#i tried to go less predictable with viktor so with this one i was like ok now for MY truth

[cyancees]

another one of my dnd characters from a diff campaign :) sea elf thief

#his names auvan #dnd sea elf #dnd rogue #dnd #dnd character #art #mine #fanart #oc #auvan #now THIS is a very self-indulgent davecore character #i tried to go less predictable with viktor so with this one i was like ok now for MY truth

[shinycorvidae]

How Vic and Hiro Ended Up Sharing a Brain Tapeworm

(cowritten with @smilepal)

Part 6 of 6: In Which We Piss Off Our Pseudo-Father Figures

"Please proceed to insert the jack below the ear, although not too deep"

"... auxiliary neurosockets..."

"If I hit a vein by mistake..."

"...end up like Deshawn...fucking try me..."

"I think I have it."

"V! We're at viks, just..."

"... cannot...need...rest"

"Misty!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(I got stuck writing this for two weeks and I want to get to the rest of the story SO HERE HAVE SOME BULLET POINTS ✌️)

Vik taking V from Hiro's arms. He moves right into surgery and leaves a blood soaked Hiro to pace and listen to Delamain tell Vik that she’s going to die. Misty tries to convince him to go wash off the blood he’s covered in. Like hell is he leaving till Vs stable. She instead sits him down within eyesight of V and wraps up his torn palm. It’s cyberware, the best she can do is stop the leaking.

Hiro uses his anti-anxiety medication for the first time since he was a teenager. He doesn’t have time for panic attacks, he needs to be sharp, he’s got multiple people to protect.

Vik finally manages to stabilize V. He forces Hiro out of the clinic, V will be fine tonight, he needs to go home.

Hiro goes home to an empty, silent apartment. Watches V’s blood wash down the shower drain.

He doesn't sleep that night.

Hiro returns the next morning with three coffees. He’s not optimistic enough to bring one for Takemura or V.

Not that he’d bring one for the corpo anyway.

Vik is tired. There are dark circles under his eyes and he's slumped over on his stool staring into the distance. Hiro’s gut sinks, and he reflexively checks that V’s still breathing.

That’s Vik’s bad news face.

Hiro hands Vik the coffee and they sit in silence for a while. Watching V breathe.

Vik puts down his coffee and sighs.

“Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Just tell me Vik”

“She’s stable. I removed the bullet from her head and she’ll recover fully from the wound. She’ll have a nasty scar and nothing else.”

“...but?”

“It’s hard to explain kid.”

“Vik.”

“The item V and Jackie were sent to filch? It’s a biochip, a Relic. Arasakas “upload a dead person” magic trick. But this one’s different, a prototype. Somehow it got slotted into Vs head.”

“What? Why would she do that? That...that makes no sense. Vic’s an idiot sometimes but...she wouldn’t do that.”

“Might not have been a willing choice kid. Might have been a desperate action. Maybe she was just reckless. I don’t know. Doesn’t change the end result. There’s a biochip in her head and I can’t get it out without killing her.”

“What? You can’t just unslot it?”

“When Deshawn shot her, she was dead. Just for a minute, maybe less. Then the nanites in the chip booted up and brought her back. That Relic is the only reason she’s breathing on that bed right now.”

“Fuck. Fuck, she...never mind, keep going Vik. Tell me all of it.”

“There’s only bad news left Hiro.”

“Keep going. Please.”

“...alright. That reboot, the bullet to the head? It activated the construct on the biochip. The virtual psyche of the person written on that chip. Johnny Silverhand.”

“...the rocker?”

“The terrorist more like. He’s...he’s overwriting V. He’s-It’s going to scoop out everything that makes her V and replace it with Silverhand. She has a couple weeks before there's nothing of her left, maybe a month at best.”

“How do we fix it?”

“There’s...-kid there’s nothing I can fix. I can slow it down a little with some medication, keep her a little more comfortable. But I-I can't fix this.”

The floor drops out from under him. No. Not now. She lived, she survived a bullet to the fucking head. A little piece of tech isn’t going to-

Fuck. FUck. Not another one, please not both of them, he cant-

And V. V who hates any loss of control, who’s so sure of who she is. Getting erased...he can’t think of a worst fear for her. A worse torture.

He leans against the counter heavily, the only thing supporting his weight. He can’t even look at her. He failed her. HE failed them both.

Vik's hand falls on his back. He can barely feel it. Barely hear him talk.

“I tried kid. I worked through every possible solution. Nothing works. The closest I got was splitting the engram but its not going to-”

Hiro will take anything. Any deal, any bargain to keep her here.

“Split it. How would you split it.”

Vik just looks at him. Keeps his mouth shut for a beat.

“Hiro-”

“NO! Vik, I refuse to- we won't lose her. We can’t, I can’t-. You aren't going to hold anything back from me, I swear-”

“Fine! Fine. If you split the engram, you might, MIGHT alleviate the load on Vic’s brain enough that she can fight off the engram, partially. Enough so she keeps control. It's a slim chance. More likely it will just buy her time, a couple months, and doom the second host to the same fate. And it might just outright kill her and the second host. I'm not going to take someone off the street and subject them to that. And I don't know anyone who'd do it willingly.”

“...I will. Use me. I’ll be the second host.”

“No.”

Viktor’s no is immediate. He's both horrified and shocked that Hiro would even offer. He watched him fight to survive as a teenager. To see him gamble his life on the slight chance to save Vic...

He won’t. He practically raised the kid, he’s not going to kill him on his own operating table.

Hiro gets right in his face, desperate and angry.

“We have a chance Vik! You're just too scared to take it!”

“It’s a fool’s chance! At best you buy her a couple months-”

“You said there's a chance it’d cure her completely.”

“A tiny one! It'd be like betting on a five year old in a one-on-one with Razor Hughes. Its suicide.”

“If V’s that five year old I’m taking that god damned bet.”

Vik just stares at him. He’s completely serious. He knew Jackie's death was affecting him, but he hadn't realized he'd lost his mind.

“Hiro-”

“I am BEGGING you Vik. I will get on my knees if that makes a difference, PLEASE. If you have an ounce of respect for me you'll do this, its my body, my fucking choice”

Hiro ups the ante at the sliver of weakness of resignation in Vik's face. He’s terrified and it’s making him desperate, making him mad.

“If you don't I will never forgive you, I fucking swear. You will never see my face again. You can’t not give me this chance to save her,-”

Vik's face goes hard. Stony. If the kid is going to guilt him with that, fine. He's an adult and obviously he doesn't care anymore. Let him risk his own damn life.

And. Hiro’s desperate enough, Vik KNOWS, he just knows that Hiro won't give up. He’ll find a different ripperdoc, one willing to do it. And they’ll fuck it up. No one willing to do that would be good at their job. He has to do it. Or put Hiro at even greater risk.

A little part of Vik hates Hiro for it. For backing him into this awful corner. For forcing him to be complicit in Hiro's death. In V’s.

“Alright. Alright. Go change into one of the scrubs, the sooner we do this, the better. For you and for V”

“Thank you-”

“DO NOT thank me for this Hiro. Do not. I don’t want to do this. It’s wrong and I’m pretty sure V would-”

“V lost the right to an opinion when she slotted this thing in her fucking skull in the first place.”

Vik performs the surgery. They both live. He makes sure Hiro is comfortable and asleep before opening up the scans of their brains. Of the Relic, still nestled in Vs head untouched. His stomach drops.

His prediction was mostly right. V isn't cured. Hiro bought her a couple more months, maybe 2 or 3. He's only delayed her death. Stretched out how long it will take Silverhand to devour her. Hiro has connected himself to her and the Relic but in a stroke of luck not her death. The relic isn't trying to scoop him out, but it will put stress on his synapses. He’ll have migraines, nausea, even possible seizures at the end of V’s life but when her final thread of self snaps, the bridge between their brains will collapse. He may be left with some permanent effects but he’ll live. Thank god he’ll live. He mourns for V but selfishly, awfully he's so grateful Hiro lived and will live. He will never say it out loud but he'd sacrifice V, a good friend, if it meant Hiro could live.

Hiro wakes up the next day. He refuses to believe Vik's final diagnosis. He’s bought V time, they’ll find some way to fix this.

He spends the week at Vik's, recovering and waiting for her to wake up. He tries to help around the clinic, but his relationship with Vik has been severely strained. Any conversation is awkward and stilted.

V wakes occasionally, short periods of not full awareness. Murmuring words, clenching her fists, eyes barely opening.

The first time she does it, Hiro's sitting right next to her bed, fiddling with the dismantled pieces of a shotgun to keep busy. He happens to look to his left. He’s shocked by the sight of V’s yellow brown eyes, staring at him lazy and warm.

“Hiro...”

“Hey V. Go back to sleep. It's too soon for you to be waking up.”

“K. G’night.”

A surge of deep want goes through Hiro as he pushes Vs hair back. He wants her.

Ohhhhh fuuuuuck he wants her. Not just as a friend. Or a roommate. Or a want for her to be safe. Oh no. oh nooooooo.

Apparently he’s not gay??? At least not completely. MAybe it's just men AND V. like an exception? Fuck this is bad. This is bad AND weird.

