not really sure, to be honest." she said. "And you should try out. Being the only girl on the team sucks."
"Really?" said Daphne. "I just don't think I have enough skills to be a Chaser. Maybe Pansy should --"
"Oh shush, Daph. You have all the skills a Chaser needs, and, don't get me wrong, I love Pansy and all but I just know that she'll be eye-fucking Draco throughout the whole match."
When they arrived in the corridor they saw that there were only a dozen people progressing to N.E.W.T. level. Crabbe and Goyle had evidently failed to achieve the required O.W.L. grade, but four Slytherins had made it through, which was Y/n, Daphne, Draco and Blaise. Four Ravenclaws were there, one Hufflepuff, who Y/n recognised as Ernie Macmillian, and the Gryffindors Y/n despised, excluding Hermione, considering that she and Y/n are quite good friends.
The duo made their way over to where Draco and Blaise were standing.
"Hello boys," said Y/n as soon as her and Daphne had arrived.
Before they could even greet her back, the dungeon door opened and Slughorn's belly preceded him out of the door. As they filed into the room, his great walrus mustache curved above his beaming mouth, and he greeted Y/n, Blaise and Harry with particular enthusiasm.
The dungeon was, most unusually, already full of vapors and odd smells. Y/n, Daphne, Draco and Blaise took a table together, as did the four Ravenclaws. This left the three Gryffindors, Harry, Ron and Hermione, to share a table with Ernie.
"Now then, now then, now then," said Slughorn, whose massive outline was quivering through the many shimmering vapors.
"Scales out, everyone, and potion kits, and don't forget your copies of Advanced Potion-Making. . . ."
"Sir?" said Harry, raising his hand.
"Harry, m'boy?"
"I haven't got a book or scales or anything -- nor's Ron -- we didn't realise we'd be able to do the N.E.W.T., you see --"
"Ah, yes, Professor McGonagall did mention . . . not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lead you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts. . . ."
As Harry and Ron stepped up to the cupboard, Slughorn gestures to the cauldrons bubbling before him. "Now, as I was saying, I've prepared a few concoctions this morning. Any ideas what these might be?"
Hermione's well-practiced hand hit the air before anybody else's; Slughorn pointed at her.
"Granger, sir." said Hermione. "That one there is Veritaserum, a colourless, odorless potion that forces the drinker to tell the truth. And that would be Polyjuice Potion."
In the cupboard, Harry and Ron found two textbooks -- one new, one shabby and soiled. Both snatched for the new when a box -- marked "BEZOARS" -- tipped over. As Harry made a grab for it, Ron took the new textbook and went off grinning, causing Harry to smack him with the old textroom.
Y/n watched them from across the room, rolling her eyes at their childish behaviour.
"Sir, you haven't told us what's in this one," said Ernie Macmillan, pointing at a small black cauldron standing on Slughorn's desk. The potion within was splashing about; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.
"That's Felix Felicis, which is also known as Liquid Luck." Y/n blurted out.
"Correct, Y/n! Ten points for Slytherin!" beamed Slughorn. "I'm assuming that you already know what it does, don't you?"
"It makes you lucky."
"Excellent, Y/n! Desperately tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, if brewed correctly, as this has been, you will find that all your endeavors tend to succeed . . . at least until the effects wear off."
"Why don't people drink it all the time, sir?" Terry Boot, who was one of the Ravenclaw students, said eagerly.
"Because if taken in excess, it causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence," said Slughorn. "Too much of a good thing, you know . . . highly toxic in large quantities. But taken sparingly, and very occasionally . . ."
"Have you ever taken in, sir?" Michael Corner, who too was a Ravenclaw student, asked with great interest.
"Twice in my life," said Slughorn. "Once when I was twenty-four, once when I was fifty-seven. Two tablespoonfuls taken with breakfast. Two perfect days."
Slughorn eyed the vial dreamily, adrift. Finally, he blinked.
"So. This is what I offer each of you today. One tiny vial of liquid luck . . . to the student who, in the hour that remains, manages to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death, the recipe for which can be found on page ten of your textbook."
The class burst with excitement. Slughorn smiled knowingly.
"You should know that in all the years of my previous tenure at Hogwarts, only one managed to brew the most perfect Felix Felicis I've ever seen," His eyes settled onto Y/n. "It was your mother, Cordelia."
Y/n smiled as everyone began to draw their cauldrons toward them. Loud clunks were heard as people began adding weights to their scales.
"You better brew this perfectly, Y/n," Draco whispered. "So we can get the potion and we might be able to use it on our next Quidditch match."
"Who said that I'll give it to you if I ever get it?" said Y/n. "And, as much as I want to kick Gryffindor's ass in the next Quidditch match, I wouldn't use Felix Felicis on something as stupid as that."
"What will you use it for then?" asked Blaise, joining in the conversation.
"Well, that's for me to know and you to find out."
"She'll probably use it for --"
"Shut up, Daph."
On the other side of the room, Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book he had gotten. To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out). Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Y/n reading off from her book as she added in the ingredients.
Everyone kept glancing around at what the rest of the class was doing; this was both an advantage and a disadvantage of Potions, that it was hard to keep your work in private. Y/n, however, kept her eyes on the book, only glancing up to her cauldron from time to time. She was determined to get that vial.
Within ten minutes, the whole place was full of bluish steam. Y/n, of course, seemed to have progressed furthest, followed by Hermione. Their potions already resembled the "smooth, black currant-coloured liquid" mentioned as the ideal halfway stage.
Having finished chopping his roots, Harry bent low over his book again. It was really very irritating, having to try and decipher the directions under all the stupid scribble of the previous owner, who for some reason had taken issue with the order to cut up the sopophorous bean abd had written in the alternative instruction:
Crush with flat side of silver dagger Releases juice better than cutting
"Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?" said Draco.
Harry looked up; Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.
"Ah, yes I have," said Slughorn, without looking at Draco, his eyes were fixated on Y/n's and Blaise's cauldrons instead. "I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn't unexpected, dragon pox at his age. . . ."
And he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Draco had expected to be treated like Y/n, Harry or Blaise, and it seemed like Y/n could tell too. The smirk she had sent Draco when Slughorn walked away told Harry that she was going to tease Draco about that later. It looks as though Draco would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.
The sopophorous bean was proving very difficult to cut up. A bean had come flying from across the room, Harry dodged it swiftly, looking up from where it came from. His eyes met Y/n's (e/c) ones, her hand clutching onto her silver dagger. They started into each other's eyes for so long, they forgot what was even happening around them. It wasn't until Daphne's sopophorous bean whizzed past Y/n that caused them to break their eye contact.
Harry turned to Hermione.
"Can I borrow your silver knife?"
She nodded impatiently, not taking her eyes off her potion, which was still deep purple, though according to the book ought to be turning a light shade of lilac by now.
Harry crushed his bean with the flat side of the dagger. To his astonishment, it immediately exuded so much juice he was amazed the shriveled bean could have held it all. Hastily scooping it all into the cauldron he saw, to his surprise, that the potion immediately turned exactly the shade of lilac described by the textbook.
His annoyance with the previous owner vanishing on the spot, Harry now squinted at the next line of instructions. According to the book, he had to stir counterclockwise until the potion turned clear as water. According to the addition the previous owner had made, however, he ought to add a clockwise stir after every seventh counterclockwise stir. Could the old owner be right twice?
Harry stirred counterclockwise, held his breath, and stirred once clockwise. The effect was immediate. The potion turned palest pink.
"How are you doing that?" demanded Hermione, who was red-faced and whose hair was growing bushier and bushier in the fumes from her cauldron; her potion was still resolutely purple.
"Add a clockwise stir --"
"No, no, the book says counterclockwise!" she snapped.
Across the table, Ron was cursing fluently under his breath; his potion looked like liquid licorice. Harry glanced around. As far as he could see, no one else's potion as pale as his, not even Y/n's. He smirked to himself when he saw how hard she was trying to focus on getting her potion correct.
Y/n, who still had not taken her eyes off the book, heard them and finally looked up.
"Woah, never thought I'd see the day where you had finally stopped gluing your eyes to the damn book." said Blaise.
The girl sent a quick glare towards his way before setting her eyes back to the two Gryffindors across the room.
"How's he doing that?" asked Y/n, noticing how Harry's potion was exactly how it's described in the book.
"Who's doing what?" said Blaise.
"Potter."
"Oh merlin, here we go again."
"No, seriously! How is his perfect while mine looks like someone fucking puked in it?"
"Maybe because you were too concentrated on reading the instructions rather than actually looking at the potion?" said Draco.
"I did everything the book said! How is it still purple?"
"Maybe you've forgotten to add an ingredient." said Daphne
"Nope, I added all the ingredients required . . . I'm sure I did."
"And time's . . . up!" called Slughorn. "Stop stirring, please!"
Slughorn moved slowly among the tables, peering into cauldrons. He made no comment, but occasionally gave the potions a stir or a sniff. He peered into Y/n's cauldron and gave her a slight smile. Her potion was perfect but it wasn't what he was expecting. He was obviously expecting that the daughter of Coredelia Lovewright would be able to brew the potion easily.
Harry's smirk widened as he saw Slughorn's slightly disappointed look. At last Slughorn reached the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ernie were sitting. He smiled ruefully at the tarlike substance in Ron's cauldron. He passed over Ernie's navy concoction. Hermione's potion he gave an approving nod. Then he saw Harry's, and a look of incredulous delight spread over his face.
"The clear winner!" he cried to the dungeon. "Excellent, excellent, Harry! Good lord, it's clear you've inherited your mother's talent. She was a dab hand at Potions, Lily was! Here you are, then, here you are -- one bottle of Felix Felicis, as promised, and use it well!"
Harry slipped the tiny bottle of golden liquid into his inner pocket, feeling an odd combination of delight at the furious looks on the Slytherins' faces, especially Y/n's, and guilt at the disappointed expression on Hermione's. Ron looked simply dumbfounded.
"How did you do that?" he whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.
"Got lucky, I suppose," said Harry, making sure that Y/n could hear him loud and clear, seeing how she was only a few feet away from him.
"I suppose that you cheated, Potter." said a voice he knew too well. "5 years of being so shitty in Potions, all of a sudden you can just magically brew Draught of Living Dead?"
Harry turned around and was met with the sight of the one person he definitely did not want to see right now.
"Awh, is someone butthurt about the fact that I beat them in Potions?" he pouted mockingly.
Y/n scoffed. "I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you, Potter."
"Oh, yeah?"
The two were beginning to walk towards each other. Hermione, Ron, Draco, Blaise and Daphne all shared uncomfortable looks. They know what will happen if they don't pull them apart right now.
"Just because you can brew one potion, does not mean that you can brew all the potions in the world." said Y/n.
Harry snickered. "You're acting as if you can brew all of them. I bet you can only brew four, or five."
Their faces were so close now. One small shove and their lips would touch.
"As a matter of fact, I can brew twenty, you fucktard. I'm guessing that you had forgotten who my dear mother is."
"Oh, really?" said Harry. "Loving the new insult, by the way, but I think 'fucktard' fits you more."
"You little --"
"And that's where I draw the line!" said Daphne, pulling Y/n, who was now reaching for her wand, away from the boy with round glasses.
"This isn't over, Potter!”
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green-ann · 8 months ago
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Below I make another small contribution to our Chernobyl fandom and give my translation of a large article from the journal "Chemistry and Life", which was published in 1991. It is dedicated to Valery Legasov and can give you a more complete picture of his personality...
Academician Valera
They sympathized with him. They grieved and cried about him, they took the children with them to the last farewell, and one woman - in a black shawl up to her eyes - stopped at the coffin and made a bow to the ground.
If you do not take into account the members of the funeral committee and the guards dressed in civilian clothes, the first to come to the funeral hall was Anatoly Petrovich - the president of the Academy, the director of the Institute - the leader and senior friend, always demanding, not always fair. He put his hands on the coffin, stood for a long time with his big bald head bowed, and until he left, the doors to the hall remained closed...
He was condemned. The Russian commoners were perplexed: was he that rich and bored: "with such an increased salary" – and went into a noose! It looks like he's gone mad from excessive radiation exposure.
As always in such cases, the investigation worked and, as usual, did not find the culprit. Although, there was one eccentric - either a chemist, or a journalist, who right at the Novodevichy cemetery called two names - famous ones – of the direct culprits, but they tried to forget about this incident as soon as possible: women's emotions, they said. And that woman, Tamara Aleksandrovna, other people soon tried to kick her out from work. As far as I know, they didn't succeed, but they tried...
God, time flies so fast! It's been almost three years since he's been gone, and five years since the Chernobyl disaster that called him out, lifted him up, and finally brought him closer to the end. But it is impossible to write off everything, no matter how hard they tried, to the dose, to the infernal heat of the Chernobyl flame. Eternal questions nevertheless remain, they cannot be shaken off: who is to blame? What to do?
Probably that's why it's so painfully difficult to write about him.
You have obviously already guessed who will be discussed in these sad notes. Between us, out of earshot in our editorial office, he was called no other than Academician Valera. This is Valery Alekseevich Legasov. 1.09.1936-27.04.1988. World-famous physicist, member of the Presidium of the USSR Academy of Sciences, Professor at Moscow State University, First Deputy Director of the I. V. Kurchatov Institute of Atomic Energy, one of the first Chernobyl "liquidators". And for me - also an old, since student years, good comrade, trusted by everyday life, good times and misfortune.
We have always met him - occasionally, but in more than thirty years there have been many such meetings. As he once joked, we were connected by chemistry, life, and "Chemistry and Life." And since there was no interdependence and official subordination in our relationship, it was given to me to see and know something of what the people connected with him on a daily basis could only guess. Even after Valery's death, one of the university professors recalled, not without surprise, with what consistency he, a natural scientist and technician, a man of action to the core, insisted on increasing the «humanitarian component» of university education. It doesn't surprise me.
Because I know: there was a poetic beginning in him.
Humanitarian component
We studied at the Mendeleev Institute at the same time, but we were seriously brought together by the heavy, poor-yielding, arid virgin land of 1957. At that time, Valery was already a recognized — formal and informal — leader of the Institute Komsomol. It was he who called me, who had just passed the second final exams in my life, to the Komsomol committee and, together with Rita Grudinina (later and to this day Legasova), began to agitate to go to the virgin lands. The farthest, easternmost - to the south of the Krasnoyarsk Territory, to Khakassia, to the Jirim state farm, where each of the four departments could accommodate all the lands of the once famous "Giant". Moreover, he offered not only to work on a combine harvester or trailer, but also to publish a weekly newspaper called "Mendeleevets On The Virgin Land".
I can't say that I was happy with the offer. The summer of the 1957 festival year was starting: of course, I didn't want to leave the capital. But in those days, "I must" meant more to us than "I want", and even then Valery knew how to agitate, to involve in the case. He said, as if casually, that our squad of 500 people, together with the Mendeleevtes, will include 30 students of the Literary Institute, including three or four heroes of the sensational feuilleton in Komsomolka, who were being sent to "reforge with labor". It turned out to be true. That is why the poems of such famous poets as Bella Akhmadulina and Ivan Kharabarov appeared on the pages of "Mendeleevets on Virgin Land".
For nine days our train stretched eastward, idling for a long time at the small stations. By the second or third day, those of the Mendeleevets who regularly met at the literary association classes, became frequent visitors to the “literary” carriage, where not only song, but also purely poetic evenings were spontaneously held. Not without surprise I saw the "commander" there. He sat, stooping, on the bottom bunk, listening intently as a tense and young dark-haired woman with sad, wide-set eyes read poetry.
(…)
I learned that Legasov writes poetry when the writers invited us to a celebration on the occasion of the birthday of their leader and foreman: together they composed a parody of the birthday boy, reflecting almost the realities of his life at that time.
Many years later, as a member of the editorial board of Chemistry and Life, a well-known scientist, Valery actively advocated for regular publication of poems and bard songs on the pages of the journal, because, in his opinion, a poetic word — capacious and imaginative — can convey with the utmost clarity not only the thought, but also the feeling.
Isn't that why he so often included the poetic lines of Tyutchev, Burns, and Galich into his articles, lectures, and even reports?
For some reason, it was Galich that we talked about on the last evening, that we spent together (March, 1988)*. (* I might add that this was even before Galich had been again printed, restored (posthumously) in the Unions of Cinematographers and Writers.) Valery quoted "Prospector Waltz" and "We are no worse than Horace", spoke about the piercing clarity of Galichev's verse. Apparently, the bitter muse of Alexander Arkadyevich was in tune with him at that time. And this wasn’t surprising: those who knew him closely had heard enough about the chronic failures of literally all of his post-Chernobyl undertakings, about the facts of the fellow Kurchatov’s pushbacks committed during the elections to the Academic Council, about the academically delicate, but iron-hearted opposition to the "boy from the distant chemical outskirts", on the part of many academic old-time-chemists.
That evening the cognac loosened my tongue, and I dared to advise Valery something: spit on the Kurchatov, send them to hell, you have a department, there will be a security institute or IONKh, if there is a neck - there would be a collar... He said: Zhavoronkov won’t hand over the IONKh to me, but Institute for Safety- you should have looked at this shabby school building, which was left (as unusable) by the institute of information of our department. But even there the neighbor was promoted. By the neighbor was meant Academician E.P. Velikhov, Vice President of the USSR Academy of Sciences, newly elected (or not yet elected, but, obviously soon) director of the Kurchatov Institute.
“You see,” Valery said that evening, “I’m now, like the mythical Midas, only he turned everything he took into gold, and as for me – everything turns into air, even worse, into a vacuum. Whatever I touch - everything is ruined: no one needs anything! And there is still so much to do! – and then he turned the conversation to journal business.
Saying goodbye that evening, we agreed that in a month's time I would bring the edited text of an article on the priority areas of chemistry development - the first of his "Monologues about the main thing".
It was done. We met at the university on Saturday. Valery was still businesslike, but he looked tired. He read it and signed it. There were less corrections than usual-both in meaning and in words. Not that he was depressed, but he wasn't Legasov-like either - he wasn't thinking as fast as he usually did. The meeting was purely business.
I left — he stayed at the University. And a week and a half later, in the same way, in the middle of the day, I returned from the vegetable base (the mandatory work of researchers and journalists in those years). We got off early, but for some reason I didn't want to go home. I had just taken off an old sweater that had been saved for this kind of work when the phone rang. The young colleague babbles something verbose and confused, but the point is clear: Valery Alekseevich died. She didn't say anything about the reasons — she probably didn't know them, but I remember, as I do now, my reaction. On the verge of hysteria, I ran around the empty apartment and shouted into the void: there was a murder!
I still think so.
An hour later, after a quick shower and a drink of valokordin, I drove to Pekhotnaya street. Rita wasn't there. Only the children and a shaggy Tomka - a dark-red chow-chow, Valery's old pet, who had not yet realized what had happened and therefore was busily barking at the newcomer. The next day Tom seemed to understand everything and lay sadly in the hallway, not reacting to anything or anyone. He didn't eat anything. He showed his fangs if someone tried to touch him. Silently. Even during Valera's lifetime, he did not tolerate familiarity.
Is it necessary to stir up the past and, even more so, to remember, suffering, these days? Every death is sad and hopeless. But this one... Rita, returning from the morgue, called the number of doses collected by Valery: 150 rem. The third part of the LD50 is the dose at which half of the people exposed to such exposure die from acute radiation sickness. With such dose, Valera, with his physique and lifestyle, could live and work for a very long time, even with a weakened immune system. Also from that day, I remember the phrase said by his intelligent daughter: "It was not an emotional breakdown, it was a deliberate, thoroughly considered act."…
A few weeks later, I received from Valery's family photocopies of several documents, written by his hand in the last months of his life, and some of his poems - too personal to publish or quote. I mention them only as another evidence of the poet's “Achilles heart” that lived in him and which all of us, who have repeatedly come to him for help, could not or did not want to see.
People came to him for help, but they couldn't help him.
Rules of the game?
At the fourteenth Mendeleev Congress in Tashkent, we shared a hotel room with a fellow writer and journalist, a physicist by training. By the way, he worked at the Kurchatov Institute at the time when Valery was, in fact, the first figure there, and I have no doubt that my opponent had reasons to treat his former superiors differently than I did.
“There is no need to idealize Legasov,” said that colleague. “He is no better or worse than any manager of this rank, and he followed the accepted rules of the game, moving up the career and scientific ladder. At the institute, he was the secretary of the Komsomol. When he returned to Kurchatnik, he headed the party committee. Before that, he worked in production site for two years, and where?! In the Ligachev estate. Yes, at our institute, any laboratory assistant knew that Legasov was Ligachev's man. Therefore, he took on too much, especially in recent years. A chemist, he dared to define the topics of physics laboratories and departments. At the same time, he was not always right, he ordered what to do and how to do it. Who would like that? So they voted him down at the elections to the Academic Council. Physicists make up the majority. And you, chemists, are now making him almost a great martyr, except that you don't draw him on the banners. Legasov here, Legasov there! I understand that chemists also need a banner, especially since the public is constantly "rolling a barrel" at you. There is a reason for this, admit it. So you trump his name, fortunately after Chernobyl he became famous, and after death - even more so.
And I don't know him as a scientist! And in Chernobyl he screwed up enough - the shelter of the fourth unit turned out to be far from optimal. And in general, there were plenty of all sorts of conversations around him...
We argued then, as they say, till all hours, but, apparently, we did not argue enough — everyone remained with their own opinion. But this dispute is more than just a disparity of two particular opinions, and it must be continued. For the sake of truth — scientific and moral. I gave the arguments of my colleague, no matter how unpleasant they were to me and my like-minded people. Now - my arguments, and you make your choice.
About the "rules of the game".
Today, these rules are no secret, just as it is well known that nomenclature "personalities" are made, as a rule, from very bad human material. I have already written about the stairs of mediocrity that permeates all the floors of power in our country. That's what we're paying for now. But, you must agree, even in times of fierce timelessness, there were — could not help but appear — bright individual personalities who (to a greater or lesser extent) had an inner need to realize their gift and energy.
And they - again to varying degrees - accepted the rules of the game, some earlier and some later, as long as they could put up with these rules. For instance, Galich himself wrote brave Komsomol songs and harmless comedies, was even a laureate of not only the Stalin Prize, but also the KGB Prize for some detective story.
Alexey Ivanovich - Valery's father - is a communist with half a century of experience. I do not know the details of his biography, but I know that these people had and still have their own faith, and it is not for us to blame them for this. Moreover, they instilled this faith in their sons, and often successfully. I, for example, keep my father's certificate of a red partisan of the civil war as a relic, although I know (now I know) how many injustices and tears any civil war brings. So Valery did not force himself by engaging in Komsomol and party work, and the fact that he was not orthodox in it is evidenced by at least the above-mentioned attitude towards "seditious" writers on virgin land.
About «Ligachev's man».
This argument of my opponent is false from beginning to end, but someone clearly needed to call it for help – to use against Legasov.
It is no secret that long before leaving the post of the second person in the party and the state, Yegor Kuzmich became an odious figure in the eyes of the intelligentsia (or, to put it mildly, a significant part of it), the personification of conservative forces. It is also known that Legasov began his career at an enterprise located in the Ligachev’s patrimony and in the open press appears as the Siberian Chemical Plant. But let's compare the dates.
Legasov graduated from Mendeleevka in 1961, and since 1964 has already worked in Kurchatov (see the official obituary - "Pravda", April 30, 1988). And now let's look at the politizdat directory "Who is who in world politics "(Moscow: 1990): "Ligachev Yegor Kuzmich... Since 1949 - in the party and Soviet work (the posts and positions of the Novosibirsk period are listed below) In 1961-65 - deputy. Head of the Department of Propaganda and Agitation of the Central Committee of the CPSU for the RSFSR, Deputy. head of the party organs for industry of the RSFSR. Since 1965 - First Secretary of the Tomsk Regional Committee of the CPSU. In 1983-85 - Head of the Department of Organizational and Party Work of the Central Committee of the CPSU "...
It turns out that Legasov worked in Siberia just in those years when Ligachev was quietly working in Moscow, in the Central Committee apparatus. So the beautiful legend that Yegor Kuzmich fancied a young chemist for turning the dangerous production unit of the Siberian plant into a radiation-free one in a short time also does not stand up to criticism…
I also have personal, indirect though, confirmation that Valery was not so easily drawn in the all-powerful secretary of the Central Committee. In 1985, when "Chemistry and Life" began to be smashed, I, then the party chairman of the editorial board, asked Valery to arrange a meeting with Ligachev in order to somehow stop the flywheel gaining momentum. Valery undertook to help and immediately began to call on a secure high-frequency phone-in Tomsk, to Ligachev's successor as secretary there... Was it worth it if he could talk to E. K. directly in the same way?
My conclusion: lies are only convincing when they are plausible. And the time shift is not even a lie, a property of memory... So they lied.
The third argument: "A chemist, who dared."…
Legasov wasn’t just a chemist — but a chemist who was convinced that his work was the most important. You must admit that many men tend to consider their business the most important. I recall one of the meetings with Valery in his Institute office - six months after the Chernobyl disaster. I came to ask about Chernobyl, and the conversation kept returning to chemistry. Here’s a quote from an old publication ("Highlighted by Chernobyl" - "Chemistry and Life", 1987, No. 4), his words:"...I agree that the interest of the industries that produce new equipment in the production of really equipment leaves much to be desired, as they say. But even when there is everything: both economic leverage, and the most vital interest, what is produced by chemists remains the basis. If there is no material, if there is no proactive development of chemistry, many beautiful physical ideas remain ideas. There they are, the ideas, standing (a nod to the shelf with folders), only our energy ideas - one is better than the other. And they are impracticable at the current level of chemistry. And in other industries dealing with the material, the situation is the same, if not worse. That's the point. Chernobyl also highlighted this."
So tell me, how could he, realizing all that has been said above and being invested with a certain power and authority, “not interfere with the research topics”, not dare ?! Why would such a leader be needed? In recent years, we have eaten plenty of the fruits of the helplessness of those in power.
But I can not dispute the argument that among the living chemists there is no other equally bright and convinced leader.
"I don't know him as a scientist."…
Ignorance of the law, lawyers say, is not an excuse. But that's just our eternal trouble: knowledge, as a rule, is patient, and ignorance is aggressive, belligerent.
Something about the scientific merits of Academician Legasov can be read even in the Great Soviet Encyclopedia-Volume 30, additions. In particular, the following: "Main works on the chemistry of inert gases and plasma chemistry. He synthesized more than 50 compounds of fluorine with noble gases, studied the properties and developed the technology of their production. State Pr. of the USSR (1976)". I would like to add that after the publication of the last volume of the encyclopedia, there was also a Lenin Prize on the closed list, but also, as far as I know, for works related to the chemistry of inert gases. And I'll add something else - not from myself.
"Everyone who is involved in the development of the physics and chemistry of the plasma state of matter knows how great is the contribution of V. A. Legasov to this field," recalls Yu. N. Tumanov, Doctor of Chemical Sciences.
In the early 70’s, Legasov became interested in chemical reactions in plasma. Possessing an unusually perceptive mind and the gift of generalization, Valery Alekseevich decided to give a purposeful character to scattered and poorly organized works on plasma chemistry and on plasma technology. Very quickly, a coherent program on the development of research in plasma chemistry, technology and metallurgy using low-temperature plasma emerged from the motley mass of directions."... A quote from the journal "Science in the USSR ", 1990, No. 3, p. 69.
This short excerpt reveals another significant feature of Legasov the scientist: the desire to generalize, to combine disparate efforts in order to achieve a practically significant goal. He was able to make decisions, "take on himself", take full responsibility with the sole purpose of bringing scientific development to a socially significant result. Many did not forgive him for this. First of all, those who prefer a quiet life in science. And equally, those who are more than willing to change topics at the first serious failure, abandoning tedious scientific directions, as if it were a matter of personal sympathy...
The ability to take full responsibility and at the same time-to find the optimal, real solution today was shown by him in the tragic days and nights of Chernobyl.
Chernobyl is a special topic. Therefore, the rest of the counter-arguments to my Tashkent opponent are given in the final part of these notes.
Out of the frying pan into the fire.
As evidenced by the dispassionate mag film on which Valery spoke his rather confessional "notes" for Pravda — see No. 141 (25493) of May 20, 1988— he was among the first to go to Chernobyl only because of self-discipline. At 10 o'clock on Saturday, April 26, 1986, the party collective activity of the Atomic Ministry was appointed. For Valery, Saturday was a "university" day, but he had to go to a party activity. Already before the meeting, he was informed about the accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, but no one in Moscow had yet imagined its scale.
It was not until midday that the scale was clarified to some extent, and, as is customary in such cases, a Government Commission was immediately set up. Legasov learned that he, too, was included in it, as the only available representative of the IAE and Academy management at the moment (as a matter of fact, a reactor engineer, not a chemist, was supposed to go), during a break, at about twelve o'clock, and at 20.00 the commission had already arrived in Pripyat, still inhabited, having spent the pre-holiday weekend as usual. Three units of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant continued to work, although for several kilometers a crimson glow was visible over the fourth one…
So much has been written about what happened next that it is impossible not to repeat what has already been said about technology, and about safety, and about courage, and about cowardice — about everything. But here are a few additional pieces of evidence.
I managed to talk about both Chernobyl and Legasov with the commander of the country's chemical forces, Colonel-General V. K. Pikalov in the summer of 1988.
It turned out that in April — May 1986, the general kept making notes in a yellow notebook. At his request, this notebook, wrapped in thick polyethylene, was brought. And they brought a dosimeter. A well-known military chemist, Academician A.D. Kuntsevich, who participated in our conversation, also, by the way, spent many days in Chernobyl, took on the functions of a dosimetrist. Two years later, the notebook still made the dosimeter click-quite often when the device was set to register beta particles.
General Pikalov told me about the first flights over the site of the accident - Academician Legasov participated in them on an equal basis with the military. He was also eager to lead a radiation reconnaissance near the «crater» itself — they approached there on an armored personnel carrier. But it was not much of a personal courage that was expected from the academician, but a quick and scientifically based method by which it would be possible to extinguish the hellish cauldron and to reduce radioactive emissions to an acceptable minimum. Knowing very little about the state of the emergency reactor, Legasov suggested how and with what to extinguish it. By all available means. Radiation and chemically based. This is lead-a traditional element of anti-radiation protection and also a low-melting metal, which, as it was hoped, would penetrate, after melting, into narrow cracks and, with its metallic conductivity, will help to partially dissipate heat. These are boron compounds - a traditional material for capturing neutrons that support a chain reaction. This is dolomite, which releases carbon dioxide during thermal decomposition, which would prevent oxygen from reaching the combustion zone. Finally, these are sand and clay, also dropped in bags from helicopters - non-combustible substances, passive flame extinguishers...
By May 2, the damaged reactor was "practically sealed" (Legasov's words), and the release of radioactive products has significantly decreased. Later, however, there will be more troubles, but the very fact of the relatively safe filling of the reactor gave time for pulling together forces and showed that it is possible to fight with such a powerful nuclear genie.