But he definitely wants V in his bed. He wants to know what her nails feel like on his back, her teeth on his lip. The playful look in her warm eyes as she drags her hand down his chest-

NOPE. NO. He’s not doing this right now. V is sick, V is DYING, he’s not- nope we aren't thinking about that.

It takes a couple hours for his ears to stop being bright red.

V wakes up late on the 6th day, Vik is sitting right there. Waiting for her to wake up.

V takes the news quietly. She's tired and obviously weak but her voice only wavers a little. She only begs Vik for a solution once, when she learns she’ll lose everything she is. She doesn't tear up or panic but examines every option she has. Looking for a way out. She can break down when she’s alone. Vik looks like he’s struggling with this enough. He doesn’t need to see her pain and fear too.

Hiro watches the whole thing from across the clinic. In a dark enough corner that V wouldn't immediately notice him. He watches her push down her feelings. Comforting Vik about her own fate for fucks sake.

He shouldn’t be here. Now that she’s lucid she probably hates him for not coming with them. He shouldn't creepily watch her be vulnerable without her consent. But he can't manage to drag himself away either.

Vik shakily wipes his face and delivers the final blow

"Hiro bought you sometime so you have a couple months instead of weeks. But you’re still dying V-"

"Wait Hiro? What did he do? Where is he?"

Fuck. Well now he really can't just sulk in the corner anymore. He comes out, walking up to her bed silently. He has no clue what to say to her.

V doesn't leave him drowning for long. She gives him a small smile, tired and pained but happy to see him anyway.

"It only took me dying to get you to learn to be sneaky, huh?"

A small choked laugh, suspiciously wet, escapes him. Only she would pull a laugh out of him right now, the brat.

Misty helps Hiro move her to a wheel chair so he can bring her home. Vik explains the meds to him too. He can tell her later. When she's not fast asleep in a wheelchair.

She's snoring and her hair is stuck around the handle. She's an idiot. She’s adorable.

Fuck.

#hehehe #HIRO CAUGHT FEELINGS #Vs doing...k. #just k #viktor vektor #hiro oda #victory delvin #cyberpunk 2077 #there you go kids. #we did it #There will be an epilogue thing and an extra tho

[radioromantic-moved]

mordecai vs. the universe

word count: 2200

a soulmate au that got way too out of hand. i mostly wrote it when i was supposed to be sleeping or working. please enjoy it. cara is my 1920s-sona

entropy, noun- lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.

Soulmates are a complicated business. They’re notorious that way. People joke that everyone who ever wanted to study the process of soulmates gave up after a few weeks on the job. The only real concrete thing that’s accepted as positive fact is the simple the first words they say to you appear on your body in their handwriting a few years after puberty; some get them, some don’t. No dates or timestamps, no scientific explanation, no clear-cut pattern. Soulmates are tricky, multifaceted, and chaotic.

Their lack of organization is one of the reasons why Mоrdecai HelIer hates them.

Although it’s certainly not the only one.

He’s been surrounded by marked people his whole life, almost as if they gravitate towards him. His mother and father were soulmates; his mother doesn’t speak about it often, but on the occasion that his father, now deceased, happens to enter the conversation, he’ll catch her adjusting her shirtsleeves to cover up something, fading, written in a neat, flowing font. His youngest sister got her mark remarkably early--a few months before he left home, she was speculating aloud who the mystery phrase scrawled across her neck would be spoken by, in the dreamy tone of someone who can still afford daydreams. 

He can’t escape soulmates at his place of employment, either. Atlas and Mitzi not only flaunt their matching marks, they’ve been known to use them to entertain--Mоrdecai’s witnessed them reenact their first meeting in a floral, overdramatized skit of sorts, culminating in the removal of Atlas’ jacket so the crowd can see the words written on his collarbone and Mitzi dramatically sweeping back her hair to reveal what’s been penned on her cheek and jawline. 

The words aren’t particularly impressive, either; he paid her a casual compliment on her musical skill after a performance. 

Then there’s Viktor, who never reveals anything about his soulmate, but Ivy swears on her life she’s seen ink on his back before when she catches him off guard. Mоrdecai suspects that she just has soulmates on the brain, though; she’s at the age that most marks appear, and she’s constantly fidgeting with her clothes to check if anything’s appeared while she wasn’t paying attention. 

Mоrdecai finds the whole business to be wholly a waste of time. He has more important things to worry about than romantic entanglements, and he certainly does not need a mysterious, undefinable, uncategorizable force attempting to force him into one. Leave the prettiness and fairytales to AtIas and his wife. When it comes to socialization, particularly done with romantic intent, he could arrange an alphabetized, structured list on all of the things that he would rather do.

Which is why he could not be more annoyed when he sees the sentences crawling down his arm one otherwise unremarkable day.

His mark somewhat matches his mother’s--perhaps they do follow genetic lines in some way, he notes, even as his brain is insisting there are more important things to worry about right now--but his seems to take up more space than his father’s organized writing did. One could hardly call his soulmate’s handwriting neat--it’s a messy scrawl, as if they were writing in a hurry. Well, I’ve been worse off, though I guess not by much, claims this permanent, unwanted tattoo of his, and he’s inclined to agree with it.

He let himself get too secure; he was so sure that he was out of the age range of expected mark appearance, but if his studies of statistics have taught him anything, it’s that there are always outliers in any data pool.

There’s also Murphy’s Law to contend with.

But he will make a plan and follow it to the letter, the way it always does. He refuses to let this distract him. He has a job to do, and this mark will not change that. 

If anyone at the Laсkadaisy notices that he’s particularly taken with long sleeves all of a sudden, they don’t say anything about it. Sometimes he thinks he sees Mitzi giving his arm a sideways glance, but a well-placed stony glare often gets her to back off. 

All is well, for a while. 

Until a soaking wet stranger stumbles into the Little Daisy Cafe on yet another day that would normally be considered entirely ordinary.

Atlas, Viktor and Mоrdecai are seated in a booth near the entrance when the door blows open and someone hurries inside, shutting the door behind them and sealing off the fierce rainstorm raging outside. The stranger takes a seat at a barstool and pulls off their jacket, gathering it into a pile in their arms. They must look sufficiently like a drowned rat, because as soon as Mitzi emerges from behind the counter, she hurries over to the shivering would-be customer. “Oh, my--don’t tell me you just came from out there! Are you alright? You look halfway to the grave.”

The stranger attempts a half-shrug. “Well, I’ve been worse off,” they say affably, “though not by much,” they concede with chattering teeth. 

Mоrdecai’s arm burns fiercely. He rubs it, trying to look casual.

“I’ll get you a towel,” says Mitzi, heading to the back room. She turns around and adds, “Although I hope you’ll clean up that mess you’re dripping all over our floors. We just cleaned in here, you know.”

Atlas heads over to the new arrival, who is murmuring to themselves under their breath. Mоrdecai follows, although he has a terrible feeling that he will strongly dislike the outcome of this conversation. 

“What brings you out in this weather?” Atlas asks mildly.

The stranger takes a towel offered to them by Mitzi and sighs. “Job-hunting gone wrong, I guess,” they say in a dry alto. “One rejection too many, suppose I wasn’t paying attention to much anymore. I got lost, and when it started raining I just ended up more turned around.”

They’re dressed for a job interview; they’re wearing an expensive-looking red suit that would probably come off as more impressive if it wasn’t rumpled and soaking wet. They’re holding a stack of papers that seem to have taken less rain damage than the rest of them; Mоrdecai would guess they were shielding the papers with their body. 

Atlas tilts his head and stares at the would-be interviewee with a look that Mоrdecai recognizes as an appraising one. “You seem decent,” he says slowly. “What, if you had to guess, was the common factor in your rejections from your prospective jobs?”

It’s a loaded question, but Mоrdecai has a feeling he knows what Atlas is looking for. 

The stranger pauses a second. “If I’m being entirely honest, sir, I believe I lack the charm needed to succeed in a career when one’s of my particular persuasion.”

There’s something in her eyes. Mоrdecai has never claimed to be good at reading people, but he has a feeling that there’s something more to her job quest than she’s letting on.

“You know,” says Atlas, “we could use someone else to wait tables around here--we’re rather shorthanded as of late.”

This is a lie.

“If you’re inclined, I’d be perfectly willing to take you on--on a trial basis, of course,” Mоrdecai’s employer says, extending a hand to shake. “What’s your name?”

The stranger at the bar counter only hesitates for a second before shaking his hand firmly. “Cara. Cara Bergman. Thank you for the opportunity, sir.”

Mоrdecai makes his exit not long afterwards. No one cares much; they’re used to him disappearing when he pleases.

He has built his career on being unnoticed, and it pays off. No one notices when he starts avoiding speaking out loud in front of the new hire; if he must say anything at all, he says it in low tones to Atlas or Viktor. No one notices that every time Cara happens to get too close to him, he holds his arm as if it’s been burned.

He has successfully adjusted his plan to include every confounding variable, every scheme and trick and twist of fate that the universe, in its cosmic complication, has tried to throw at him.

Or so he thinks. 