When General Pikalov was talking about all this, he drew attention to another particular, but then extremely important problem, which Valery has solved on the fly, very reliably and simply. It was necessary to determine the most dangerous points of spread of nuclear fuel. Legasov knew that the rays emitted by dangerous fragments of a fuel rod leave light spots on ordinary photographic film. The more radiation, the brighter the spot on the negative, the darker - on the print. Aerial photography, according to Pikalov, saved many lives then. It’s simple, you say? But extreme situations usually require extremely simple solutions.
A few months later, when the "sarcophagus" was almost ready, there were publications claiming that the scientists-liquidators did not work in the best way — too much lead had been released into the atmosphere, and that in general this lead could hardly penetrate into the sub-reactor rooms, and that they covered the fire with sand in vain- they made it difficult to heat exchange, created conditions for explosive emissions...
Was it really better to leave things as they were? To leave it up to fate: will it go out or won’t, will it explode or won’t... It's good to theorize in Moscow, but Pripyat demanded immediate action. This is the argument - "screwed up in Chernobyl." And the last argument is about gossip and talks about him and his family...
After a fairly clear and, it seemed, successful start of work to eliminate the accident, Valery began to be invited "to the very top" - not only to the government, but also to the Politburo, which was unpleasant, and possibly harmful for people of a narrow and very specific circle of scientific and pseudo-scientific nomenclature. It was they who began to consistently weaken the competitor's position. In various ways, including common slander. I don't intend to discuss gossip about the Legasov family - it's disgusting. But the main gossip was about Valera’s, treacherous to A. P. Alexandrov, letter to M. S. Gorbachev, in which he allegedly blamed Anatoly Petrovich for what happened in Chernobyl on. Here's a thank you for your support, for your trust: poor Anatoly Petrovich, he warmed a snake on his bosom...
The matter was not limited to rumors: photocopies of some typewritten piece of paper with a squiggle that vaguely resembled Legasov's signature were circulating around the institute. Those who wanted to believe bad things believed them. However, as far as I know, the fake letter appeared later - after the failure to expose Legasov under attack, sending him as the main speaker at the IAEA conference in Vienna.
It was Valery who was charged with holding an answer for Chernobyl in the face of the world community. They set him up, and he returned from Vienna a triumphant, entered, according to newspapers - ours and foreign ones - in the ten most popular people of the year. They didn’t forgive him for this either, at all corners they began to repeat about his irrepressible pride and self-conceit. And the already mentioned fake letter was used in order to quarrel him with Aleksandrov. They succeeded in this in part.
Why am I claiming that the document that was passing around was a fake? Because I have a photocopy of a draft, written on a sheet of a section paper. By the hand of Legasov. Addressed to Gorbachev. I reproduce it almost in its entirety, omitting only some of the details that are not of interest to the majority. There are no surnames and names in the text of the letter, except for the addressee. But it clarifies and concretizes the judgments of Valery Alekseevich on the state of nuclear energy after Chernobyl.
“Dear Mikhail Sergeevich! First of all, I apologize for my eccentric behavior at yesterday's important meeting of the Politburo. It is caused by the experience and understanding of the complexity of the current situation.
There is a growing anti-nuclear movement in the country, and, unfortunately, not without reason. Nuclear power plants, which were created basically 20-30 years ago, and are operating today, are not reliable enough due to the quality of personnel training and equipment, and RBMK also because of design defects that are being corrected now. The question of the future of the burials of the stations after the end of their work resources has not been resolved in any way. Of the 14 PWR-type plants of old designs, 10 operate in socialist countries, causing a natural concern there, since we cannot even present all the calculated variants of possible pre-design accidents to them due to poor organization and provision of appropriate work. (...)
In this situation, the search for unconventional physical and chemical measures that increase the stability of the station and create additional means of localizing the accident, if it does happen, becomes a matter of paramount importance. I tried to tell you about this unconventional work yesterday. This is the main thing now, and as a result, the search for unconventional schemes of nuclear sources operating on physico-chemical principles...»
For the life of me, I don't see any immorality in this letter.
Every action has a reaction. In classical physics, it is so, but in modern physics, apparently, it is different. There are only a few people who could reliably explain the reasons and driving motivation of those who, on Christmas Eve of 1986, put Alexandrov in an uncomfortable position, and Legasov — deeply offended.
On December 24, 1986, at the Institute, in the presence of many colleagues, Anatoly Petrovich congratulated Valery Alekseevich with the Golden Star of the Hero of Socialist Labor. For Chernobyl. The next day, the newspapers came out with a decree — Legasov's name was not on the prize list. There is a version that at the last moment Gorbachev himself decided that if the Kurchatov Institute was responsible for what happened in Chernobyl, then it means that it is impossible to reward him, the "kurchatnik", de facto leader.
I am sure that it wasn’t Gorbachev himself, burdened with thousands of worries, who came to this decision. He was encouraged. The question is by whom? It is logical to assume that these were his closest scientific advisers at the time.
I agree that this decision had its own logic. Today it is obvious that the first liquidators there — on the fourth unit, in the zone and beyond - didn’t do everything possible. And not everything that has been done is done well or very well. Is there any fault of one of the leaders? Of course there is. So, it is not necessary to evaluate his work with the Star of the Hero of Labor.
But besides, he has courage, you must give him that. He approached the very throat of the destroyed reactor in an armored vehicle to determine whether the chain reaction was continuing. Fact? Confirmed by many people. He worked next to the sarcophagus, referred to as a shelter in official papers. Fact? There is even a photo. It is also a fact that he had been making the most important decisions. These are his pros and what about cons? He managed to contradict the members of the Politburo - this is how I interpret the phrase about eccentric behavior from the draft letter to Gorbachev. And the four-month total Chernobyl shift is also, you see, a testimony of personal courage. As they say, he was brave — he dared a lot. It is no coincidence that Academician Yu. D. Tretyakov compared Legasov with Don Quixote and Jeanne d'Arc at the same time.
So I appeal to our President. Mikhail Sergeyevich! You have proven yourself to be a slow, deliberate politician. And sometimes-after some time, you abruptly changed the decisions you made before. Knowing this, I ask you to return to the question of the Legasov award. Even if he didn’t deserve the Star of the Hero of Labor, he undoubtedly deserved the pointed golden star, which is, often posthumously, given for courage, for heroic deeds, and. It would be very logical and politically advantageous, I believe, to respond to the fifth anniversary of the Chernobyl tragedy with a presidential decree on awards to liquidators, and the first line in this decree would be to award Academician Valery Legasov the honorary title of Hero of the Soviet Union (posthumously). As you know, there are precedents — the submariner Alexander Marinesko, the last of Panfilov's men...
I am sure, however, that this will not happen. Corporate ethic, corporate morality, corporate rules of corporate games, beyond which no one is allowed, will not allow such a decree. He, Academician Valera, dared, having seen the light after Chernobyl. Courage was not forgiven him, since it clearly marked the cowardice and ordinariness of others. And the artfully formed exclusion zone around the "trespasser", and the clods of dirt on the vulnerable heart - everything was done at the highest level, far from the usual norms of human relations. Day by day this zone widened, turning into an abyss. He rushed into it, tying a knot so tight that no one was able to untie it.
He considered himself dishonored.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn through the mouth of one of his heroes (Shelubin, «Cancer Ward») perfectly put: "The hardest life is not for those who drown in the sea, dig in the ground or look for water in the desert. The hardest life is for someone who beats his head against the lintel every day when he leaves the house - it's too low."
And it still is.
V. Stanzo
@litttlesilkworm @alyeen1 @4everflowercore @kaiserrr19 @art-is-a-malady @valerafan2 @borislegasov @owlboxes @ignalina-c0re @natasharedfox @lastnightfanfictionsavedmylife @bewareofdragon @kylos-scarf @johnlockismyreligion @stellan-pip-69 @cinemaocd @odense @kriegskrieger @sunset-and-periwinkle
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rose2jam · 5 months ago
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Dream Sequence - Act 1, Scene 11, Nightmare
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Ship: Severus Snape x Reader/OC
Story Summary: Your name is Gwendolyn Goode. You’re a bright Hufflepuff with a knack for potions, and this is the story of how an understanding and trust between yourself and Professor Severus Snape slowly evolves over the years into mentorship, friendship, and eventual romance.
Scene Summary: 7th Year. It’s Slughorn’s Party but you’ll cry if you want to. "Nightmare" by Kendall Miles
Length: 12,354
Rating: M (see trigger warnings at the bottom of the page)
!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!! Please note that this scene contains TRIGGER WARNINGS, and that the trigger warnings themselves might contain SPOILERS. If you want to see the trigger warnings, please scroll down to THE END OF THE CHAPTER in order to read them.
Warnings: General warnings for language, both suggestive and cursing, violence, blood-status discrimination, alcohol consumption. Please check the END OF THE CHAPTER for trigger warnings.
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Master List
First Scene
<== Last Scene
Next Scene ==>
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Horace Slughorn did not screw around when it came to parties.  While you had thought the event might take place in the same ballroom as the lectures, Slughorn clearly had something more intimate in mind, and had reserved the entire bar of The Atticus for his little soirée.  And apparently, he didn’t just give out invitations on a whim. The entrance to the bar was cordoned off with a velvet rope, and a neatly dressed doorman stood to the side, checking tickets.  Tickets that you were very glad you had given to Snape to handle, because even if you had managed not to leave them behind at Hogwarts, your dress didn’t have pockets.  You had clung to his arm the entire walk through the lobby, and had no intention of releasing it, even after you had entered the bar, which was full of chattering people, and was nothing short of pristine. 
Since you had arrived at The Atticus, you felt as though you were in a constant state of time travel, and tonight you were going to party like it was 1899.  Gleaming with polished rosewood, brass accents, and burgundy velvet, the lounge was a delicate balance of old fashioned and classically luxurious. The bar itself took up one side of the room, with two velvet coated bartenders standing between the glossy counter and the back wall, which was backlit through frosted glass to show off the assortment of bottles that lined the shelves.  Among the standard bottles of dark whiskeys and clear vodkas, were more ethereal looking liquors and wines that you imagined must have been magic made. Your mother would have a field day in a bar like this, and you swore to yourself you’d find a way to bring her here to experience it firsthand.  
Dotted throughout the main floor were tall standing tables, each draped in wine-colored cloth and sporting ornate floral centerpieces.  On the wall opposite the bar were several private booths with circular velvet benches and low rosewood tables.  Each alcove was framed with long, gauzy drapes held back by brass fixtures, and one of the four booths was closed off, obscuring its occupants from view.  And finally, towards the very back of the bar on a low stage, was an ivory coated jazz band.  Or at least, you thought it was a jazz band.  You couldn’t quite pinpoint any of the music being played, nor could you identify any of the instruments being used.  But the atmosphere of the whole affair was one of class and sophistication, so jazz seemed like the proper assumption.  
You felt wildly underdressed in a sea of jewel toned dress robes, which apparently was the current fashion trend, some glittering with precious gems, others whispering with extravagant silks.  Were all witches and wizards this flashy, or was it just a Slug Club thing?  You and your professor were positively drab in comparison, and your mortification only deepened as you noticed that Snape was leading you directly towards the Malfoy’s, who were standing idly at one of the high-top tables and looking like they ate peasants for breakfast. As you approached, you couldn’t help but wonder how many innocent animals had died to make their ensembles. Lucius wore lavish robes of white and gold, the collar trimmed with white and black ermine fur, while Narcissa’s dark, flowing robes were dripping with black, gold tipped feathers.  They were among the few who hadn’t adopted the vibrant trend of gaudy colors, and it made a bold statement; they looked absolutely stunning together in black and white.
Layered in pastel green with only pearl earrings in terms of jewelry, you felt decidedly out of place no matter who you were standing with, so might as well stick out from the crowd while in good company.  Snape finally extricated his arm from your grip as you neared the table, and you were ready to mourn the loss of contact, but he replaced it by settling his hand on the small of your back, a position you were becoming increasingly more comfortable with.  
You smiled a bit anxiously to the husband and wife at the table, and you were ready to receive arrogant looks from the pair of pure-blooded aristocrats, but it was actually Snape who got the exasperated once-over from Lucius.  
“Severus,” he drawled, attempting to sound conversational, but his face read ‘disappointment’ in every line.  He lifted a heavy old-fashioned glass from the table, swirling the dark liquid within. “Good to see you’ve put in the bare minimum this evening.”
You were rather taken aback by this blunt criticism of your professor’s attire, but Snape didn’t miss a beat as he deadpanned, “How many puppies did you have to kidnap for that outfit, Lucius?”  Your eyes skittered over the white fur with black spots draped over Lucius’s shoulders, and you clapped a hand over your mouth to keep from actually laughing out loud. Snape gave your waist an indulgent squeeze before he finally released you, placing both of his hands on the table as you tried to suppress your giggles.
Lucius, however, did not seem quite so well versed in 1960’s Disney animated feature films, and looked positively bewildered by Snape’s comment, as well as your reaction to it. His pale skin had taken on some color, because even if he didn’t get the joke, he did know he was being made fun of.  “Wha-? How dare you.  I would never stoop so low as to wear dog-”
“Would you like a drink, Gwendolyn?” Narcissa interrupted, completely unfazed by her husband and your professor’s squabbling.  You quickly pulled your hand away from your mouth, looking sheepish as you turned toward her, but she merely smiled enticingly as she held her own glass out to you.  “They have some positively divine elf made wine,” she explained, the coupe glass full of fizzing lavender liquid.  It smelled like elderflowers, and Narcissa smelled like Chanel No. 5 as she sidled closer to you.
You probably hadn’t needed to put blusher on, now that you thought about it.  You could feel your cheeks warming up all on their own now that Narcissa had made herself so close.  God, she was beautiful, and you honestly weren’t sure if you were apprehensive, or attracted.  Both, probably.  You fumbled the glass from her fingers, glancing over at Snape, who was watching with some interest.  You’d been planning on stealing some alcohol, not having it offered up to you so blatantly.  “I… uhm… I mean, I didn’t bring any mon-”
“Oh, please,” Lucius interrupted, snapping his fingers at a nearby waiter, who was all too happy to drop everything he was doing in order to tend the Malfoy’s table, the couple at the nearby buffet looking quite put out.  “It’s on my tab.  Don’t worry yourself.”  It was your turn to look bewildered.  Was this man really offering to buy you a drink… in front of his own wife?  But Narcissa didn’t even bat an eye, and Lucius glossed over the proposal as if it were nothing before returning his attention back to your professor.  “Severus? Ogden’s Olde?”  
Snape looked entirely nonplussed at the offer, as if this were a regular occurrence between the two of them.  “Naturally,” came his easy reply, and the waiter scribbled the order carefully. You felt Narcissa nudging the glass towards your lips playfully, and you suddenly remembered you were supposed to be doing something.  Taking a sip, you winced at the smudge of lip-gloss left behind on the pristine glass, but she hadn’t been wrong; it was divine.  Sweet and cloying, but also herbal and flowery, like nothing you’d ever tasted in your life.  It was crisp and refreshing, and Lucius didn’t even wait for your verbal approval, the flutter of your eyelashes reason enough to order an entire bottle.  The waiter returned not long after with two firewhiskey’s, two fresh coupe glasses, and a squat purple bottle that popped loudly as its the cork shot across the room, much to the waiter’s dismay.  Soon you had a fizzling glass of your own, and it clinked delicately against Narcissa’s before you took your first proper sip, the bubbles tickling your nose.
As you nursed your drink, listening halfheartedly to Lucius and Snape’s continued bickering, you took an opportunity to scan the room.  You recognized a few faces, including a handful of the lecturers from earlier in the day.  Though you hadn’t been entirely interested in the other speakers, you made a mental note to try and introduce yourself to some of them.  The point of coming here was to make connections and possibly land yourself a job; the least you could do was pretend you were blown away by their presentations.  Flattery was everything at an event like this (probably).  
Slughorn wasn’t hard to spot in the crowd either; flitting his way from table to table, he looked like some sort of rotund social butterfly, cocooned in an amethyst velvet smoking jacket.  At least he was wearing loafers instead of slippers this time.  You made another mental note to seek him out and thank him for everything once again.  You ultimately wouldn’t be here without him.  And if he really had passed your information along to Damocles Belby… you very well might owe him a great deal.
Despite the sheer number of wizards in flashy robes, there was one figure conspicuously missing from this spectacle of flamboyance.  You hadn’t seen Lockhart at all since you’d arrived.  He’d been rather adamant that he would be in attendance… Had he flaked out?  Or was he a believer in being fashionably late? You didn’t have your watch on you, but you suspected it was nearing foppishly late at this point.  Not that you were dying to see him again or anything.
“Now, Gwendolyn.”  You jumped slightly, returning your attention to Narcissa, who looked entirely too amused by your skittishness.  She’d moved a bit closer, leaning one elbow against the table as she clicked her black lacquered nails against the stem of her glass. Though she still bore that charming smile, there was a glint in her eyes, something calculating and cold, that made you a bit nervous.  And your nerves were almost immediately justified as she explained, “Severus told us last night that you’re a half-blood.”
There was a clatter of ice as Snape’s drink thumped onto the table top, and you jumped again at the force of it, glancing towards the two men across the table.  Snape appeared utterly scandalized, his heavy brows pressed together as his eyes blazed, while Lucius looked like Narcissa was trying his patience, sighing with a withering roll of his eyes.  When the Malfoy’s had mentioned that they’d heard so much about you last night, you hadn’t been sure exactly what that entailed.  But considering the color creeping onto Snape’s sallow face, he’d perhaps been a little more thorough than intended.
“Did he,” you asked with forced politeness as your eyes flicked back to Narcissa, though it was clearly more of a statement.  You weren’t exactly upset with Snape, but you just weren’t sure why he had mentioned it to them in the first place, especially considering how conversations about your parentage with Slytherin’s usually ended.
But Narcissa’s sultry smile never wavered as she reached out a hand, caressing her fingertips down the sheer fabric of your sleeve, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.  “Is that how you came about this charming little gown?” she asked, tilting her head coquettishly, and you shivered at the touch.  Whether you were scared or horny, you couldn’t actually tell.  But you at least you had the presence of mind to be defensive either way.  Because you knew a compliment when you heard one… and that had not been a compliment.
“Yes, it is,” you confirmed, reaching down and pinching the seam of the skirt between your fingers, holding it out to show off the flow of the chiffon draping.  It was a gorgeous dress, even if it was muggle made.  You actually felt quite beautiful in it, and damn it, you weren’t about to feel ashamed over that.  “It was my mothers.  Do you like it?” you asked, returning your gaze to Narcissa.  But you quickly dropped your skirt at the look in her eyes; a sharp, wicked look, like a predator that had just ensnared its prey.
“So, she’s the muggle then?” Narcissa asked without pretense, and you felt your hackles rise. You stood up quite straight then, taking on a defensive posture that put you a good three inches taller than the other woman (and you weren’t even wearing heels).  You weren’t going to be intimidated by anybody, goddamn it.  She might have a pretty face, but you were starting to get over that, now.
“That’s right,” you answered confidently, a warning edge to your voice as you took another sip from your glass.  You were becoming rather tired of defending yourself and your mother against pure-blood elitists.  DeJarnette already gave you enough trouble back at Hogwarts.  You didn’t want to deal with this here too.  Why were they even interested?  They weren’t petty school boys, they were grown-ass adults.  And they were clearly close friends with Snape.  Surely, they knew about his blood status, right?  
“And what about your father, dear?” Lucius asked suddenly, and you turned to face him now, finding a much softer look on his features.  He, at least, didn’t look like he wanted to eat you alive.  Rather, he just seemed mildly curious, like he didn’t really care who your mother was.  “I must say, I don’t recognize the name ‘Goode’, and I’m quite well acquainted with most wizarding families.”
You didn’t doubt that. You shifted your stance, your defensiveness wilting now that you were faced with a slightly less aggressive interrogator.  “Goode is my mother’s surname,” you explained, a little hesitantly.  “My… uhm…”  It was only now that you realized what he’d actually asked you.  You rarely spared a thought for your biological father. It had only ever been you and your mother, and you’d been quite content with that arrangement for 18 years.  “My father was never in the picture,” you finally settled on, draining your glass for the distraction, because it felt odd to refer to him as… He. As if he were a real person out somewhere in the world.  Which surely he was but… thinking of your father was like thinking of a fictional character, and to endear him to yourself in any way felt impossible.
Narcissa moved to refill your glass, and you allowed her.  She seemed a little put out now that her husband had taken over the cross-examination, that strange hunger draining from her demeanor.  But now it was Lucius who looked entirely stricken by your revelation.  “Never in the…  But he would be the one responsible for your wizarding half.  Surely you know who he is?” he asked warily, leaning in earnestly.  He was seemingly very concerned with your paternity, and it baffled you.
You glanced to Snape then, who appeared increasingly uncomfortable, but apparently unable to bring himself to interrupt.  Between the Malfoy’s line of questioning, and your professors escalating discomfort, you got the ludicrous impression that you were ‘meeting the parents’.  Were you being evaluated for something?  Worthy of association?  
Looking back to Lucius, you simply shook your head.  “Not at all. Neither does-” you caught yourself, before confessing that your mother didn’t know who your father was either. You didn’t need to give them another reason to think lowly of your mother.  You certainly remember what DeJarnette had thought of her.  “I mean… I wasn’t exactly planned.”
Your slip didn’t seem to go unnoticed, a brief flicker of distaste marring Lucius’s handsome features. “I see…” he murmured absently, before shifting his gaze to Snape, his icy eyes narrowed with suspicion.  “And Dumbledore never deemed fit to tell you?” His question was aimed toward you, but the scrutinizing look he was giving Snape was… alarming.  Just what the hell was he suggesting?
You set your glass down on the table, your fingers tracing over the curve of the stem, because your anxiety demanded you do something with your hands.  You looked back and forth between Lucius and Snape, trying to read whatever sort of silent conversation they were having with their shared glaring. “Why would Dumbledore-”
“Hogwarts uses some very old magic to discover young witches and wizards coming of age, in order to invite them to the school,” Snape cut in quickly, tearing his eyes away from Lucius to address you directly.  His face was stony and unreadable, except for his usual sneer, which didn’t faze you anymore. You hung on to his every word, which he delivered much like a lecture, in full teacher mode.  “A relic from the age of Salazar Slytherin, this magic is also capable of distinguishing blood status.  His original intention was to bar muggle-borns from the school, but now it’s used to identify the exact parentage of each student, as well as determine whether or not a family will require a visit from a school representative to explain the situation.”
You stared at your professor, your own brows knitting together as you took in this information. You remembered the awkward visit from Professor Quirrell back in the summer of 1983, when the shy young Muggle Studies teacher had arrived on your doorstep with a letter, and had used a magic wand to prove a point.  He’d explained that you were a witch, and that you had apparently gotten it from your father’s side according to their records.  And you remembered that your mother had barely even questioned it. She’d always asserted that you were different, extraordinary, and from what little she remembered of her encounter with your father, there’d been something different about him, too. Something that had attracted her to him in the first place.  Quirrell had mentioned that it was unusual to have to make this sort of visit to someone with a magical parent, but the Headmaster had insisted that you would require such a visit.
Dumbledore had known, all this time.  You could have known, all this time.  And it made your stomach churn with doubt and apprehension to even think about.
You realized you’d been staring intently into your wineglass when you heard the unmistakable sound of displeased rich-person tutting.  You glanced back up to see Lucius shaking his head with a positively mournful look on his face.  “Seven years, and no one has thought to tell you your true heritage,” he lamented. And it truly sounded like a lamentation. As if not knowing one’s origin was something worthy of the deepest sorrow.
“I never thought to ask,” you murmured, lifting your glass from the table and draining it.  It went down easily, sweet and syrupy, and you pushed away the empty coupe with a wince, your head already swimming a little. You didn’t want to think about this. Not right now.  This was a thing that hadn’t even been a thing 15 minutes ago.  You sort of wished you could go back to when it wasn’t a thing at all.
“Well, you ought to,” came Lucius’s sharp retort, and your eyes snapped back up to his.  He looked a little upset with you, which was… odd. All of this was odd.  Why did he care so much about who your stupid dad was anyway?  Why did Narcissa care if your mother was a muggle?  It wasn’t like you’d ever see them again after this, right?  They were Snape’s friends, not yours.  
“Why?” you decided to ask, suddenly wishing you weren’t at this table at all.  Wishing you could head back up to your hotel room and bury your face in those blue pillows again.  More than anything, wishing you could press yourself into Snape’s side and have him tell you that you didn’t have to listen to the Malfoy’s any more.
“Well, it could be important, sometime down the line,” Lucius explained casually, as if the reason were oh, so obvious.  “Knowing what family you’re a descendant of could have… all sorts of benefits.”  He shrugged a shoulder, glancing over to Snape again as if seeking backup, but all he got was a steely glare from your professor, and Lucius rolled his eyes in return.  “I’m just saying.  It couldn’t hurt to know…”
You weren’t privy to any conversation that came after that.  You were aware that they were talking… or, well, someone was talking.  Everyone was talking.  But it was all background noise now.  You could hear blood throbbing in your ears, the sensation muffling the rest of the sound around you as you stared down at the table, at the lovely centerpiece that sparkled with magical flora.  You were trying to count your breaths, to clear your mind, to push the idea of your father out of it, because you refused to have a malicious seed planted in your brain by some yuppie.  At least it felt malicious.  What good could actually come of knowing who’d sired you? What did it matter?  
You were feeling woozy. Two glasses of wine without anything to eat had probably been a mistake.  Your body felt warm and heavy, but your head felt chaotic.  It was time to leave this table, you decided, maybe go socialize with someone else.  Literally anyone else.  And you didn’t care whether Snape joined you or not.  
“Pardon me,” you said quietly, dipping your head politely as you excused yourself from the table.  You could feel eyes on your back as you made your way toward the buffet, and you had your suspicions as to who they belonged to. You were comforted that he was still watching out for you… but you were also a little miffed with him, too.  He could have told them to mind their own business.  Could have risen to your defense.  Hell, he could have just not told them you were a ruddy half-blood and saved everyone the trouble. But then again, there was a chance they might have questioned you on it anyway.  They were certainly on a mission tonight.  Ugh, god.  Forget it.  It’s over with now.  Time for cake.
And dang, there was a lot of cake.  You were momentarily distracted from your emotional turmoil by the sight of mountains of food piled up on the large, round table punctuating the center of the bar. Like everything else, the food at this party was no joke.  And you were pleased to see that no one was being shy about it either.  There was nothing worse than wanting to stuff your face, but feeling socially obligated to eat with your pinky out.  That didn’t seem to be a problem with the present company, so you experience no shame as you loaded up your plate with every available sweet and pastry on the buffet.  You were delighted to see that for every cream puff and jam tart and petit fours you snatched up, a new one materialized in its place.  It was like something out of Willy Wonka, and you couldn’t be more thrilled.
You were contemplating which flavor of macaron you wanted to treat yourself with when Horace Slughorn appeared by your side, a cocktail glass in one hand and a broad smile on his face.  He looked over your plate with playful interest before asking, “Dessert first, my dear?”
You smiled warmly as you placed a yellow macaron onto your plate.  “Life is short,” you explained simply, and that earned you a good-natured chuckle from the older man.  Slughorn was growing on you rapidly, and you found you quite enjoyed being in his company. He was a worldly man who enjoyed worldly pleasures, and that was something you could appreciate.  You were pleased that he’d taken the time to come and visit you now, as he was a friendly face while you were feeling adrift.
“That’s my kind of philosophy,” Slughorn commented genially, before perusing the buffet himself and plucking up a chilled shrimp canape.  “Though I prefer the savories myself,” he explained as he took a nibble, and you couldn’t help but giggle, picking up one of your jam tarts and joining him in the indulgence.  “So, tell me Miss Goode, how did you enjoy your first day?”
You took your time savoring your blackberry tart, because you needed the time to come up with something good.  Telling him that you were entirely disenchanted by the days lectures probably would not be a good look.  You dabbed your lips with a napkin, taking the chance to wipe off that damn lip-gloss. “It’s been enlightening,” you conceded, deciding that wasn’t really a lie.  You certainly had been enlightened as to how far advanced your own education was under Snape, and how far behind everyone else seemed to be.  You gave Slughorn a sincere smile then, reaching out and placing a hand delicately against his arm.  “I can’t thank you enough for… Just for everything.  For inviting me.  For giving me this opportunity.  It means a great deal to me.”
Slughorn beamed, and he patted your hand with his free one as he proclaimed, “No trouble at all, my dear. It’s been a pleasure having you here.” You slipped your hand away then, and he took a sip from his glass before tipping it towards you confidently.  “You’ll be going places, young lady.  I can feel it.  I’ll have you know that I owled your credentials off to Mister Belby this just this evening.”  He nudged you with his elbow then, and gave you a sly wink as he explained, “I slipped in a little note myself.  Just a personal letter of recommendation.  With any luck, he’ll take notice.”
You felt fresh heat crawl up your neck.  What exactly had his note said? “Oh, you didn’t have to do that...” you began, but Slughorn merely shook his head warningly.  He clearly would not be accepting your protest, and you slumped slightly, bowing your head in submission to his kindness.  “Thank you, Horace,” you said softly, and he appeared quite pleased with your use of his first name.  Picking up another pastry, you looked the little lemon macaron over critically, but your sudden apprehension was not pastry based.  “Is he… I mean, is Mister Belby looking for an apprentice?” you asked warily. You hadn’t remembered him mentioning needing people for his research.  Just generous charitable donations.
“As a matter of fact, he is,” Slughorn confirmed as he peered down into his glass, swirling the last few chips of ice left in the dregs of his scotch.  “A few, actually, I think.  He mentioned something about assembling a team to assist him with the werewolf trials in Albania.  It sounds like he already has a selection of test subjects lined up, so he just needs extra hands on deck.  Folks to help with data collection, potion brewing, that sort of thing.”
Your heart was pounding rapidly.  You could feel it throbbing in your throat as you attempted to swallow your macaron, but your mouth was suddenly very dry.  You felt as though you were on the verge of something very important, and you were caught between being excited, and being frightened.  “Is… Isn’t that sort of dangerous?” you asked tentatively, your head bowed toward your plate but your eyes covertly watching Slughorn.
Slughorn appeared thoughtful for a moment, before taking a deep breath and puffing out his great big cheeks with a contemplative huff.  “I imagine that’s a risk you have to take, when working with werewolves,” he explained seriously.  But his brooding tone shifted as he caught your worried eye, offering a reassuring smile instead.  “Don’t let that discourage you, dear.  If I know Damocles, he’s taking every precaution to ensure the safety of all involved.  Mostly to cover his own behind.”  Slughorn chuckled at this, and you attempted to join him, but the sound caught nervously in your throat.  Slughorn drained the last of his drink before asking, “Have you ever been abroad, my dear?”
You shifted uncomfortably, fearing that your answer would be remarkably underwhelming.  “I can’t say that I have,” you admitted, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.  The truth was you’d never even been out of London before you started attending Hogwarts.  You’d been a homebody your entire life.  Was… that about to change?  Did Slughorn think you had that kind of chance?  “Though I… certainly wouldn’t rule it out.”
Slughorn smiled broadly again, and this time he was the one patting your arm amiably.  “That’s the right mindset to have, my girl,” he chortled. His confidence in you was strange. He barely even knew you, but he seemed so eager for you to succeed.  Even if it was just so that he could say he played a part in it.  “With your spunky attitude and quick wit?  Well, as I said, I sincerely believe you’ll be going places.”