Because as it turns out, Cara Bergman is remarkably difficult to predict.

A crisp knock sounds on his office door, and he heads to open it, almost spouting a reflex greeting--but when he sees who happens to be standing outside, he’s glad he didn’t.

“Hello,” Cara says calmly. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

She takes a seat facing his desk, and maybe he’s just caught extremely off guard by her sudden insertion into his personal time, but he finds himself sitting back down to face her. He doesn’t say a word, and they eye each other for a few moments.    

Cara breaks the silence eventually. “Look, I know you can talk. You and Mr. May are always off gabbing away in your little booth in the cafe. And from the way you always snap to attention when he says anything, I’m assuming your hearing faculties are in order, too.”

He doesn’t say a word, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Cara continues. “I’d write it off as you just being antisocial, but when I bumped into you the other day, the way you flinched--I thought I’d stabbed you or something.”

So maybe he wasn’t quite as subtle as he thought.

Cara folds her hands in front of her. “I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I’m sure you’re awfully busy with bookkeeping or whatever it is you do. I just want to hear one sentence from you. Any sentence will be fine.”

Mоrdecai considers his options and finds himself woefully lacking. He scratches his arm, which is stinging dully. He meets Cara’s eyes, and he can tell that she’s got a fair idea of what’s going on already. 

He sighs, and throws caution to the wind.

“Alright. I suppose it’s best we finish this sooner rather than later.”

Cara grins toothily. “That’s what I was looking for. And may I just say, that’s really the best thing to have tattooed on you for eight years or thereabouts. Are we factory workers? University students? My guess is as good as anyone else’s.”

Even though he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, it’s a grim confirmation when she shrugs her shirt off one shoulder to reveal his own handwriting penned in inky black. 

Suddenly, one of the things she’s said hits him. “Eight years? I’ve only had a...mark--” he hears the contempt in his voice as the word comes out--“for a few months, five at the most.”

Cara snorts. “What, did you expect something involving soulmates to make sense?”

“Fair point,” he concedes. 

He straightens his cufflinks, unsure of where to continue from here. Luckily, Cara saves him. “I know you’re not excited about this or anything.”

“What gave it away?” he deadpans.

“Look,” she states, side-eyeing him, “I know there’s a lot of pressure on people to settle down once they find their soulmates, or at least make a big to-do about the whole thing. But no one’s making us turn this into a production. Just because we’ve got each other’s handwriting on us doesn’t mean we have to go all--” here Cara leans forward and bats her eyelashes in such a dead-on impersonation of Mitzi that Mоrdecai nearly chokes in surprise-- “on each other.”

“I--well.” 

Somehow, he has been struck silent yet again. Cara has presented something that he never considered seriously before. “Well, what do you suppose we do about this, then?” he asks.

“You know, there’s this thing called a friendship that I’ve been thinking about trying out,” says Cara. “I understand the concept might be foreign to you as well.”

“I have friends,” Mоrdecai protests. He doesn’t realize how indignant he sounds about it until it’s already out of his mouth.

“Lovely,” Cara says. “Now you have one more. Here--let’s shake on it.”

She offers her hand, and he takes it. A jolt of something runs through him like lightning (static electricity, he tells himself, common at this time of year) and all at once, he realizes that his mark has stopped stinging. 

“Now, as friends,” Cara muses, looking at the stacks of books arranged meticulously on his desk, “we should probably find some common interests. Do you like reading?”

“When it’s for work,” he says, turning his head back down to the figures he was calculating before she walked in.

“Well, that’s awfully boring of you. If we’re going to be friends, I’ve really got to introduce you to some H.G. Wells. Oh, or maybe Poe. You’d like him; you’re both dark and brooding.”

He doesn’t dignify her with a response, and waits until she’s left, carefully shutting the door behind her, to lean back in his chair and consider things. 

He refuses to give the universe the direct satisfaction of being right, but he will, at the very least, admit that there are worse ways that this situation could have played out. Much worse.

Her eyes were teal, he thinks, with hints of spring green--

He shakes his head and turns back to his calculations. 

#reposted for convenience's sake #and also because of Anxiety #ship: serious business #nyx writes #self ship fic #self ship #self shipping

[theartoflovingthomashunt]

GMH: Setting the Record Straight

Masterlists: [Hollywood U] || [Red Carpet Diaries]  || [Baby Hunt]  || [Love & Scotch HWU/OH ]  ||  [#HollywoodHacks HWU/LH]

The Last Duchess Opening Weekend (four+ parts)

>Part One: Viktor’s Wrath (PG13) >Part Two: Taking Back the Narrative (PG) >Part Three: The Red Carpet Premiere (PG) >Part Four: Just Like the First Time (M)💎 >>Weekend Warriors (PG) >>Good Morning Hollywood - Talking about Viktor (PG13)

– – –

Characters: Alex (MC), Leland St. James, Chazz Javellana, Thomas Hunt

Setting: This takes place immediately after Red Carpet Diaries Book 2. The Last Duchess has opened in theatres and beat Double Agent at the opening weekend box office. Alex (MC) has told the press about Viktor. Leland St. James asked Alex to come on Good Morning Hollywood to talk more about what happened. She has accepted. Thomas and Alex are dating–their friends know, but they are not public yet. 

Rating/TW: PG-13 (due to the rape allegations)

– – –

“My guest today needs little introduction, she stole our hearts as The Last Duchess and her bravery to come forward has led to the ousting of one of this city’s most vile members. Please join me in welcoming my forever Woman Crush Wednesday, Alex!” Leland stood and led a round of applause.

Alex smiled and waved to the audience as she made her way to the chair next to Leland’s desk. “Thank you for having me, Leland! I’m so excited to be back here so soon! Twice in one month!”

“Last time you were here, I predicted you would be a box office queen and now you are!!!! All hail Queen Alex!!!! Congratulations on the success of The Last Duchess. The film is AMAZING!!! Don’t forget to thank me when you accept your awards for best lead actress!” Leland teased with a sly wink. 

“I think I speak for everyone at The Last Duchess when I say thank you to everyone who came out to support our film this past weekend. We made the film quickly with a small budget, but I think everyone’s hard work and dedication to the project really came through on screen,” Alex beamed as she remembered all the long, but rewarding days of filming.

“Don’t be so modest,” Leland interrupted. “The Last Duchess didn’t just do well, it SLAYEDDD at both the domestic and international box offices. It’s the number one film across the globe and everyone is talking about it and you! Speaking of which, can we all just take a moment to appreciate this.” He held up a photo of Alex, Chris, and Thomas from the Red Carpet Premiere. “Can we just talk about that crown for a minute, Queen Alex?”

Alex blushed as she studied the photo, but for a different reason than the tiara. She knew why Thomas’s eyes smiled, despite his best attempts to keep his apathetic expression. 

“The crown was so beautiful,” Alex maveled, resting a modest hand over her heart. “I was in awe that the people of Cordonia would trust me with such a valuable item, if only for one evening. Our time filming there was some of the best moments of my life. It is truly a remarkable country. I hope to have the chance to visit again soon!”

“As much as I’d love to spend our time talking about more pleasant things,” Leland said hesitantly. “I know that isn’t why you decided to come here today.”

Alex nodded.

“Then, let’s just get straight to it,” Leland suggested. “Over the past several months there have been numerous reports about you in the press, many of them negative. I know prior to the release of The Last Duchess, you had tried not to address many of these stories. You and I talked before the show and I think you are ready to set the record straight?”

“I try not to address tabloid gossip. I feel it only gives the original story more attention,” Alex explained. “However, I feel like I need to tell my side of the story now that I have a platform to do so. Several months ago, there were reports that I had bullied students in high school. That is simply not true, nor was my supposed social media replies. I was locked out of all my social media accounts for weeks. I didn’t retain access to my accounts until after I was fired from Double Agent. The reports that I traded sex for favors on-set are also not true. All of these reports were made by Viktor in hopes of controlling me.”

“Viktor Montmartre,” Leland interjected.“As we know now, Viktor tried to force himself on you and many other women.”

“Right,” Alex responded. She took a deep breath and continued. “When I said no and I escaped him, he promised to ruin me until I behaved for him.”

“The negative press wasn’t all he did to try to control you, is it?” Leland asked.

She shook her head. “No. It was just one part of his plan. The next day, Viktor changed the film so that I was no longer the lead. He took me off the poster completely. He had my trailer removed and replaced with a really old one that was covered with dirt, stains, mold... you name it. When I questioned production about it, no one could give me a straight answer. Later, Victor sent me flowers with a card that said “Next time, behave. -V”

“UGH,” Leland expressed. “How repulsing!”

“When we went to film in Russia, I was told I couldn’t fly with the rest of the cast and crew. I was rescheduled to fly coach. When I arrived, I was told I would not be staying at the hotel with the rest of the cast and was instead put up in a dingy non-descript place. I wouldn’t even call it a hotel. Honestly, flying coach and staying in less than ideal locations –all of this–would be fine if it were not meant as a punishment; if it wasn’t meant to demean me into doing something I did not want to do … Then, obviously all the negative press about The Last Duchess…”

“We know now that Viktor has been accused of more than 20 counts of assault and attempted rape spanning a couple of decades. With more women coming forward daily,” Leland stated. “Do you have any words for him?”

“I really don’t want to waste my breath talking about him,” Alex admitted. “He’s not worth it. He has no hold over me, not anymore. I just hope that he takes responsibility for his actions and spares everyone a trial.”

“Why come forward now?” Leland asked.

“I told myself that if I tried to come forward before I had a platform, Viktor would have drowned out my voice. He had already successfully attacked me in other ways. I felt the best way to address it would be to wait until I felt my voice would be heard and listened to.” 

“But, honestly, that wasn’t the only reason,” Alex continued. “I… I felt ashamed of what happened. For a while, I struggled with feeling responsible for it somehow. I kept thinking about what I could have done to have avoided it. Eventually, I came to the realization that it wasn’t my fault. Viktor is a predator and he took advantage of me. He tried to destroy me because I didn’t ‘behave’ for him. I imagine that I am not the only woman who has been assaulted that feels it was their fault. So, I decided that I couldn’t let him get away with it to hurt someone else; but also, I wanted to let anyone else who might have found themselves in a situation like this know… it is not your fault. Do not ever think less of yourself because of what was done to you. You are a survivor. You are an overcomer. It took me a while to realize this, but now that I have, I will do what I can to help others who have gone through similar or worse experiences.”

“Many of you may not know this, but Alex has been working with a sexual assault support center locally,” Leland explained. Alex shook her head in disbelief at his announcement. “Oh, Alex, you thought we wouldn’t find out? You are an amazing woman. Thanks to you, not only have so many other women been able to come forward and share their stories about Viktor, but you’re helping others who might not have the same voice. You are an inspiration!”

Alex’s eyes filled with tears. 

“Don’t cry yet! On behalf of everyone at Good Morning Hollywood, we would like to present you with a generous donation to be made to the center where you’ve been volunteering.” Leland exclaimed, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted, “Bring on the big check!!!! I just love big checks, don’t you?”

“Thank you,” she stammered at a loss for words. Her hands covering her mouth as tears streamed silently down her cheek.

“Thank you,” Leland stressed, before turning his attention to the audience and the cameras. “If you or someone you know has been assaulted, please know there is help for you. We have set up a page on our website with more information. To quote Alex ‘you are an overcomer’.” 

Chazz greeted Alex as she walked off the stage. “You okay?” “Yeah,” she nodded. “I feel... relieved.”

Chazz put his arm around her, letting her lean into him.

“I’m glad I got to tell my story,” Alex continued. 

“You did great!” Chazz said supportively.

“I don’t want to keep reliving it though,” Alex admitted. “I want to move on. I don’t want to do any more interviews about it. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely. I’m sure Leland will love the attention of being the only one with the story,” Chazz reassured her. “We’ll just send any inquiries about it his way.”

Alex smiled. “Should we tell him?”

“Nah,” he returned her smile.

“Thanks,” she whispered. “I’m so glad to have you back.”

“Me too,” Chazz agreed. “Not to change the topic, but I kind of made an assumption about what you might like to do after.”

“Yeah?” she questioned curiously.

“I had two ideas. The first was a bestie ice cream date,” Chazz nudged her. 

“That does sound appealing. I do enjoy ice cream!” Alex grinned. “And the second one?”

“He’s waiting in his car in the parking garage,” Chazz winked. 

Alex thought about the choices for a moment.

“I appreciate that you are actually considering this, but GO!!!” Chazz encouraged her. 

“Movies and ice cream tomorrow night?” she suggested. 

“You got it. Now go!” Chazz directed. Alex kissed his cheek and went to gather her things from her dressing room before going to meet Thomas. 

Alex found Thomas’s car and quickly made her way to it. She hopped in the passenger’s seat. “Ohmygoodness are you Thomas Hunt?! I am such a huge fan. Can you sign this for me?!!”

Thomas rolled his eyes at her. “I see you are doing well.”

“I am now,” Alex leaned over until her lips found his. “Thank you for coming.”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else,” Thomas admitted. “As always, you were exceptional.”

“You watched it?” 

“Obviously,” he stated, his hand brushing over her leg. “You are a remarkable woman, Alex. I hope you feel as though you have reclaimed your narrative.”

“I do,” she smiled. 

“Where would you like to go?” he asked starting the car.

“Can we just get out of the city and drive?” Alex asked.

“Any particular destination?” he questioned.

Alex shook her head. Thomas pulled out of the parking structure and headed out of the city. 

As the buildings of the city started to fade in the distance, Alex pushed the button for the convertible top down. She closed her eyes as she let the wind wash over her. Alex smiled as she finally felt free. 

Thomas smiled to himself as he glanced over to Alex, finding her in peace. He reached over and found her hand, interlaced his fingers with hers. 

Alex opened her eyes momentarily to gaze over at Thomas. His dark hair blew in the summer breeze, the ocean at his back, as they drove down the Pacific Coast Highway. For the first time in a while, everything was perfect.

– – –

Thomas Tags: (let me know if you would like to be added)

  @hopelessromantic1352 ;  @alleksa16 ;  @mfackenthal ;    @flyawayboo;  @alj4890 ; @the-soot-sprite

#thomas hunt #thomas hunt x mc #red carpet diaries #choices #pixelberry #leland st. james #chazz javellana #the last duchess #viktor montmartre #alex hunt #thomas x alex #thomas orson hunt #thomas hunt fan fiction #red carpet diaries fan fiction #rcd #rcd 2.5 #red carpet diaries 2.5 #the art of loving thomas hunt #taolth #fan fiction #good morning hollywood

[justanotherdumpingground]

Personal Opinions on Choices Villains

In this post, I'm covering the antagonists of the series, not subordinates (e.g. Cecile Contreras) and side villains no matter how loathsome they are (e.g. Priya Lacroix). However, I'm not including everyone, such as those who are too early or appear in multiple books in the same series as significant characters but are villains in one or two books (one of the villains I will mention is an exception).

Everett Rourke: I seriously despise Rourke, both as a character and as a villain. Saying that I hate him for his heinous actions isn't enough. While I acknowledge that he's a force to be reckoned with, most of what he says and does boils down to him being an egomaniac who wants to take over the world just to satisfy his ego. This kind of motive is really shallow and makes him a mere plot device. The only moments I admire about him being more than just a villain is his fondness for Olivia Montoya, such as the way he talked about her. But even then, he liked her just because she gave birth to a child he considered perfect in any way. In short, I find him a pathetic and short-sighted individual. Would be really fitting and satisfying if there's an option to flip him off. At least it was cathartic to see him go crazy in the Vaanu ending.

Azura: I feel like she's less like a character and more like a plot device, so there's little I could say about her other than her being a psychopath who wants to conquer places and prolong her own life by sucking other people's life force. Reminds me of Rourke in some ways.

Luther Nevrakis: He is, in my opinion, one of the best villains Choices has ever produced. Not only does he exercise his acumen well to the point of posing a challenge against Kenna, but he has understandable motives that still doesn't excuse his actions. I understood his frustration at the disunity of the Five Kingdoms against the Iron Empire, even as I despise the massacre he perpetrated at his fellow rulers at Stormholt. Compared to his son Marco and henchman Bartel Gremley, Luther maintains his composure and guile while brokering deals with his enemies and uses them for his own ends.

Rowan West: I'm glad he has motivations that don't necessarily boil down to solely god complex, making him a compelling villain in his own right. It started with his childhood experiences that lead to his talk of wanting to help humanity evolve. That, and coupled with his competence as a villain and persistence, makes him someone I can fear and respect at the same time.

Dorian Delacroix: I find him rather forgettable aside from his resemblance to Donald Trump. Not to mention his offer comes across as fake and paper-thin. He practically exists to give Sebastian some sort of challenge in him. I mean, I like Sebastian more since The Sophomore, Book 2, but it still doesn't erase his initially selfish behavior in The Freshman, up to and including committing a crime.

Nathan Sterling: Nathan is a bland and inept villain with shallow motives for being bad, really predictable when it comes to him being the culprit behind the car crash and the mastermind behind the pranks, and an utter failure at covering his tracks. To quote Kaitlyn if she records his monologue: Drop the evil mastermind monologue, you knock-off Draco Malfoy!

Anton Severus: Anton takes the bad stuff about Nathan Sterling (bland and inept) and applies it to a nation. Sending a bunch of assassins to target the bride (or brides), only for said assassins to end up defeated is an example of his failure as a villain. If you're plotting to overthrow a country's government, you better succeed in doing what you have to do, and Anton fails big-time. Even his motives for becoming king are weak aside from wanting to have all power for himself.

Jonathan Spencer: Another forgettable villain. I feel like he's there to give Matt a chance to stand up to him the moment he was exposed as the one who leaked the secrets.

Viktor Montmartre: Viktor is no doubt a poorly written villain who not only commits sexual assault towards actresses and ruins their lives if they don't comply, but also gets away with a mere slap in the wrist. I get that the story involving him is supposed to be based on the #MeToo movement, but it gets shoved aside in favor of building up Thomas Hunt as a forced love interest. It's distracting. Not to mention that he's pretty much a mere plot device with passing reminders of his importance to the story. Not saying that I should change him, because he's supposed to be a monster like Azura and Rourke.