You smiled indulgently. You don’t think you’d ever been described as ‘spunky’ before, but you’d take it.  “Like Albania?” you teased, but even as you said it out loud, it made your heart flutter and your spine shiver.  Could you actually…?
Slughorn barked out a jovial laugh at this, and he nodded, tipping his glass towards you again. “Like Albania,” he concurred, and gave you another wink before peering into the aforementioned glass, finding it deplorably empty.  “Well now, I think I ought to be making my way to the bar and continuing the rounds.” He smiled up at you then, and reached his hand out for yours.  “You keep enjoying yourself, alright?” he insisted, and you smiled affably as you took his hand, giving it a firm shake.
“I will, Horace. Thank you.”  Slughorn squeezed your hand, before trying to pat it awkwardly with the other one, which was still holding the glass, before he released you and tottered off toward the bar.  You watched after him fondly, but your smile wobbled a bit.  This party was turning out to be considerably more terrifying than you had anticipated.  Between the Malfoy’s giving you the third degree, and Slughorn suggesting that you actually had what it takes to work with a Potions Master like Damocles Belby, on a venture as important and possibly world changing as curing lycanthropy…
You closed your eyes, your plate of pastries trembling slightly in your hands as you swallowed down your nerves.  You were unsure what to do, what to think, what to feel.  You’d come here to do exactly this, to make connections with people, to possibly find a job, to find a future.  But Albania…  You weren’t sure you could even point it out on a map.  It was near Greece, right?  You knew nothing about the country, and now here you were, contemplating the possibility of leaving your home for this faraway place, to work on the project of your dreams.  You wanted to help people.  But were you willing to leave your life behind in order to do it?  You suddenly weren’t very hungry any more.  After setting your plate on the tray of a passing waiter, you were contemplating a trip to the ladies’ room for some peace and quiet when you felt an arm snake around your shoulders.
“I’ve been looking for you all night.”
You yelped, nearly jumping out of your skin at the voice and the touch, and the owner of both quickly disengaged, holding both of his hands up in surrender.  Gilderoy Lockhart appeared repentant, offering an apologetic smile that, despite its clumsiness, was absolutely gleaming.  “Did I frighten you?” he asked soothingly as he reached out a placating hand.  “I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to.”  His tone was pacifying as he gestured towards himself, placing the fingertips of one hand against the chest of his sapphire dress robes.  “It’s Gwyneth, right?”  
You were clutching your own chest, trying to get your breathing under control.  What you suspected was supposed to be an attempt at a smooth move had just left you rattled, but the absurdity of his question made you bubble with laughter.  You hung your head a moment, gathering your wits up before peering back up to him with a wry smile.  “Just… Just call me Gwen,” you suggested, and Lockhart beamed, recovering quickly from his blunder.  
“Gwen it is,” he confirmed, reaching out to take one of your hands.  You didn’t pull away as he lifted it to his lips, and you felt that same giddy sort of flutter you’d experienced the last time he had done this.  Winking one of his charming blue eyes, he moved to settle his arm around your waist this time, leaning in close so you could properly hear him.  “I have been looking for you all evening, you know,” he repeated, mouth close to your ear, his warm breath brushing over your neck. “Can I buy you a drink?”
Your heartbeat began to pick up as you gazed about the room.  Why had he been looking for you, exactly?  He’d said last night that he was looking forward to seeing you again, but frankly you thought he was being facetious.  He was Gilderoy Lockhart for god’s sake. He could have any woman he wanted; they practically threw themselves at him.  So why had he chosen you…?
Okay, wait.  Pump the breaks.  He was just offering to buy you a drink.  That didn’t have to have any other implication other than wanting to talk to you.  Lucius had bought you a drink, and you were (pretty) sure that he hadn’t been trying to come on to you.  You didn’t see the Malfoy’s, or Snape for that matter, as you peered around the bar, and it didn’t take you long to come to a conclusion. Fuck it.  You were entirely overwhelmed with everything that had happened, and you were ready to disengage.  You would gladly listen to Gilderoy Lockhart talk about himself for hours if it meant you didn’t have to think about anything for a while.  It might even be nice to talk with someone a little closer to your own age.  Turning your face up to his, you offered a tired little smile.  “That sounds lovely,” you accepted, and a look of triumph flickered over Lockhart’s face.
“Splendid!” he grinned, practically radiating with excitement as he slipped his arm away from your waist, taking up one of your hands instead as he guided you across the room. “I’ve commandeered one of these charming little booths,” he explained, gesturing into one of the circular enclaves, his deep blue cloak draped across the bench.  “Have a seat, and I’ll nip off to the bar, shall I?” he suggested, though it clearly was not up for debate.  You’d barely turned to answer him when he was already taking off across the room.  You smiled warily again as you took a seat in the booth, his energy levels already wearing you out.  
While Lockhart was at the bar, you took a moment to scan the room again.  You really couldn’t see Snape or the Malfoy’s anywhere, and that made you a little anxious.  Where could they have possibly gotten off to?  Wasn’t Snape supposed to be watching you?  You did let out a little sigh of relief as you caught Slughorn’s eye from across the room.  He raised a hand to you in a polite little wave, and you returned it before you settled back into the squishy velvet bench.  At least someone knew where you were. Not that you were worried.  You were just looking forward to free drinks (oh please, let him be getting champagne) and zoning out for a bit while Lockhart regaled stories of his achievements.
And you did perk up a little when you saw that Lockhart did indeed have two flutes of pink champagne in his hands.  You were a sucker for the bubbly, and you were excited to finally get what you’d been craving.  Lockhart pulled the dark, flowing curtains closed behind him as he entered the booth, and much like the phone boxes out in the lobby, the alcove was suddenly draped in pleasant quiet.  It didn’t block all the sound; you could still hear the band and the soft chatter of guests, but it wasn’t nearly as loud any more.  “Cheers, darling,” Lockhart gushed, handing you your glass before clinking the flutes together and settling down beside you.  He threw his arm over the back of the bench behind your shoulders, but this time he refrained from touching you.
“Cheers,” you answered, lifting your glass to your face and sniffing it first.  It smelled heavenly, but also a bit strange, like no champagne you’d ever had before.  It was like almonds and chocolate at first, but on another whiff, it became spicy and herbal.  And that just made you giddy, because you were having quite a good time exploring magical alcohol this evening.  You were already feeling the weight lifting off of you.
“So, how were the lectures today?” Lockhart asked, a hint of teasing in his voice as he crossed one knee over the other, looking quite luxurious as he lounged beside you.  “Were they dreadful, or just boring?”
You lowered your glass, your mouth falling open slightly at his candor.  He’d sounded oh so regretful yesterday when he’d told Slughorn he’d be missing out on the lectures.  But now you had the impression that he was just as jaded as you were.  “Dreadfully boring, actually,” you conceded, and Lockhart grinned as he took a sip from his own glass, as if he were in on some sort of inside joke.
“As I suspected,” he mused, swirling his glass as he leaned in towards you surreptitiously.  “I know I said they’d misplaced my reservation, but to be frank, I wasn’t too beat up about it.  Potions aren’t exactly my specialty, but I couldn’t deny Old Sluggy when he invited me to become a member.”  He shrugged a shoulder with a longsuffering sigh, as if it was such a chore to attend these sorts of things, to do such trivial favors for people like Slughorn. Peering back down at you, he gestured toward your glass with his own.  “Drink up, darling.  You don’t want that getting warm.”
You rolled your eyes at his confession about not being too bent out of shape over missing the lectures, but having attended them yourself, you could sort of see where he was coming from. Lifting the glass to your lips, you took your first sip of the fizzling champagne, and you were overwhelmed with a variety of sensations.  So many different flavors swirled around your mouth in that moment that you couldn’t possibly pin point each one, but somehow, they all tasted incredible.  Lockhart was watching you closely as you drank, amusement etching his delicate features, and you got the impression that he knew you’d never had anything like this before.  
“Between you and me,” Lockhart continued, still staying conspiratorially close as he spoke, glancing through the small partition in the curtains as if to make sure you weren’t being overheard.  “I much preferred Slughorn to Snape.  Even when we attended school together, Snape was always just so…” he waved the hand that was hovering over your shoulder vaguely, trying to come up with the correct descriptor, but the repulsed look on his face said it well enough.   “Well. I’m sure you know.  Do you really apprentice for him?” he asked incredulously, and at your nod of confirmation, he shook his head in disbelief.  “How on earth have you survived this long?”
You laughed a little at that, shrugging your shoulder as you took another sip.  “He’s… He’s not so bad,” you yielded, feeling like you ought to be offended by his implications towards your professor, but finding yourself entirely disinclined to do so. It was easier to just sort of agree with Lockhart.  “We work quite well together, actually,” you managed to defend, and you found yourself peering out towards the bar as well.  There was still no sign of Snape or the Malfoy’s.  You found that you didn’t particularly care anymore.
“That’s surprising,” Lockhart admitted, his nose still scrunched up in distaste.  “Not that I ever had classes with him, but I was under the impression that he was incapable of working with anyone.”  He looked for pensive a moment, before peering into his own glass and taking another sip.  “I mean, besides Evans.”
You bristled slightly, arching an eyebrow as you peered over your shoulder at Lockhart.  “Who?” you asked, and Lockhart looked abashed.
“Ah.  Lily Evans,” he explained, and at your bemused expression, continued on.  “Old flame of his back in school, I think.  Or well,” he scoffed with a snort of laughter.  “That might be stretching it.  If there were any flames between them, it was more like him carrying a torch for her.”  Lockhart drained his glass before sitting up straight, pulling out his wand from the breast pocket of his robes.  “It was painfully obvious that she wasn’t interested.  As if anyone would blame her.”  He tapped his glass, and it refilled instantly with more of the pale pink champagne.  Stuffing his wand back into his robe, he threw his arm across the back of the bench once more, but this time he allowed it to settle around your shoulders, shifting a little closer to you.  “Now he’s just a bitter old bastard, isn’t he?”
Your head felt like it was full of cotton and bees, a soft thrum buzzing through your veins as you settled comfortably against Gilderoy’s side.  You were much more lightheaded than you’d been before too; perhaps the champagne was a higher proof than the elf wine.  Gilderoy must have had a high tolerance if he was already on his second glass.  You were barely halfway through your own.  The name Lily Evans felt familiar to you, but no bells were ringing as you sighed. “Yeah… he kind of is,” you agreed, your brows pressed together now as you thought about it.  That… wasn’t right.  He was kind to you but… he was sort of prick sometimes too.
Gilderoy leaned in close, and you could feel him nuzzle the side of your head, heard him breathe in the scent of your hair as he cooed into your ear.  “Life is much too short to spend it pining, don’t you think?”  He tapped the bottom of your champagne flute with his fingers, and you lifted it obediently to your lips, taking another long swallow of the inexplicably flavored spirit.  “I’m much more inclined to simply seize what I want, when I want it. It saves me an awful lot of trouble.”  You shuddered slightly as he pulled away to place his glass onto the table, and used his now free hand to brush away a lock of your hair.  Dragging a knuckle over your cheek, he placed his fingertips under your chin and tilted your head, your hazel eyes locking with his glittering blue ones.  “What about you, darling?  What are the things you want?”
You had to think hard, because your brain felt like it was floating on another planet somewhere. What did you want?  You wanted to crawl into this man’s strong embrace and live there forever, but you couldn’t tell him that, could you?  “I honestly don’t know anymore,” you murmured, trying to remember the other things that you wanted…  You had a reason for being here, right…?  It was still a pretty good reason too, so you grabbed onto it through the haze.  “I guess… all I really want to do is help people.”
Gilderoy chuckled, his breath warm and honeyed against your cheek.  “You sweet thing,” he murmured, and took to stroking the line of your jaw, like one might pet a particularly compliant kitten.  “I know what you mean.  That’s what I try to do, with my books.  First, I help those remote little villages with their zombies or their trolls or whatever.  And then I help all of those poor, lonely women who read my books by adding a little fantasy to their lives.  It’s a very rewarding occupation.”  You were hardly paying attention to his words, but your eyes were quite focused on his lips as he spoke.  When they finally shut up, they curved into that charming smile that was melting your insides.  “How’s the champagne?” he asked, and you huffed out a little laugh of your own, straightening up a little as you peered into your glass.  It was nearly empty now.
“Weird, actually,” you admitted, swirling it around and inhaling its aroma once more.  Now it smelled like all-sorts, your favorite candy from when you were a child.  “I can’t figure out what it’s supposed to taste like,” you admitted, lifting your face dreamily.  “It’s fantastic.”
Gilderoy’s smile was handsome and warm, and you found yourself snuggling closer against him.  “That’s typical for first time drinkers,” he explained, placing his hand over yours, holding the glass along with you.  “It’s charmed, you see.  Supposed to take on the flavors of your favorite things.”  He lifted the glass towards your lips, watching you with a hot intensity that made your pulse flutter in your neck, and… elsewhere. “Take another sip.  Really concentrate, now.  And tell me, what does it taste like, for you?”
Your eyes never left his as you drained the glass into your mouth, and you swirled it around your tongue before swallowing it down.  “Licorice,” you murmured, taking a deep breath to try and recapture the taste.  “Coconut.  And something else… spicy… cloves?”  You wanted more, but Gilderoy was plucking the empty glass from your fingers, placing it on the table before returning his hand to your face, tracing your bottom lip with the soft pad of his thumb.  
“What an interesting palate you’ve got,” he teased, and he leaned in very close then, making that warm thrum pounding through your veins turn fiery hot and loud.  “Would you mind if I had a taste?”
His lips were outrageously soft as they pressed against yours, and you sighed contentedly as you slid your hands against his chest.  He tasted like champagne, the tart kind you were used to, as you relented to the prodding of his tongue.  His dress robes were satin, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest through the smooth fabric.  The sound of his quiet moaning filled your ears and dropped straight down to settle between your legs.  You always liked the sounds that boys made…
You were panting softly when he finally pulled away, and he dragged his fingers through your thick hair as he allowed you to catch your breath.  “You’re very beautiful, you know,” he murmured against the corner of your mouth.  “When I met you yesterday, I just knew… Shame about the company you’ve been forced to keep, but I’d be happy to provide you an escape from that.”  That made something stutter in your brain, and you blinked with confusion as you stared down at his cravat.  The company you’re forced to keep…?  Did he mean…?  “And as I said, I prefer to seize the things I want when I want them.”
His mouth was on yours again and he kissed… wetly.  And you knew that you didn’t like it when guys kissed too wet, when they used too much tongue, when they tried to eat your mouth.  This wasn’t what you liked.  But you were powerless against it.  Your brain was trying to convince yourself that this… that Gilderoy… was exactly what you liked.  And your mind smoothed over with that soft, fuzzy buzzing again.  This was what you wanted.  “Gilderoy…” you gasped as you felt a hand slide down your waist, gripping your hip firmly as he hoisted you into his lap.
“Mmm… My name tastes awfully good on your lips,” he teased, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.  You sighed softly as the sensation sent another shockwave through your body, and you leaned in for more…
The sound of the curtains being throw open startled you both apart, and as you peered over your shoulder to confront the intrusion, your insides went cold with dread.  Snape was beyond livid.  He looked downright lethal as he stood in the entrance to the booth, his dark eyes flickering from you, to Gilderoy, and then to the glasses on the table.  Gilderoy was the first to recover from his shock, and he sat up straight, shifting you back onto the bench seat, an arm still firmly around your waist.  He looked nearly as angry as Snape did, but there was also a flicker of fear behind his blazing blue eyes.  