Silas Prescott: I like that he really cared for his family and tried to bring his late wife back, though it certainly doesn't excuse his heinous actions. In terms of effectiveness, he pretty much succeeds in what he does, particularly having Hazel get info on the MC. Nevertheless, he's an acceptable challenge.

Trent A.K.A. ex-fiancé: What can I say about this guy? All he does is being an utter douche to his ex-fiancée, such as cheating on her, roughly grabbing her, and even conning her into signing a marriage certificate. Granted, the latter is partly the protagonist's fault for not consulting with others, but it still shows how much of a jerk he is. I have mixed feelings on his disappearance, however. I was relieved I didn't have to deal with him anymore, but also felt that having closure with him costing diamonds is a disservice to the plot, since it explores a character's motivations. Even with the closure, cheating on his fiancée was a stupid move in his part.

Aunt Mallory: Oh, boy. Where do I start? Her actions are consistently loathsome while her motives came too late. She even continued being horrible (giving real weapons to kids, casually suggesting that her daughter give her child up for adoption against her will, tampering with her niece's boat, etc.) even after she mentioned her history with her daughter, which shows that she made a choice and must face the consequences. Unfortunately, she gets away with nearly killing her own niece and future nephew-in-law, which makes it all the more infuriating.

Brian Crandall: Oh, Brian's definitely one character I really detest with a passion. On one hand, it's easy for me to dismiss him as some mere bully, but on the other hand, his actions and motivations are more than just being a bully. His lack of remorse without compelling concerns, selfish attitude and mindset, creepy gestures towards Myra, and refusal to see his own mistakes are the topreasons. I think PB did the right thing by characterizing him as unlikeable as possible, as it's their intention to do so. Even worse is that he comes off as persistent even in presence. It's like I can never escape from him.

Principal Amanda Isa A.K.A. Ashley Faris: Since her dictatorial rule in Berry High, I suspect two different things about her: either she was sincere in enforcing order and discipline by going too far because of her bad experience with chaos, or her policies were ultimately a facade to cover her criminal activities. I wasn't surprise that the latter was true because she picked Morgan, a notorious opportunist, as hall monitor. As for Isa herself, I really hate her for her actions and motivations. Sure she was indebted to a couple of criminals since she fell for a pyramid scheme that ruined the three of them, but that doesn't excuse what she did, especially since she probably should've turned Phantom and Blackbird in. Still doesn't make me hate her as much as I hate characters worse than her.

Max Warren and Kara Sinclair: I swear, these two are the kind of people I love to hate, but even then they pale because they don't do something genuinely threatening, like usurping the club leader positions from Julian and Mia, respectively. That would've made them threatening, I guess.

Danielle: Honestly, I find her rather pathetic and immature because of her obsession with Rory that reaches possessive levels. She knew what she did could've injured the Class Act protagonist, but she did it anyway. Even if she didn't know about the true purpose of the play was no excuse for her misdeeds, which screams Aunt Mallory to me. Moreover, what she said in the premium options didn't even explain the reason why she considered Rory her friend. I wish she develops differently, however. And what's with her motivations being paywalled?

Redfield A.K.A. Jane Marshall: Oh, this is an interesting one. I find Jane (and Redfield in general) a very interesting villain because she still maintains her childish personality even after becoming Redfield, which warps her way of helping her old friends. Even after her rejection and rampage, she still retains a childlike view of what's right and wrong. She's dangerous and tragic at the same time, and I like that.

Countess Henrietta: I swear, for someone meant to be a villain, Henrietta has the personality of a walking cliche. Sure she wants Edgewater and lives in an era where women had less rights compared to nowadays, but her behavior and characterization just boils down to unnecessarily abusive towards others, including her own husband and son. I feel like Duke Richards is more of a villain than she is, though that was because his establishment as one was gradual and just the beginning. I swear, I'm starting to find her slightly less unbearable, but if Pixelberry pulls a Mallory on her (have her do horrible deeds that threaten people's lives yet expect sympathy in the end), I'll be furious.

Duke Tristan Richards: I find it a bit funny that he quickly dwarfs Henrietta in terms of the threat he poses. That aside, he's utterly vile like Rourke and Montmartre and has shown no humanizing qualities thus far. All he does is act like he owns everything and that he's the only person that matters. Sick of his attitude.

Jeff Duffy: Like Luther Nevrakis, Jeff Duffy is a very well-written villain who not only succeeds in his goals, but also has a sympathetic motive that still doesn't excuse his actions. It helps that he has a really scary grin when his true colors are revealed. Sure I'm angry at him harming Kate, but I can also step into his shoes as he gets angry at the Sterlings for ruining his life. In the end, I chose to let him die in the Endurance while saving Pierce, who I think deserves to watch his family's legacy crumble.

John Tull and Hayley Rose: These two are interesting villains that surprise me in the end. While their actions are despicable, their motivations show them as still human. Tull going great lengths to protect her daughter, who was wronged by several men. That makes them interesting villains in their right.

Adam Vega: This one's tough. I find him an effective villain when it comes to gaining good publicity, framing Adrian, and gaining the upper hand in some situations. What bugs me is how and why did he start adopting Gaius Augustine's agenda. I mean, he was rather shocked about it when Gaius revealed his master plan about a century ago.

Gaius Augustine: He may not have a lot of free screentime, but he has proven to be an interesting villain who works behind the scenes for a long time, and effectively, no less. There's still not much I could see of him so far, but here's hoping Bloodbound, Book 2 treats him with justice by making him a three-dimensional character with believable motives that explain his reasons well while not whitewashing them.

Garret Redmond: Honestly, this guy comes across as forgettable. I know that he's a threat to the Oakleys and Mendozas (attempted to bribe them, then damaged the Oakley ranch by burning the barn and destroying the fence), but I see nothing much in him besides being a ruthless and corrupt business tycoon.

Martin and TJ: Honestly, these two piss me off because all they do is treat other people, including their co-workers, like dirt for no real reason. Even worse, TJ forcefully grabbed MC, which shows his willingness to cross the line. What I find outrageous is that we don't get to see their reactions to their defeat in the finale. The only assuring thing about them is that they're intended to behave that way.

Rose Waverley: Eh. I get that Rose is paranoid, pessimistic, and suffering from a mental illness, but whether being undead has warped her mind or her behavior was naturally that wasn't fully explained in detail. I think she could've been more interesting, if only THoBM isn't so short.

Ivy Fisher: OK, so I feel like I should hate her for taking advantage of the competition with Carson's help, but the truth is I don't. The reason is because I was reminded by Adam/Handsome Stranger to not take game moves personally, so I wonder why the love interests start taking offense at her targeting my protagonist? It's like they know the reason to participate in the competition is to have fun, yet they disregard it anyway.

#choices stories you play #es rourke #everett rourke #tc&tf azura #d&d henrietta #tristan richards #viktor montmartre #trr anton #anton severus #tj nathan #nathan sterling #dorian delacroix #ame ivy #ivy fisher #roe aunt #aunt mallory #roe ex-fiance #lh martin #lh tj #ilitw redfield #adam vega #pm rowan west #gaius augustine #jeff duffy #garret redmond #hss isa #hss max #hss kara #hss brian #hss danielle

[obsidianarchives]

To All The Wizards: The Party

Dean kept his word. They spent the rest of the evening by the fire in the common room. Hermione was able to finish reading and responding to her letters. She wished Viktor good luck in his match against Madrid and thanked her mother for taking the time to send the package she had requested. They passed the majority of the evening in relative silence. He sat at the other end of the couch next to her feet, sketching. Crookshanks was curled in his lap, clearly still unhappy with Hermione. Meanwhile, she began knitting a new winter hat for Winky.

After they had finished their game of wizard’s chess, Ron had gone to bed and Harry came over from the other end of the common room and sank into the armchair close to the fire.

“He’s going to cost us the Cup,” he said in dismay.

“You’ll just have to work with him over the break. I’m sure he was just having an off day,” she said, not looking up from her work.

“It won’t do any good. His flying is fine when it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, I thought he had improved since I first started practicing with you lot. I wonder what has him so agitated.” Dean cast a sidelong glance at Hermione, which she ignored.

Harry groaned and rubbed his face in frustration. “I thought we had fixed him after the first match, too.”

Yes, Harry had tried to fix it by tricking Ron into thinking he had taken an illegal substance before the match. “If Ron is going to get any better he’s going to have to do it on his own,” she said curtly.

“Oh you’re one to talk!” Harry said with a laugh.

Choosing to not dignify that with a response, she resumed her knitting. Dean looked between the two of them but seemed to think it was best to say nothing. She instead decided to switch the subject. “Did you manage to ask Luna to Professor Slughorn’s party tomorrow?”

“Yes, she seems excited to be going as friends.” He sounded relieved.

“Good. I don’t know why you didn’t ask sooner. Always last minute.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring the dig.

“Anyway, I’m off to bed.” As he stood, he gave Dean a significant look before saying, “Don’t stay up too late.”

After he had left them, Dean snorted. “Subtle. Guess he wants to be sure I’m not taking advantage of his best friend.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at her. She wrinkled her nose in response. “Maybe Harry is getting jealous.”

She rolled her eyes at this. He had often teased her about having The Boy Who Lived within her grasp, but falling for Ron instead. “He doesn’t care what I do. He’s just in a mood. It was Ron who was always the overprotective one.”

“You really have never had any interest in Harry? It’s always been Ron? Harry is The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, even! Don’t most girls like him?”

She sighed, exasperated with the conversation already. “Most girls aren’t also his best friend. It was only ever Ron.”

They drifted into silence as Hermione put the finishing touches on Winky’s hat. Dean had abandoned his sketch, staring into the dying fire while he scratched behind Crookshanks ears, lost in thought. The dim light from the fire cast a warm glow on his dark skin. They seemed to be the only ones remaining in the common room. Glancing at the clock, Hermione saw it was nearing midnight. The time had passed so quickly. She began to gather her things.

“Is it true then, what everyone says, about him being the Chosen One?” Dean was still sitting next to her but his voice seemed far away. His gaze was transfixed on the crackling log.

She hesitated to answer. Part of her, for some inexplicable reason, wanted to tell him the truth. Maybe then, the invisible weight she had been carrying since the summer would finally lift from her chest. He turned away from the fire to look at her. His coffee colored eyes were serious, searching for the answer in her face.

No, she couldn’t tell him. As comfortable as she felt around him, none of this was real. They weren’t actually friends, much less a couple. And even if any of this was real, this secret was far too dangerous to ever speak of outside the her, Harry, and Ron.

“Even if he was, you know I wouldn’t tell you.”

He studied her for a moment longer before a look of acceptance came over him. He nodded and got up. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and grabbed him. Surprised, he looked down at her hand clasped around his wrist, then to her.

“I, uh — sorry,” she said, dropping his wrist. “I just wanted to say thanks for keeping your promise to sit by the fire with me. I know that sort of thing isn’t really in the contract — well anyway. I appreciate it.”

He laughed a dry laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, Granger. You sure like bringing up that contract.” He shook his head again, and chuckled to himself. Looking back to her he said, “Goodnight, Hermione. See you in the morning.”

Five minutes later, as she headed up to the girl’s dormitory, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had upset him in their conversation.You’re just imagining things. You’re not really his girlfriend, he doesn’t care enough to be upset with you. She took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the dormitory, praying sleep would come quickly to put her mind at ease.

—

It was a disaster. Professor Slughorn’s party invitation had clearly specified “fetching dress.” She had owled her mother weeks ago, asking her to send her usual silver holiday dress to wear underneath her old periwinkle dress robes that she kept packed in her trunk. She should have opened the package sooner.

“What should I do, Crookshanks?”

Crookshanks turned to look at her lazily from her pillow on which he was currently snoozing. Today, he was less put out with her than he had been recently. This, she supposed, was because of the double helping of treats she had given him this morning.

On her bed laid a burgundy velvet dress. That Hermione could tell, it was very fashionable with its sweetheart neckline, fitted sleeves, and circle skirt. There was no doubt her mother had outdone herself, apparently excited with the opportunity to spoil her daughter. The dress was beautiful.

Her cape-sleeved periwinkle dress robes laid next to the dress. There was no way she could wear them in their current state together. It would look ridiculous. Perhaps, she could go without the dress robes. Dean surely wouldn’t care, being Muggle-born himself. But there would be very important wizards in attendance, would it be considered rude to show up in purely Muggle attire?

The door to the dormitory suddenly opened. Hermione turned to see Lavender walk in and flop down on her bed.

“How was Divination?” Hermione asked politely as she looked over the dress again, running her fingers over the velvety material.

Lavender gave a dreamy sigh. “It was wonderful. We worked on our cartomancy today. My card reading was so fascinating. First, Parvati revealed the Ace of Cups, which duh of course. Ron’s and my relationship is still very new, so the meaning was clear. I was a little worried when she flipped to reveal the Fool. Parvati insisted it was in reverse, but Trelawney’s cards are very faded. I’m sure it was upright...are you even listening?”

Hermione wasn’t. She didn’t want to hear about Divination and she certainly didn’t want to hear about the good fortune Parvati predicted for her friend’s budding relationship. She was still contemplating her best dress option.

“Ugh, OK I’ll bite. What is it? Are you having trouble picking out jewelry?” Lavender slid off her bed and walked across the room. “Yikes.”

“I know,” Hermione said sighing. She wasn’t the most fashionable of girls, but she knew this was a mess. “My mum sent a new dress for me to wear. She’s a Muggle and didn’t realize it would need to go with my dress robes.”

She shouldn’t be embarrassed. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that she was a Muggle and didn’t know about these things. Her palms began to sweat a little anyway. She was taking Dean Thomas, arguably one of the most handsome boys at Hogwarts, to a Christmas party, and she was going to look like she got dressed in the dark.

“Let’s not panic. Where’re your shoes?” Hermione pointed to what were once a modest pair of black pumps at the foot of her bed. They were now transfigured to a deep burgundy shade to compliment her dress. She explained to Lavender what she had done. “Well that’s it then! Just transfigure the dress robes.” She looked very proud at having come up with this solution.

“I can’t,” Hermione said. She held up the dress robe, letting her feel the chiffon-like material. “The more delicate or complex the material of an object, the more difficult it is to transfigure. Transfiguring these from a light blue to a deep burgundy is such a drastic change it might ruin them...“ she trailed off and began to think, if only I just had another set to practice on. But duplicating them might compromise the integrity of the fabric.

Lavender let out a sigh, as if she were quite bored. “Then don’t transfigure them into burgundy.”

Hermione mouth dropped slightly. That was it. “Lav! Thank you. Why hadn’t I thought of that?”

She shrugged and then eyed Hermione’s hair, which she had opted to wear out. Hermione had spent the previous evening deep conditioning it, not wanting to take any chance on it frizzing up before the event.

“Do you want to borrow my Sleekeazy’s?” Lavender asked, still eying her curls a little warily. Lavender didn’t need Sleekeazy’s. Her hair did have a kink to it, but hung in a looser pattern. Yet she still slicked her hair down with the stuff overnight from time to time.

Subconsciously, Hermione’s hand moved to her hair to try and smooth down the back. “Erm, no. No thanks, Lavender,” she said, suddenly feeling unsure of herself.

Lavender gave her a look that said clearly said “suit yourself” before heading to the door. “I better go. I told Parvati I’d only be a minute and I promised to meet her for dinner, for a girls night. Good luck tonight!”

Hermione tried to shake the thoughts about her hair. One problem at a time, she told herself, turning her attention away from where Lavender had been standing a moment ago to her dress robes.

—

Everything had come together quite nicely in the end. Transfiguring the dress robes into something complimentary to her dress was inspired. The now cream-colored robes hung delicately around her frame.

As for her hair, she opted to pull part of it back in a braid, letting the rest hang down rather than wearing her curls out completely like she had planned. Lavender probably would have preferred if she had broken down and brought out the Sleekeazy’s, but she felt more comfortable in her curls styled in what she hoped was a formal take of the basic half-up half-down style.

As she emerged from the girl’s dormitory she could see Dean waiting with his back to her. He was wearing what looked like a new set of dress robes. Upon approaching, she could see that the robes were made of an expensive black jacquard material. Hermione cleared her throat.

He turned around and gaped at her. “Hermione, you look...” He trailed off before finally muttering, “Wow.”

“Erm, thanks, I think.” She realized she was shaking and a little hot. Panicking, she looked for something else to say. She couldn’t sweat off the minimal makeup she had managed to put on. She had never mastered the process of applying the stuff, and no one in her dormitory knew how to apply Muggle makeup even if she had asked for help. She made a mental note to look into wizarding makeup options in future. Maybe they would offer better shade ranges.

“You look amazing. Really.” Dean said, seeming to come back to himself. Giving her a crooked grin he continued, “Should we wait for Harry?”

“No, I think he’s gone to meet Luna.”

He nodded in understanding and held his arm out, motioning to the portrait hole. “Shall we be off, then?”

Wordlessly she nodded, and without thinking about it, took his arm as they headed to Slughorn’s Christmas Party.

The castle was mostly quiet as they walked through it. Most students had retired early to prepare for tomorrow’s train journey back for the break. A few of the festive, candlelit suits of armor inclined their helmets in greeting as they passed. As they approached Professor Slughorn’s office, there was a dull din of noise that grew in volume and pitch. They stopped before entering.

“Hey, relax,” Dean said, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze. He was looking kindly at her with those warm brown eyes.

With a faint horror she realized that her palms were, in fact, clammy. Why should she be nervous? It had been upon her insistence that he accompany her to this party. They were just going through the motions. Calm and steady. “Right, yeah. I’m good.”