“What the hell, man?!” Gilderoy demanded, but any further protest died is his throat as Snape bent over to pick up your empty champagne flute, holding it to his nose and inhaling deeply.  You glanced wildly between Gilderoy and your professor as Gilderoy started to disentangle himself from you, reaching for his wand in his robes, while Snape glared murderously over the rim of the glass.  
“Now, see here, Snape-” but Gilderoy was cut off by the deafening pop of shattering glass as Snape hurled the flute onto the table, glittering shards spraying over the rosewood surface and onto the floor.  You screamed then, pulling your legs up onto the bench as Snape shoved past you. Gilderoy was brandishing his wand, looking panic stricken as he cried “Oblivi-!”  But Snape was nearly as quick with his fists as you were.  You shrieked again at the meaty thwack of Snape’s knuckles colliding with Gilderoy’s cheek, and the blonde man fell back onto the bench again, his eyes wide with fright.  
But Snape didn’t advance further on the other man.  Instead, he rounded on you, grabbing your arm so fiercely that you feared your sleeve would tear.  He hauled you to your feet before growling, “We’re leaving.  Now,” and shoving you through the curtains.  You were momentarily stunned, your cotton filled head throbbing, before you finally found the sense to be outraged.
“Hey!” you cried, whipping around to face your professor.  But any glare you could produce wasn’t even on the same level as the once marring his own features, and you wilted slightly as he took your arm again, attempting to get you moving as he pulled you across the floor. “Hey, let go of me! Gilder-” you tried to twist yourself out of Snape’s grip, turning to look back into the booth, but you found it startlingly empty.  Gilderoy was gone, Disapparated, the only evidence that he’d even been there being his glass of champagne, which had spilled out onto the table.  
You were tempted to make a scene as you were bodily dragged through the room, but no one was really paying much attention to either of you.  Apparently, enough of the commotion had taken place behind the silence charmed curtains that no one had even noticed something violent had happened.  The only worried look you received was from Horace Slughorn, who was hovering anxiously at the end of the bar as he watched Snape pull you through the doors.
Snape only relented his grip when he practically threw you into the elevator, following in behind you and slamming the button to close the doors and start the ascent to the fourth floor. You were panting, your entire existence seething with outrage, and you finally exploded with indignation.
“What the hell is your problem?” you cried, your hands tightening into fists as you glared at your professor.  But he entirely disregarded you, leaning against the corner of the elevator as he stared intently at the floor indicator.  You were not going to be ignored.  “Hey!  I’m talking to you!  What is your damage?”  You reached out and shoved his shoulder roughly, but he remained steadfast, your push barely even jostling him.  Fine.  If he wouldn’t respond to physical jabs…
“You’re jealous, aren’t you?” you ridiculed, feeling angry tears stinging your eyes as you inserted yourself between Snape and the door, forcing him to look at you by proximity alone. He returned your glare, but you saw the irritated twitch of a muscle in his cheek.  “You have been since yesterday.  Gilderoy showed you up and you’ve been moping like some sullen schoolboy ever since.  Then you barge in and ruin the only good time I’ve managed to have this whole bloody weekend? You’re pathetic.”  The rage that coursed through you seemed very, very real.  But there was a queasiness forming in the pit of your stomach, and a throb of pain in your temple as you spoke.  You winced, reaching your hand up into your hair to clutch at your scalp, but keeping your glare as resolute as possible.  
Snape watched your every move carefully, and you wanted to smack him for daring to look so concerned. You’d been doing just fine before he showed up!  “And why, exactly, would I be jealous of Gilderoy Lockhart?” he hissed, his composure faltering just long enough for you to see your opening, to strike at the soft underbelly that his glowering armor didn’t reach.  
“Oh, I don’t know,” you rolled your eyes flippantly, crossing your arms over your chest as you counted off the ways.  “He’s young, handsome, rich.”  You sneered up at him, lowering your voice dangerously as you went in for the kill. “Just what have you got going for you?”
The elevator came to a stop, and you once again found your arm pinched in a vicelike grip as Snape dragged you down the hall.  You protested, trying to pry his hand off of you, but before you could manage, you were being shoved into your shared hotel room and practically tossed onto his bed. You made to stand right back up, but you were pushed down by a heavy hand on your shoulder.
“Sit down,” Snape commanded, and you crossed your arms defiantly as you grudgingly did as you were told. Poised on the corner of his bed, you glared at his back as he dug through his weekender bag.  That seething hatred you felt was starting to dissipate, but left in its wake was a sick kind of worry.  What was going to happen to you?  What had happened to Gilderoy?  He’d just left you!  What if he came back and you weren’t there?  Why had he left you in the first place?
Snape spun around, and you jumped as he held out a thin glass vial, the dark amber apothecary glass masking whatever was inside.  You eyed it suspiciously as Snape demanded, “Drink this.”
You looked from the vial to your professor, before laughing incredulously.  “Why should I?” you questioned, and though your tone was petulant, your curiosity was sincere.  What kind of game was he trying to play here?
Snape gritted his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “Because I told you to,” he insisted, as if that was ever going to be a good enough reason.
You stood up then, your eyes wide with vitriol as you tried to make yourself imposing.  “Why should I do anything you say?” you cried, nearing a shout as you took a step forward.  You were satisfied when Snape took a step back, but you realized all he was doing was blocking your exit.  “You hit Gilderoy and then dragged me all the way up here!”  You tried to shove past him, but he reached out to grab your arm again, and you recoiled away from him vehemently.  “I want to go back right now!”
Snape leveled you with a harsh glower, but he kept his voice even as he spoke.  “Drink this, and you can go,” he promised, holding the vial out once again.  You were a little pissed off that he was trying to take the high road, acting all calm and collected like he hadn’t just been shoving you around for the past ten minutes.  
Frowning down at the vial, you considered this ultimatum.  At this point, you were willing to do almost anything to escape this horrible man, and get back to Gilderoy while you still had the chance. “What is it?” you asked tentatively, your voice still harsh as you scowled back up at him.  There was another throb in the side of your head, and you winced once more.
Snape’s ire reduced even further, that worried pang flickering over his face once again like it had in the elevator.  “Sobering Solution,” he explained blandly, holding the bottle out this time, waiting for you to take it.  “You’re drunk, and I don’t want you leaving this bloody room until you drink this. Do you understand me?”
You glanced from Snape to the vial a few times.  He wasn’t wrong.  You did feel drunk, or high, or something.  Your brain still felt like it was full of fluff, and the throbbing in your temple and the churning of your guts only made things feel worse.  You were able to recall just enough to know that Sobering Solution was typically stored in dark glass, as opposed to clear… And deep in the back of your swimming head, you remembered that Snape had never given you a reason not to trust him.
Snatching the vial from his hand, you pulled the cork out with your teeth, spitting it out onto his bed. Tipping your head back and drinking the whole thing, the bitter taste coated your tongue as it made its way down your throat.  And you were immediately aware of three things; this was not a Sobering Solution, it was a Purging Potion, and Snape had lied to you.
You swooned, dropping the glass to the carpeted floor as you stumbled back onto his bed.  The room seemed to spin, that aching pain in your head became a stabbing one, and the roiling in your guts became more pronounced. “Oh…” you moaned, holding your hand over your mouth as you looked up franticly, delirious with panic as your mouth flooded with saliva.  
Snape was already standing at the door to the bathroom as he flipped the light on.  “I’m sorry, Miss Goode,” he apologized, all of his previous irritation having completely drained away as he cleared a path for you.  “I’m afraid this isn’t going to be pretty.”  
You felt another surge of agony wrack your stomach and your brain, and you stumbled over your dress as you dashed past him into the bathroom.  You skidded to your knees before the toilet, just in time for the violent upheaval of your insides to make its way out.  And with each retch of your body, with each splash of pink foam into the bowl, you felt your mind become your own again.  And you started to sob violently.
Your turmoil worsened as you felt long fingers brush against your cheeks, gathering your hair back and away from your face to be held loosely at the nape of your neck.  Then came the comforting sensation of a cool washcloth held against your forehead.  A lean body was pressed against your back, and calming words were being whispered into your ear.  “Shh… Get it out,” Snape murmured soothingly, even as your sobs grew harder and your retching began to taper off into dry heaves.  “You’re okay.”
But you weren’t okay. You were so far from okay, you weren’t sure you’d ever be okay again.  Though the pain in your stomach had finally subsided, the torment in your brain persisted, and your anguished tears weren’t helping.  You felt a shift behind you, Snape releasing your hair so that he could reach over and flush the purge away, and you twisted yourself around at that moment, shoving your face into his chest as you clutched desperately at his waist.
“I didn’t mean it!” you sobbed, feeling absolutely wretched as your tears soaked into the fabric of his frock coat.  He’d gone very still under your hands, and for a moment you were horrified that he might be disgusted with you.  “Oh, my g-god,” you whimpered, lifting your tear-streaked face to meet his.  He looked worried, his lips parted, perhaps on the verge of saying something, but you needed him to understand.  “I didn’t m-mean it!  Y-You know that, r-right?”  You raised your hands further, fingers gripping at his shoulders as you pulled yourself up to kneel before him.  “Please, look inside,” you begged, forcing yourself to look into his eyes, wanting to feel the skittery scrape of beetle legs against your skull.  You knew the risk, knew that this could ruin everything, but you had to let him know.  You had to.  “Please.”
He sighed heavily, looking away from you as he sat back onto the tile floor, bringing you along with him. His long legs were sprawled on either side of you as you sat back on your knees between them.  As he wiped at your cheeks with the wet cloth, you glanced down to see the rag smeared with black mascara.  Tossing it aside, he reached out to push your hair back out of your face, cradling your skull in his hands as he stared intently into your eyes… where you felt nothing.  No beetles. No invasion.  No pain.  You felt nothing as he gazed down at you with so much concern in his coal black eyes.  “I don’t need to look,” he whispered, his voice thick and unsure.  “I know…”
You were trembling as your sobs started anew, and you didn’t even care at this point.  You buried your face into his chest again, and this time you felt his arms wrap tightly around you as you howled your grief against his heart. You didn’t know how long it lasted, the emotional purge that you suffered after the physical one.  But Snape made no move to end the embrace until you were ready.  And that almost made you feel worse. After all he’d done for you, all that he continued to do… and you’d… you said such awful…
Your sobs had dwindled off to quiet sniffs and hiccups when he finally broke the silence.  “Think you can get up?” he asked quietly, and your entire body quivered at the thought of having to move.  You were exhausted, emotionally and physically drained, but you knew you couldn’t sit on this bathroom floor forever.  Sitting back on your knees, you gazed down at the wet patch you’d left on his coat.  But before you could start up a fresh wave of tears, he’d slipped his wand from his sleeve, casting a spell to banish all of the excess tears and mucus from your skull. You were so startled by the sudden ability to see and breathe again, that you didn’t even bat an eye when he cast a second spell to Accio your bag into the bathroom, and a third to swiftly undo all of the buttons down the back of your dress.  You shivered at the sudden exposure, but you didn’t feel uncomfortable in the least.
“I’ll give you some time to change,” he muttered quietly, pushing himself up from the floor, and reaching his hands out for yours.  You took them gratefully, and he hauled you to your feet, before setting down the toilet lid and letting you sit back on it.  “I’ll be right in the other room,” he promised, picking up your bag and setting it into your lap.  “Take your time.  Come out whenever you’re ready to discuss what happened.”
“What happened…?” you croaked, staring down at your bag clutched in your lap.  Snape sighed softly, placing both of his hands on your shoulders and squeezing comfortingly before turning away and exiting the bathroom, clicking the door shut behind him.  You thought you were going to cry by yourself now, but your head hurt too much, and more than anything, you did not want to be alone for longer than you had to be.  You made quick work of getting out of your dress, pulling on your stupid bumble bee pajamas instead.  You quickly brushed your teeth, desperately needing to banish the taste of sick from your mouth, and you splashed some water onto your face as well, scrubbing away the last of your makeup.  Your face looked swollen from crying, and you winced as you spotted a few burst blood vessels under your eyes, surely from the force of your purge.  With a sigh, you threw everything back into your bag, and shuffled out into the hotel room.
Snape was at the writing desk, wearing only his trousers and shirtsleeves now as he sorted out his bag, which he’d apparently ransacked in search of his potions kit.  Glancing up upon your arrival, he stood, taking your bag from you and setting it at the end of your bed.  When he returned, he held out three more small glass vials.  
“Calming Draught, Stomach Soother, and a Dreamless Sleep,” he explained, before adding, “If you think you need them.”  You smiled weakly, but gratefully accepted the Calming Draught and the Stomach Soother, swallowing them dutifully, knowing that they were exactly what he said they were this time.  Especially because you were pretty sure you had brewed them yourself.  You handed the empty bottles back to him, before placing the Dreamless Sleep on the table between the beds, and pausing as you stared down at it.  You didn’t want to take it just yet.  After a moment’s deliberation, you crawled on top of his bed, laying on your side and curling yourself around one of the decorative pillows as you settled in to let the potions work their magic.  Snape looked wary, but ultimately joined you on the bed, sitting a respectful distance away with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, his hands folded in his lap as he leaned back against the multitude of pillows.  
There was a beat of silence as you felt the relaxing effects of the Calming Draught on your muscles, as well as your mind.  You didn’t feel so inclined to burst into tears this time when you quietly asked, “What happened?”  You had a feeling you already knew… but you needed to hear it from him.
Snape sighed heavily, tilting his head back to stare up at the ceiling.  “Love potion,” he confirmed finally, and you shuddered to hear what you already suspected.  “And a shoddy one at that.  It gave you a headache, right?  That means it was weak enough for you to try and resist, but every time you tried, it would cause you pain…”  You peered up at him, thinking back to the moment he’d come in, how all it took was a whiff of your empty glass to know exactly what was going on.  He was so brilliant… knew exactly what to give you to end the potions effects.  Knew the most effective way to make sure you’d actually take it.  But the fact that you’d had to take it at all…
“Where were you?” you whispered, tightness creeping into your voice as you fought back fresh tears that the Calming Draught couldn’t fully suppress.  
Snape looked stricken as he stared back down at you, and you felt guilty for even asking him.  You knew this wasn’t his fault.  He hadn’t given you a love potion, and he’d come to your aide before anything worse could happen… but…
“Some chaperone I turned out to be,” he muttered softly, and you let yourself smile at his self-depreciation.  It was a little funny, in a morbid kind of way.  He hummed as he rubbed his forehead.  You wondered if he had a headache too.  “I’d dragged Lucius Malfoy out of the bar to give him a piece of my mind,” he admitted finally.  “The way he treated you, the things he said.  They were deplorable and I…”  He sighed again, slumping back against the pillows.  “I should never have told them in the first place.  After trusting you with my own…” he trailed off, closing his eyes as he recounted the rest.  “I couldn’t find you after I’d returned, and it was Slughorn who told me he’d seen you in the booth with Lockhart.”
You tensed a little, clutching the pillow to your chest even tighter now, staring down at the creases and folds in the duvet.  “I went in there willingly,” you whispered.  You weren’t even sure if he could hear you.  “I was mad… at the Malfoys.  And then he showed up and offered to buy me a drink and I just… I didn’t think it would hurt…  He was so harmless the night before, I didn’t think he’d…”  You were spiraling a little.  The Calming Draught could only do so much, and you pressed your face into the top of the pillow to staunch the flow of tears.
The bed shifted beside you, and you felt a warm hand against your arm, caressing it soothingly, if a bit awkwardly, as if he didn’t really know how to do this.  It was such a stark contrast to the death grip he’d held it with before.  “This wasn’t your fault,” Snape said firmly, and you lifted your face from the pillow with a sniff.  “Administering a love potion without consent is a criminal offence.  You could press charges.”