She led the way into the office and slightly gasped. It was so lovely she couldn’t help but be impressed. The office had been decorated to appear as if they were in a festive party tent with drapings of gold, crimson, and emerald. The faint smell of cinnamon and clove hung in the air and a warm flickering glow filled the room. Hermione’s eyes trailed around the room over the dozens of heads looking for the source. Was it enchanted candles charmed to burn a specific color? Her eyes landed on an antiqued golden chandelier that was hanging in the center of the room. She wrinkled her nose.

“What is it?” Dean asked.

“Fairies,” she said with a tinge of disgust.

“In the chandelier?”

“Yes. Honestly, they may enjoy being on display, but caging them in glass orbs is inhumane.” Before she could finish her rant about how wizards were constantly taking advantage of the predispositions of other magical creatures, she spotted Harry and Luna.

“I’ll go see if I can find us something to drink. See you over there?” he asked. Hermione nodded.

She approached the duo and Hermione stifled a giggle. They were an interesting looking couple. Harry was wearing his bottle green dress robes that brought out his green eyes. They fit very nicely, maybe better than they had in their fourth year. She wondered if he had sent them to Mrs. Weasley for alterations. Next to him stood, Luna. Her robes were still in the style of Luna Lovegood but Hermione had to admit the way the silver spangled robes reflected the light was quite pretty.

“Hermione! You’ve come just in time. Luna was just telling me her interesting theory about the Minister of Magic,” Harry said, looking at her significantly. Then, taking in her appearance he said, “You look really nice.”

“Yes, your eyes have gone quite twinkly in this lighting,” Luna said in her usual lilting voice.

Not sure what to say in response to Luna as she often felt when talking to her, she thanked them both.

“Have you seen? There are a couple of Daily Prophet reporters here.”

“What? Did you speak with them?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Yeah, but I don’t think the bloke was much interested in uncovering the deep secrets about ‘The Chosen One’.” She swatted at him. They glanced at Luna, who was busy inspecting one of the potted copper-leaved Niffler’s Fancies scattered throughout the tent. “Don’t worry. I don’t think he was much interested in being here at all.”

“You still need to be careful, Harry.”

At that moment Dean returned with two silver goblets full of mead. Hermione took hers gratefully. He shook Harry’s hand before turning to Luna.

“You look very festive!” Hermione could tell by the way the smile met his eyes that he wasn’t making fun of Luna. He actually liked her robes.

“Thank you, Dean!” Luna said with a bright smile. “This is a very nice party. They’ve scattered these plants everywhere. They are very lucky, you know,” she said, indicating the Niffler’s Fancy she had earlier been inspecting.

Hermione’s eyes trailed to Harry who was looking between her and Dean. She wondered if it was working. Did they look like a couple? She took a sip of her mead to appear unaffected. It was spiced, her favorite.

Dean was speaking with Luna about her knowledge on the plant when he trailed off. Something at the entryway had caught his attention. They all turned to look in that direction. Hermione saw Neville’s blond head first. She felt her stomach clench as her eyes landed on Ginny. She was wearing floor-length emerald robes that contrasted with her crimson hair in a way that was dazzling in the glowing light. A slight smile graced her freckled features as her bright blue eyes scanned the crowd.

Both Dean and Harry were staring at her, in awe. A latent thought of Fleur passed through Hermione’s mind. Of course, Ginny was no veela, but she certainly had Harry and Dean under her spell. Glancing at Luna, she felt relieved that she at least didn’t seem to be aware of what was happening. Frustrated with both boys’ rudeness to their dates, she nudged Dean. He looked at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten she was there at all. She looked at him severely, trying to communicate that he still had a date he was being incredibly rude to.

Taking the moment to excuse themselves, Hermione pulled Dean away from Harry. It would be bad if Dean realized Harry’s feelings for Ginny and vice versa.

“It’s rude to come to a party with a date and spend the night staring at someone else’s date!” Hermione said in a terse whisper.

He grimaced, looking chastised. “Sorry, Hermione. It’s just hard. I think I can handle being around her, but then she’ll hit me with these sneak attacks and I just...”  he trailed off and took a deep breath. “Don’t worry. I got it. It won’t happen again.”

His grinned at her, trying to look reassuring. She would let it go for now, it wasn’t like she was faring any better with Ron.

The night continued as they made their way around party. They passed an enchanted quartet of string instruments accompanying the witch who was singing what Hermione vaguely recognized as wizarding Christmas carols.

It wasn’t as difficult playing into their roles when they were wandering the party by themselves. Dean was the perfect gentleman. Every now and again, he would place his hand on her hip when they were standing next to each other. Whenever Ginny was looking across the tent in their direction, he would bring her hand up to kiss it as if she were the most lovely person in the room. He would give her a slight wink that she knew he meant as encouragement, but the whole thing made her want to roll her eyes.

She spent spare moments when she was alone, while Dean was off grabbing her another goblet of mead or glass of water, comparing herself with Ginny. She couldn’t help it, after the entrance she had made. It wasn’t just Harry and Dean, many eyes followed Ginny in admiration. Her silky sheet of red hair gleamed in the light and was easy to spot throughout the tent. Hermione moved her hand to her head to make sure the ends of her hair were still behaving and not frizzing up. How could anyone believe that someone would date her over someone like Ginny? How could this plan be working?

They spoke to various members of the Slug Club and Dean surreptitiously avoided the mistletoe planted throughout. Blaise Zabini had even nodded to them in passing at one point. Eventually, they were accosted by Cormac McLaggen. Visibly, he acted like his normal overly-charming self, but it quickly became clear he was only interested in hounding Dean for information on how he got chosen as an alternate for the Quidditch team and how he had managed to woo Hermione Granger. This was all spoken as if she wasn’t standing right there.

They had only just escaped when Professor Slughorn’s booming voice found them.

“Ms. Granger, my dear! I have someone I would like you to meet!”

Glancing at each other, they both shrugged and made their way over to where Professor Slughorn, a tall haggard looking man and — to Hermione’s dismay — Ginny and Neville stood.

“Ciaran, I present to you Hogwarts’ brightest student, Hermione Granger and her date—“

“Dean Thomas, sir,” Dean quipped.

“Yes, Dean Thomas,” Professor Slughorn continued, unfazed, “This is Ciaran Gates. He is the leading Muggle Correspondent and newest editor at the Daily Prophet. While not as hard-hitting of a subject as you might expect from one of my pupils, he is on the fast track to becoming editor-in-chief.”

A few how-do-you-dos followed. Dean shook Gates’ hand before placing it back around Hermione’s waist. Hermione tried to pay no mind to Ginny’s glances in their direction. When Hermione did try to make eye contact with her, her attention was firmly locked on Professor Slughorn. Sighing, she smiled at Neville who grinned back. He looked happy just to be included.

“I thought you two should hit it off, both of you having an interest in Muggle culture,” Professor Slughorn said encouragingly.

Ciaran Gates didn’t seem to be interested at all in talking to a teenage Hogwarts student, or to be there at all. Perhaps, he was here as a favor to Professor Slughorn. To any of this, Professor Slughorn seemed oblivious.

“So, Dean Thomas, you’re a Muggle-born I presume?” Professor Slughorn asked. Everyone’s attention turned to Dean, except for Ciaran Gates, who seemed to be searching for any excuse he could find to leave the conversation.

“Yes, sir. Well, so far as I know. My dad left when I was a baby, so it’s hard to say.”

“Ah yes. Gets more and more common all the time...” Hermione and Dean glanced at each other, incredulous at what he seemed to be insinuating. Professor Slughorn took no notice of this, shaking his head before continuing, “And how have you come to win the heart of the brightest witch Hogwarts has seen in the last decade?”

She winced at his compliment. It was alright when her friends joked about her being the “brightest witch” of whatever, but when people said this in earnest it made her uncomfortable, unsure how to respond.

Everyone was now looking at Dean. Neville was nodding, excited to hear the tale. However, Ginny looked at her with shrewd eyes, testing her. Everything she and Dean had discussed preparing for this moment flew from her mind. Calm and steady, she reminded herself. She looked away from Ginny and politely at Dean.

“Well, I suppose my charms and good looks wouldn’t sell it?” Dean said with a laugh. He seemed wholly nonplussed by Ginny’s presence when just an hour previously he hadn’t been able to hold himself together.

Professor Slughorn also laughed. “No m’boy, Hermione Granger is made of different stuff than most girls your age. Those paltry tricks won’t work on the likes of her. Tell me, Ms. Granger, have you met your intellectual equal, then?”

Hermione laughed nervously, feeling the pressure to respond graciously. “I’m not sure about all of that, Professor.” The questions were not only impertinent but nerve-wracking. Ginny seemed very interested in her answer. Dean was counting on her to lie effectively. “We both are the only Gryffindors in our year taking N.E.W.T.s level Arithmancy, so we began studying together. Most people don’t like my pacing when we study so I generally do it alone. He’s been up to the task, though. We just kind of continued from there,” she finished, lamely.

“Oh delightful! Young love can be so promising. Ms. Granger’s mind is uncanny. She’ll be the Minister of Magic one day if she continues on her path. You are very lucky, Mr. Thomas.” With that, Professor Slughorn threw back his goblet, draining the rest of its contents. “Come along Ciaran, I’m sure Mr. Potter is about here somewhere.”