You knew that.  It’s something you learned quite early on in Potions class, when some stupid girl had worked up enough courage to ask Snape about how to make them.  But… “Who’s going to believe me?” you whispered miserably, peering up at your professor.
“What?” Snape asked, his hand stilling on your shoulder as he was startled by your question.  But he really shouldn’t have been.
“Who the hell is going to believe me?”  You pushed yourself up with both of your hands, getting on the same level as your professor as you explained.  “He’s a celebrity.  I’d gone in there with him of my own free will, and everything else happened behind closed, silence charmed curtains.  All of my evidence just got flushed down the loo. And…”  You knew this was serious, but you found yourself smiling ruefully. “And you fucking decked him, Professor.  He might press charges against you.”
Snape looked… sick. He looked absolutely sick to his stomach as he reflected on your words, as if he knew what it was like to be the victim of some great wrongdoing, and knowing there was absolutely no chance of the perpetrator being even so much as reprimanded.  He looked like he wanted to say something to the contrary, to try and convince you that pressing charges, that telling someone, was the right thing to do, but every time he opened his mouth, he closed it again.  Finally, he was the one to flop back onto the bed, almost pouting.  “He deserved it.”
You smiled a little wider, and you settled back onto the mattress yourself, pulling the pillow back into your arms as you curled yourself around it.  “I can’t argue with that.”
There was another beat of silence, but this one was surprisingly comfortable.  Maybe it was the Calming Draught, but for some reason you found yourself clinging to the… well they weren’t good things, but they were positive things.  Snape punching Lockhart had been pretty spectacular. Snape coming to your rescue like some kind of pissed off mama bear had been… well, admittedly, it had been a little painful, but now that you were on the other side of it, it had been quite courageous.  And Snape believing you, being righteously angry on your behalf…
God.  You loved him.
The silence stretched, and you were wondering if you ought to transfer yourself back over to your own bed, when Snape rolled onto his side to face you, a frown tugging at his lips. “Gwendolyn…  What do you want to do?” he asked broodingly, and you felt your breath catch in your chest at the use of your first name.  You hadn’t gotten a chance to savor it yesterday…
Staring down at the duvet, you considered his question.  You were happy, right here, right now.  This was quiet.  Calm. Comfortable.  But you knew this wouldn’t last forever.  You knew that the sun would rise eventually.  The thought of waking up in the morning to go to another bloody lecture, to face the Malfoy’s, to have to look anyone in the eye who may have seen you enter that booth with Lockhart...  “I want to go home,” you said finally, your voice tight.
“Home,” Snape repeated, sounding decidedly uncomfortable at the suggestion.  “To your mother?”
Oh… Was that an option? God, you would have to tell her about this, wouldn’t you?  Would it be easier to do in person?  Over the phone?  Through a letter?  Ugh… no… You didn’t want to think about that.  You didn’t want to do any of that just yet.  The thought of sinking into your mother’s arms and telling her all that had happened terrified you, because you knew she’d want you to do something about it.  But you just couldn’t…  Shaking your head, you gazed back up to your professor. “No… Home to Hogwarts,” you clarified, and Snape nodded with understanding.
“We can catch the morning train,” he promised you softly.  “I don’t think there’s any reason for us to overstay.”  You sighed with relief, and you could feel your exhaustion taking over in the proceeding lull of silence, your eyes drifting closed to the sound of the crackling fire in the hearth.  They only flickered open at the touch of his hand against your arm again, as he tentatively asked, “What else can I do for you?”
You smiled softly, blinking your eyes blearily before they slid shut again.  “Just stay here with me,” you whispered.  “Please.”
There was a pause, and you felt the mattress dip as he properly laid down beside you, his hand still on your arm as you felt sleep tug at your mind.  “Alright.”
---
!!TRIGGER WARNINGS!!: Gwen is going to be slipped a potion without her consent. This potion is going to be used to manipulate her. There will be dub-con kissing and touching. None of this is perpetrated by Snape. There will also be vomit.
---
“Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy” by Queen
“ilomilo” by Billie Eilish
“Sleep Drifter” by King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard
---
Next Scene ==>
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35 notes · View notes
rapturerecords · a year ago
Video
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, as we mark the end of the first year of the new decade.
I’m pleased to welcome WLH and WBDS radio commencing broadcast operations this year in the city of Lost Heaven. Alas, record shipments from a coastal city to an underwater one are currently backed up at the moment, but portions of their setlists should be published shortly.
Residents of Santa Modesta also have been sending in slightly less fuzzy photographs of supposed little gray men.
On display in the store window is the very latest in automatic recorders from Revere-Wollensak. I’ve been currently using the unusual stacking tape cartridge mechanism to play 15 hours worth of store announcements before changing the stack. Each used tape slides over to the right from below while a fresh one is lowered from the stack. It’s a new push from the offices of the Minnesota Mining and Manufacturing Company. I expect they will be abbreviating their rather unwieldy name soon since they are quickly expanding their magnetic tape services.
Given that the selection of pre-recorded tapes from the catalog they have sent me is rather limited, I’ve been trying to dub some of the records to the new stacking tape cartridges, but customers haven’t shown much interest. Perhaps Mr. Porter would be interested in a new Linear Tape Open device to upgrade The Thinker’s memory banks. If anything, Wattz Electronics has some competition on the market for square holotapes.
As always, we’ll take this time to remember Patti Page, singer of “Doggie in the Window” who also passed away on New Year’s Day.
See if your favorite record, 8-track, cassette, wax cylinder, or transcription disc was featured this year:
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BioShock
“Bei Mir Bist du Schön” - Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 1562
“Bei Mir Bist du Schön” - Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23605 (reissue)
“It’s Bad for Me” - Rosemary Clooney and Benny Goodman - Columbia Records 40616
“Papa Loves Mambo” - Perry Como - RCA Victor Records 20-5857
“20th Century Blues” - Noël Coward - Columbia Records ML 5163
“The Party’s Over Now” (1959) - Noël Coward - Columbia Records ML 5163
“Wrap Your Troubles in Dreams” - Bing Crosby - Victor Records 22701
“Beyond the Sea” - Bobby Darin - ATCO Records 45-6158
“Night and Day” - Billie Holiday - Columbia Records 3044 (reissue)
“The Best Things in Life are Free” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 24327
“If I Didn’t Care” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 2286
“Danny Boy” - Mario Lanza - The Magic of Mario Lanza - Heartland Music HL 1046/50
Anniversary Revisits: 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019
“(How Much is That) Doggie in the Window” (1966) - Patti Page - Columbia Records CS 9326 (in-game version)
“The Doggie in the Window” (1953) - Patti Page - Mercury Records 70070 (original version)
“You’re the Top” (1934) - Cole Porter - Victor Records 24766 (original version)
“La Mer” - Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Grappelli - Djangology RCA RGP-1186 (reissue)
Cohen’s Quadtych: “Academy Award” vs. “The Ballroom Waltz”
“Academy Award” - Stanley Black - Music De Wolfe DW/LP 2977
“Too Young” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1449
“Just Walking in the Rain” - Johnnie Ray - Columbia Records 40729
“Waltz of the Flowers”
Looking for BioShock’s Django Reinhardt
BioShock's Soundtrack Timeline Quirks and Hiccups
BioShock 2
“Ten Cents a Dance” - Ruth Etting - Columbia Records 2146D
“Dawn of a New Day” - Horace Heidt and his Musical Knights - Brunswick Records 8313
“It’s Only a Paper Moon” - Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23425
BioShock 10th Anniversary Revisit and Eclipse
“Someone’s Rocking My Dream Boat” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 4045
“We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3379
“I’m Making Believe” - Ink Spots with Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
“Bei Mir Bist du Schon” - Benny Goodman with Martha Tilton - The Famous 1938 Carnegie Hall Jazz Concert - Columbia Records ML 4359
Hush, Hush, Hush, Here Comes the Bogey Man“ - Henry Hall and his Orchestra with Val Rosing - Columbia Records FB 2816
“Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640
“You Always Hurt the One You Love” - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 18599
“Paper Doll” - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 18318
“Dream” - The Pied Pipers - Capitol Records 185
“Chasing Shadows” - Quintette du Hot Club de France - Royale Records 1798
“Nightmare” (1938) - Artie Shaw - Bluebird Records B-7875 (in-game version)
“Nightmare” (1937) - Art Shaw and his New Music - Vocalion Records 4306 (re-recording)
“Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out” - Bessie Smith - Parlophone Records R2481
Father’s Day in Rapture
“Daddy Won’t You Please Come Home” - Annette Hanshaw - Velvet Tone Records 1940V
“My Heart Belongs to Daddy” - Mary Martin - Brunswick Records 8282
“Daddy’s Little Girl” (1976) - Mills Brothers - Ranwood Records R-8152 (in-game version)
“Daddy’s Little Girl” (1950) - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 24872 (original version)
BioShock Infinite
"Ain't She Sweet" - Ben Bernie - Brunswick Records 3444
"Button Up Your Overcoat" - Helen Kane - Victor Records 21863
"(What Do We Do on a) Dew-Dew-Dewey Day" - Charles Kaley - Columbia Records 1055D
"Indian Love Call" - Sigmund Krumgold - Okeh Records 40904
"Me and My Shadow" - Sam Lanin - Lincoln Records 2628
"Black Gal" - Ed Lewis with unidentified prisoners (recorded by Alan Lomax)
"I'm Wild About That Thing" - Bessie Smith - Columbia Records 14427D
"Makin' Whoopee!" - Rudy Vallée - Harmony Records 825-H
The Cylinders of BioShock Infinite
"Shine On, Harvest Moon" - Ada Jones and Billy Murray - Edison Standard Record 10134
"The Bonnie Blue Flag" - Polk Miller - Edison Blue Amberol Record 2175
"After You've Gone"
"The Easy Winners"
"Solace - A Mexican Serenade"
“Just a Closer Walk with Thee” - Elizabeth’s version
“Just a Closer Walk with Thee” - Selah Jubilee Singers - Decca Records 7872
“The Grand Old Rag” - Billy Murray - Victor Records 4634
Albert Fink's Magical Melodies Presents: "God Only Knows"
“Ah! La femme il n’y que ça“ - Mon. A. Fertinel - Improved Berliner Gramophone Record 1148
“God Only Knows” - The Beach Boys - Capitol Records 5706
"Fortunate Son" - Creedence Clearwater Revival - Fantasy Records 634
Burial at Sea
Episode 1
The Complete Records Behind the Music
"Midnight, The Stars and You" - Al Bowlly - Victor Records 24700
"She's Got You" - Patsy Cline - Decca Records 31354
"Wonderful! Wonderful!" - Johnny Mathis - Columbia Records 40784
"The Lady is a Tramp" - Mel Tormé - London American Recordings HL N.8305
"Tonight for Sure!" - Ruth Wallis - Wallis Original Record Corp. 2001
"Stranger in Paradise"
Episode 2
The Complete Records Behind the Music
"Back in Baby's Arms" - Patsy Cline - Decca Records 31483
"Easy to Love" - Sammy Davis Jr. - Starring Sammy Davis Jr. Decca Records DL 8118
"Don't Sit Under the Apple Tree" - Glenn Miller - Bluebird Records B-11474
"La Vie en Rose" - Édith Piaf - Columbia Records 4004-F
“La Vie en Rose” (English version) - Édith Piaf - Columbia Records 38948
“La Vie en Rose” in 2007′s BioShock
"The Great Pretender" - The Platters - Mercury Records 70753
"You Belong to Me"
Classic Fallouts
"A Kiss to Build a Dream On" - Louis Armstrong - Decca Records 27720
"Slave to the Blues" - Ma Rainey - Paramount Records 12332
Fallout 3 (Galaxy News Radio)
"Civilization" - Andrews Sisters and Danny Kaye - Decca Records 23940
“Butcher Pete (Part 1)” - Roy Brown - De-Luxe Records 3301
“Rhythm for You” - composed by Eddy Christiani & Frans Poptie - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 40
“‘Way Back Home” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Happy Times” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Dear Hearts and Gentle People” - Bob Crosby - Standard Program Library U-286
“Crazy He Calls Me” - Billie Holiday - Decca Records 24796
"I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire" - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3987
"Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall" - Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
“Swing Doors” - composed by Allan Gray - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 37
“Jazzy Interlude” - composed by Billy Munn - Charles Brull - A Harmonic Private Recording CBL 37
"Anything Goes" (1934) - Cole Porter - Victor Records 24825 (original version)
“I'm Tickled Pink” - composed by Jack Shaindlin - Cinemusic Inc. CMR 406
Galaxy News Radio soundtrack LP
Fallout: New Vegas (Radio New Vegas, Mojave Music Radio, Black Mountain Radio)
"It's a Sin" - Eddy Arnold - RCA Victor Records 10-2241
"Jingle Jangle Jingle" (1942) - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36604(in-game version)
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1962) - Kay Kyser's Former Orchestra - Capitol Records ST 1692 (re-recording)
“It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” (1979) - Ink Spots (Bill Kenny) - CBS Special Products P 18042 (in-game version)
“It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” (1941) - Ink Spots - Decca Records (original version)
“Heartaches by the Number” (1983) - Guy Mitchell - Candlelite Records CU 188LP (in-game version)
“Heartaches by the Number” (1959) - Guy Mitchell - Columbia Records 4-41476 (original version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1950) - Peggy Lee with the Dave Barbour Quartet- Peggy Lee’s Greatest - Camay Records CA 3003 (in-game version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right (Get Me Some Money Too)” (1947) - Peggy Lee - Rendezvous with Peggy Lee - Capitol Records 10118 (re-recording)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1942) - Peggy Lee with Benny Goodman and his Orchestra - Columbia Records 36652 (re-recording)
“Joe Cool” - composed by Nino Nardino - A Sam Fox Production SF1007
"Big Iron" - Marty Robbins - Columbia Records 4-41589
“Blue Moon” - Frank Sinatra - Sinatra’s Swingin’ Session! - Capitol Records W1491
“Jazz Blues” - composed by Gerhard Trede - CBS Records EZ Cue Library CBS EZQ 172
“Roundhouse Rock” (1970) - Bert Weedon - Fontana Records 6007 012
“Orange Colored Sky” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1184
Fallout 4 (Diamond City Radio)
“Butcher Pete (Part 2)” - Roy Brown - De-Luxe Records 3301
“Orange Colored Sky” - Nat King Cole - Capitol Records 1184
“Pistol-Packin’ Mama - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“The Wanderer” - Dion - Laurie Records 3115
“Sixty-Minute Man - The Dominoes - Federal Records 12022
“Atom Bomb Baby” - The Five Stars - Kernel Records A002
“It’s All Over But the Crying” - Ink Spots - Decca Records 24286
“Grandma Plays the Numbers” - Wynonie Harris - King Records 4276
“Personality” - Johnny Mercer - Capitol Records 230
"The End of the World” - Patti Page - Say Wonderful Things - Columbia Records CS 8849
Fallout 76 (Appalachia Radio)
“Wouldn’t It Be Nice” - The Beach Boys - Capitol Records 5706
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1962) - Kay Kyser's Former Orchestra - Capitol Records ST 1692 (in-game version)
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" (1942) - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640 (original version)
"We Three (My Echo, My Shadow and Me)" - Ink Spots - Decca Records 3379
“Sixteen Tons” - Tennessee Ernie Ford - Capitol Records 3262
Guardians of the Galaxy
"I'm Not in Love" - 10cc - Mercury Records (Phonogram) 73678 (abridged)
"Fooled Around and Fell in Love" - Elvin Bishop - Capricorn Records CPS 0252 (abridged)
“Spirit in the Sky” - Norman Greenbaum - Reprise Records 0885
“Escape (The Piña Colada Song) - Rupert Holmes - Infinity Records INF 50.035
"Hooked on a Feeling" - Blue Swede - EMI Records 3627
"I Want You Back" - The Jackson 5 - Motown Records M 1157
"Go All the Way" - Raspberries - Capitol Records 3348
"Come and Get Your Love" - Redbone - Epic Records 5-11035
L.A. Noire (KTI Radio)
“Pistol-Packin’ Mama” - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“Stone Cold Dead in the Market” - Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Jordan - Decca Records 23546
"Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall" - Ink Spots and Ella Fitzgerald - Decca Records 23356
"Manteca" - Dizzy Gillespie - RCA Victor Records 20-3023
"Ain't Nobody Here But Us Chickens" - Louis Jordan - Decca Records 23741
"Red Silk Stockings and Green Perfume" - Sammy Kaye - RCA Victor Records 20-2251
“Black and Blue” - Frankie Laine - Mercury Records A-1026
"'Murder', He Says" - Dinah Shore - RCA Victor Records 20-1525
"Smoke! Smoke! Smoke! (That Cigarette) - Tex Williams - Capitol Records Americana Series 40001
“Hey! Ba-Ba-Re-Bop” - Lionel Hampton - Decca Records 18754
Mafia II (Empire Central Radio, Delta Radio)
“Everybody Eats When They Come to My House” - Cab Calloway - Columbia Records 38171
"Sh-Boom" - The Crew-Cuts - Mercury Records 70404
“Victory Polka” - Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters - Decca Records 23277
“Why Do Fools Fall in Love”- Frankie Lymon - Gee Records GG-1002
"Honey Love" - The Drifters - Atlantic Records 1029
"Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition" - Kay Kyser - Columbia Records 36640
“Why Don’t You Do Right (Get Me Some Money Too)” (1947) - Peggy Lee - Rendezvous with Peggy Lee - Capitol Records 10118 (re-recording)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1950) - Peggy Lee with the Dave Barbour Quartet- Peggy Lee’s Greatest - Camay Records CA 3003 (in-game version)
“Why Don’t You Do Right” (1942) - Peggy Lee with Benny Goodman and his Orchestra - Columbia Records 36652 (re-recording)
"A Guy is a Guy” - Doris Day - Columbia Records 39673
Destroy All Humans!
"Sh-Boom" - The Crew-Cuts - Mercury Records 70404
XCOM The Bureau Declassified (KNOV Radio)
“Runaway” - Del Shannon - Big Top Records 45-3067
“Who’s Sorry Now” - Connie Francis - MGM Records 975 (57-S-622)
"Smack Dab in the Middle" - Mills Brothers - Decca Records 29511
“Riders in the Sky” - Vaughn Monroe - RCA Victor 20-3411
"Man of Mystery" - The Shadows - Columbia Records 45-DB 4530
“I’ll Never Get Out of this World Alive” - Hank Williams - MGM Records 11366
See the previous years’ lists here:
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
378 notes · View notes
redrose-arrow · 26 days ago
Text
Day 17 of Sparkling Joy: Comfort food
In which Alyss and Jenny talk some girltalk, but not without the comfort of some good snacks, of course.
Alyss had had to practically drag Jenny away from her restaurant. It’s funny how out of the two of them, the cook had become the workaholic, she had thought smilingly. It had taken some convincing, but she knew her friend’s weak spot. 
“Will has to stay at Araluen for a few days more. He has some meetings and debriefings with Crowley. So we’ll have the cabin entirely to ourselves, with no one to disturb us. And,” Alyss had added after a few silent seconds, “we can try out the snacks I brought from beyond the borders.”
That last thing had done the trick. Jenny had never travelled, had never even left Wensley. She didn’t mind it - everything she needed was in the small village. But Alyss knew it pained the cook that she couldn’t expand her tasting palette. So when Alyss had joined Cassandra and Horace’s entourage as the representative of the Diplomatic Service while the two newlyweds toured Araluen’s closest allies, the Courier had taken the opportunity to stash her bags with all the exotic snacks she could find. 
Now, all those snacks were spread out over a table cloth that Alyss had covered the bed with. Legs crossed and comfortably resting against some pillows, the tea was left to go cold as Alyss introduced Jenny to the wonders of the foreign kitchens. 
“...These I got from the north of Gallica. It’s a type of waffle, but very much flattened and has dried syrup between it instead of warmly dripping over it, like we do. And then the taste of the waffle and syrup combined… apparently that taste is recreated separately and used to enhance other sweets, even like chocolate.” 
Jenny took a bite and sighed happily. 
“The texture is amazing! How do they do that? It’s soft like waffles, but still has that added crunch. I’ve never tasted anything like it! I have to try and recreate it.”
She sighed again. 
“If only you could cook… I would force you to learn how to make everything you ever eat abroad so you could teach me!”
Leaning back to rummage through her bags, Alyss eventually revealed a notebook. 
“I might not be good at cooking or even understanding the composition of food, but I am good at note taking.”
The notebook was tossed towards Jenny. 
“Here’s everything they told me.”
The cook gasped as she skimmed over the pages, which were filled to the brim with notes, tips, secret ingredients, and any other information Alyss had managed to get her hands on. Jenny squealed. 
“This is the best present anyone’s ever given me!” 
Her friend smiled and sipped her tea. 
“Dare I say that you even look happier than when Gilan surprised you, a few days before the wedding?”
“I would leave Gil in a second if it meant getting to discover new tastes every day. He knows. It’s why he loves me.”
They both laughed. 
“Speaking of love… any chance Redmont’s wedding bells might ring again, in the near future?”
Coincidentally - or perhaps strategically - Alyss had just taken a rather large bit of a yet unidentified dough ball. She refused to meet her friend's gaze, but the movement said enough. Jenny clapped in her hands in delight. 
“Oh I knew it! I knew it!”
Alyss eyed her curiously and, after she had swallowed, said: “You didn’t.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. 
“I’ve seen the two of you together since you were babies. Of course I knew.”
For the so-manieth time that evening, she sighed. And smiled. 
“An engagement! There’s so much to plan.”
Of course. Jenny was always the business woman. 
“So. What season are we thinking of? Winter would be magical, but I don’t think Will would be a fan of the cold and the snow. Autumn would clash with either of your formal uniforms and spring… too much sneezing, it would ruin the music. So that leaves summer. If we plan it right, you could get married in that open ballroom in the castle - you know, the one where we always had our tea parties, with all the windows - right at sunset. And - oh, please let me take care of the food!”
Without missing a beat, Alyss enthusiastically joined it. 
“Summer sunset sounds lovely. Yes, you’ll be in charge of the food, but only if it doesn’t interfere with your duties as my bridesmaid. As for the castle… I think we’ll keep it small, maybe even just near the cabin. Will would like that. But Jen-- we haven’t talked about it yet. No one even knows!”
“Alright, I won’t tell anyone. Really!” she added, when she caught Alyss’s disbelieving look. 
“I’ll just tell them about these amazing waffles instead. And who knows; maybe I’ll even make them for your wedding.”
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forgedroyalseal · a month ago
Text
Please don’t leave me chapter 3:
When the red seal on the letter that had arrived by messenger marked URGENT had been torn open, Horace had felt a part of his heart tear off too. Alyss. She had been closer than a sister to him. The grief of losing her had only been overshadow by the grief he felt for Will. Will, who had once been his childhood nemesis. Will, who had saved his life on countless occasions. Will, who was a brother and a best man and a savior and- and who was now a widower. His mournful cry had been for both of them. Alyss was gone, there was nothing that could be done now, but Horace feared that Will’s heart would slip away after her. Alyss had been Will’s entire world. She supported him, gave him courage and strength when he couldn’t find it anywhere else. What would happen to him now that she was gone?
With those thoughts racing through his mind, Horace shoved the letter into his wife’s hands then rushed off to find a maid. He ordered her to pack some clothes for both him and Cassandra, and to have them brought to Castle Redmont. Then he threw some simple necessities into a small pack that he could carry easily on Kicker. By the time he had returned to Cassandra, silent tears were running down her face. He wrapped his arms around her.
“I can’t believe she’s gone.” She whispered.
“Neither can I.”
Cassandra pulled back just enough that she could look into her husband’s eyes. “Are you okay? That’s a stupid question, of course you aren’t.”
“I am going to have to process this later. Right now, we need to go. You read what Halt said, Will isn’t doing well, not that that’s surprising.”
Cassandra nodded, “I’ll start packing- “
Horace cut her off, “It’s all been done, they are going to bring anything we’ll need to Redmont, just go tell your father while I saddle the horses.”
Cassandra went off in search for her father and Horace made his way to the stables.
Horace and Cassandra rode to Redmont like the devil was on their heals. Horace had originally thought that is wife would need to take a longer, overnight rest, but he was reminded of his wife’s resilience, and she was more than capable of riding through the night. They took a page from the ranger’s handbook and alternated between riding and walking to give Kicker and Cassandra’s horse, Archer, a break.
They arrived at Will’s cabin just after midday, and while they were exhausted, they both gained a second wind as they rode up to the home. Tug and Abelard nickered a greeting and Horace quickly untacked Kicker and Archer, then secured them by the lean to, where water and oats were already pour into buckets. Hand in hand the couple walked up to the door. Before Horace could knock, Halt opened it, having been alerted to their arrival by the horses.
“Horace, Cassandra, thank god you’re here.” Halt seemed uncharacteristically emotional as he embraced them both. It made Horace realized how much Alyss’ death was effecting so many people.
They stepped inside and greeted Pauline, who was by the fireplace, gently rocking a baby swaddled in a pale yellow blanket in her arms. Cassandra beelined to the baby and cooed at the sleeping face of Will’s daughter. Normally she wasn’t comfortable around such young children, she had little experience around babies since she was an only child, but something about knowing that this was Will’s baby made her heart melt and her hands reach out without her even realizing it. Pauline however took note and passed the little girl to Cassandra.
“Make sure to support her head. That’s it, good job.” She instructed Cassandra.
While the women’s attention was on the baby, Horace turned to Halt, “How bad is he?” He asked in a low voice.
Halt sighed, “He hasn’t left his bed or eaten since I wrote to you. He feel asleep on the sofa for about 30 minutes but before we could clean him or the room up, he locked himself in his bedroom. He’s still covered in blood, so it the bed. We need to get him out of there. The sheets need to be thrown away, maybe even the mattress, and he needs a long hot bath and a good meal.”
“I am going to try to get him out. Prepare a bath for him while I do in case I manage to convince him to come out.”
Horace walked over to the bedroom door. He knocked, “Will, it’s Horace. You gotta let me in bud.”
“Please leave me alone.” Will’s voice was small and broken.
“Come on Will, open the door so we can have a chat.”
There was a long pause and Horace had started to give up on the idea of being able to get Will to unlock the door, but just as he was about to ask Halt to pick the lock, there was a soft click. Horace grabbed the knob and pushed the door open. Will was on the bed, apparently having rushed back to it after unlocking the door. The metallic smell of blood hit Horace like a wall and he held back a gag. Rust stained sheets surrounded Will like a nest. Will’s once white shirt matched the filthy sheets and his hands looked as though he had dipped them in a bucket of paint.
“Let’s get you cleaned up bud.” Horace approached his friend slowly, speaking gently as though he was trying to calm a wild, injured animal.
“I already told Halt I wasn’t leaving.”
“You don’t need to leave the cabin Will, just this room. Just for a little bit while we clean things up a bit. “
“I can’t.”
Horace crouched down in front of Will, “Why not? Help me to understand.”
“Because if I walk out of this room that means it’s real. She’s really gone. But if I stay here, I can pretend that she is just sitting at the kitchen table, or out on the veranda.”
Horace’s voice got caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. “Will, I am so sorry. I wish there was something I could do to make this all better. But staying in here won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back to you. Come with me. Take a bath, and then you can come back. I can’t just leave you in here like this though. You know that I am right.”
Horace took hold of Will’s hands and started to pull him up. He was met with some resistance at first, but then Will allowed himself to be pulled up and off the bed. Horace guided him out of the room, walking backwards so he could keep a grip on Will’s hands. He lead him out to the bath that Halt had filled with hot water.
“Go inside and start cleaning up. I’ll help Will.” Halt took over.
“Do you need anything?”
“A change of clothes. And if you could start the coffee, I think we are all going to need it. “
“That’s for sure. “ Horace said, then left Will in the capable hands of Halt. He was pretty much the only other person Horace would trust to leave Will with right now, considering his shell shocked condition.
Inside, Pauline and Cassandra had returned the baby to the nurse and were already in the bedroom cleaning. Pauline was stripping the sheets off the bed and Cass was on her knees scrubbing at the floor with a course brush and a bucket of soapy water. Horace paused in the doorway. Sometimes his wife amazed him. Here was the Crown Princess, the most powerful woman in all of Araluen, and she was cleaning blood off of the floor. Then guilt rushed over Horace. How dare he be thinking about how in love he was with his wife in the very room that his best friend had just watched his wife die.
Horace silently went over to the wardrobe and pulled out a new set of clothes for Will. Before he brought them out, he set the kettle over the fire. Outside Halt had helped Will into the tub and was currently using a small brush to try and get the blood out from under his fingernails.
“Pauline and Cass are already working on the bedroom and I’ve got coffee going. What else can I do?” Horace ask Halt.
“There is about 100 other things that need to be done. But why don’t you just sit with us for a moment. Take a moment.“
“I need to keep busy Halt. If I stop moving I’m going to break down and we both know that isn’t going to do anyone any good.”
Halt stared at the young man in front of him and realized that the two of them have more in common than one might thing. After all, that was exactly what Halt was doing, keeping his hands busy so he could shove his own grief into a dark corner of his mind. Was it healthy? Probably not. Was it the only way he was going to get through the next few days? Absolutely.
“I’ve already sent letters off to Crowley and Gilan, but someone needs to tell Baron Arald.”
“I’ll go. It’s only right that it’s me, we were all raised in his ward after all.” Thinking of their childhood in Redmont’s ward made his eyes sting and Horace took a deep breath, pushing back the tears.
“After I’ll find Jenny and George. Alyss was like a sister to them too. I don’t want them to hear it from someone else.”
“You are a good friend Horace.” Halt turned back to Will who’s eyes were empty and drooping.
“I will be back soon Will.” Will was unresponsive and Horace sighed. It seemed like Will was going in and out of shock. Hopeful once he got cleaned up and ate something, he’d start to become more coherent.
Horace told Cassandra where he was going and was about to walk out of the cabin to saddle Kicker, but a cry from the other bedroom stopped him in his tracks. Before he could think twice about it, he was standing in the nursery. The nurse was comforting the baby who was in her crib.
“Can I see her?” Horace asked, realizing he hadn’t even looked at the baby since he had arrived, his attention had been focused solely on Will.
“Sir Horace! Of course, I’ll step into the hall. Call me if you need anything.”
Once she left, Horace stood awkwardly over the crib. The little girl had calmed down and was just making faint fussing sounds. He knew that it was probably too soon to tell, but Horace could’ve sworn she was a spitting image of her father. Her father. In all of the grief, Horace had completely forgotten that his best friend was a father now.
“You’ve got the best father little one. Did you know that? I know that he’s not himself right now, but he is going to love and protect you better than anyone else ever could. You’ll see. And I will be the best uncle. I will spoilt you relentlessly, even when your dad tells me not too. And when you get old, I will tell you all of the most embarrassing stories about your dad. Everything will be okay.” Horace carefully placed one of his large hands on the baby’s head.
“You shouldn’t fill her head with lies Horace. “
Horace spun around and saw a cleaner, but still exhausted, Will leaning against the doorframe.
“What lies?”
“About me being a good father.”
“You will be. I know that right now-“
“No Horace. You don’t understand. I can’t be a good father anymore. I can’t be a father at all. Not without Alyss.”
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