Dean pulled her closer into him, beaming. She was relieved. She had done a good job, everyone was actually buying it.

“I didn’t realize Arithmancy required so much studying,” Ginny said, finally addressing them. Her eyes flashed. Neville seemed to be oblivious to the danger in her voice, but Hermione could see the slight tinge of red creeping up her neck.

If he had noticed this, Dean didn’t seem perturbed. Rubbing his hand along her side he said, “Yeah these N.E.W.T.s level courses are no joke. Who knows where I’d be without Hermione?”

The tension was cut abruptly by Mr. Filch, who barged loudly into the center of the room, dragging Malfoy behind him. The music stopped. Hermione’s eyes searched the room for Harry. He was standing with Professor Snape and Professor Slughorn as Mr. Filch and Malfoy approached. A feeling of unease over came her. She generally got that sort of feeling when one of the boys was about to do something reckless. She didn’t have time to worry about that, she reminded herself. Seeing their opportunity to escape, she muttered something to Neville, excusing themselves and pulling Dean away.

After Malfoy’s gatecrash, the party began to slowly dwindle. Hermione and Dean decided it was probably time for them to take their leave, as well. They both had to be up in the morning to finish packing and catch the train home for the holidays. They bid Luna goodnight, but didn’t find Harry with her. She now felt sure he was up to something.

“You want to walk back with us?” Dean asked Luna.

“No, I’m alright. I think I’ll wait here for Harry.”

On their way back, Dean inquired as to whether Hermione was hungry because she hadn’t eaten anything at the party. She tried to explain to Dean the importance of house-elf rights. The only food on offer at the party had been on silver platters carried by the Hogwarts house-elves. To her surprise, he listened and seemed to agree with her. Before she could press further and tell him about S.P.E.W., they made it back to the common room.

It was mostly empty, with a few pockets of students huddled around the fire.

“You did really well tonight, Granger,” Dean said in a low tone so that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“Are you sure?” she asked. She wanted to do well at this, not only for Dean, but for herself. If she was going to take the time to do something, she wanted to do it right.

“Absolutely. Did you see how Gin was looking at us?”

“Yes,” she said with a sudden groan. “I don’t know, Dean. Who is going to believe you are actually interested in me? I saw the way you were looking at her, tonight. I mean, Merlin, who didn’t notice her?”

“Are we really going to have this conversation?” he asked exasperatedly. “Do you honestly think you’re not pretty?”

“I’m not searching for compliments! I’m just saying it doesn’t seem believable to me, logically speaking, that you’ve gone from dating Ginny who’s popular, has beautiful hair, and likes sports, to me, who is none of those things.”

He rolled his eyes. “You really are something else. Look, Gin’s gorgeous. But you’ve got more confidence. You don’t put all this effort into it. I told you how amazing you looked tonight, and I meant it.”

She avoided his gaze, feeling her face heat up once again. She really wasn’t looking for his pity or compliments. It wasn’t embarrassment that was making her blush, though. It was the fact that he wasn’t saying it out of pity. He actually was being genuine. She still thought he was off his rocker, though.

“Can we get back to celebrating this victory now?”

She glanced up at him. His eyebrows were raised expectantly. “Alright, yeah.”

He held his hand up for a high-five. “Operation ‘Secret Lovers’ is in full swing!”

“Ew gross, no. We’re not calling it that.” She wrinkled her nose but slapped his hand and laughed anyway.

“Fair enough.”

Hermione was in good spirits as she walked up the stairs to the dormitory. Maybe her being in a relationship with Dean Thomas wasn’t so unbelievable.

To Be Continued…

#To All The Wizards #Black Wizard History #Dean Thomas #Hermione Granger

[edgeoffluffy]

Yule Ball Confidance

DISCLAIMER :

First fanfiction ever! Please don’t be harsh, you wise fanfic-accustomed Potterheads!

I’m French, English is not my mother tongue so excuse the possible weird turn of phrases and style. Not sorry about the pun in the title tho :P

Ok, so the idea here is that you’re a champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament instead of Cedric. You’re in the same year as the Golden Trio, you hang out with them often. The age limit doesn’t exist but there is still the drama that Hogwarts has two champions instead of one. You managed to survive the first task, but it wasn’t brilliant. You are looking for the perfect date to make an impression at the Yule Ball and you think Neville could be just the one to do this. (The Neville here is Movie Neville, who slays ballroom dancing). This is kind of a fluffy Neville x Reader thing, but it’s not reaaally romantic. More like BFF/love weird limit. See what you want in it.

WELL AFTER ALL THAT, LET’S GET STARTED.

Ever since the first task, despite not achieving what you hoped, you were assaulted every day in the hallways by guys wanting to go to the Yule Ball with you. You were not familiar with all the fame, unlike Fleur who always had a procession of bewitched boys in her trail. You could have told them yes, but you wanted to go with a friend, someone you cared about.

You were waiting a special event to make your decision. Hagrid had warned you about the dance practice that Professor McGonagall was going to hold since you surprised him carrying around a giant gramophone. And finally, the day came.

You liked dancing. In the hallways, near the Black Lake, in the shower, in the girls’ dormitories in Gryffindor tower, which annoyed all the other girls because you are taking so much space. You knew you were somewhat good at it and you thought that busting the right moves at the Yule Ball in front of everyone could repair your confidence somewhat weakened by the first task. Damn you dragons! 

So, on the D day, in the large classroom where the Gryffindor were assembled, as McGonagall explained everyone about the Yule Ball and music started to play, you began your hunt. You were paired with George, which immediately invited you to dance with abounding suggestive eyebrow movements. He wasn’t so bad as you began quickly to waltz around the classroom while everybody stepped on each other’s toes. But you were looking for your target.

Since the beginning of the practice you noticed that Neville, of all people, had a fiery look in his eyes. A look that you only knew from when he was facing a particularly recalcitrant plant in herbology. For an unknown reason, he seemed more than motivated to learn dancing while the boys next to him stared at him with a mocking look.

Finally, you spotted him in the middle of the dancers. He was fighting dancing with a giggling Lavender who seemed quite nervous. The pair was struggling and did not look like they were having a very good time. As the song finished and the couples across the room facepalmed quietly and/or laughed at the general awkwardness of their first dance, you politely thanked George for the dance (to which he replied with a “M’lady” tipping an invisible hat). Neville was looking really disappointed. 

You discreetly approached him while McGonagall was scolding everyone for being exactly what she feared: a babbling bumbling band of baboons.“Hey Neville!” you whispered.

“Hey…” he replied, a defeated look on his face.“Care to dance with me on the approaching next public humiliation?”

“What?”

“The next song…”

“With me?”

“No, with the wall behind you silly!”

At this moment, the music started to play again, and everyone was begrudgingly going back to being less terrible. Deciding not to give him a choice, you took Neville by the arm and dragged him across the dancefloor. Once he returned to his senses, you began to dance to the upbeat waltz produced by the gramophone. While hesitant at first, Neville began to properly lead. As you gracefully travelled through the shocked faces of the other students, his face lightened considerably, like a child on a Christmas morning. 

You knew it somehow: Neville was really good at dancing. His unexpected skill was now revealed to all the students around you. Once the music stopped, a delighted professor McGonagall warmly complimented Neville who did not seem to fully realize what was happening to him. After everyone exited the classroom, you caught up with Neville, who seemed to remain on a cloud. 

“Neville!” you called. He turned around. 

“Yes?”

“Neville, do you know how amazing you were out there?”

“Apparently!” he said with a small laugh. “Would you go to the Yule Ball with me?” you asked in a smile. 

“Yes!” he replied, a delighted look on his face. 

Suddenly, a realization came upon him. 

“Wait. You’re a champion. Does this mean we’ll have to open the ball in front of everyone?” 

This damn lack of confidence. You had it too, you understood it. 

“Mayyyvbe?” you tempted. 

“Then I don’t think…” 

“NEVILLE!” you cut him off, more abruptly that you intended to. What must you make things akward ?

 “Nevillle, we just danced in front of everyone! I know we can do it!”.

He thought for a while. 

“Alright… Let’s go!” he complied. 

“YES! Thank you! It’s gonna be great!” you exclaimed, giving him a brief hug then leaving him immediately, excited to begin planning everything.

The afternoon before the ball, you have spent really fun times with the Gryffindor girls in the dormitory. Parvati was cute as a button, Hermione looked stunning, and you were not so bad yourself in your midnight blue gown and your wavy half up half down hairdo. In short terms, everyone was beautiful and very late. Once the finishing touches were perfect, you rushed down the stairs with the other girls in not the most graceful way, but you were soon in front of the Great Hall.

Neville was there, looking smart and somewhat lost in his thoughts, with Harry, Ron and Padma, as pretty as her twin. Krum was brooding in the corner. He lit up as soon as he saw Hermione approach. Before you had a chance to catch your breath, the champions were called to open the ball. You looked at Neville who instantly offered his arm, a nervous look on his face. “It’s our arena, our trial” you whispered to him. “But this time, we are the dragon. Let’s show them how it’s done”. A determined, unknown look grew on his face as you began to follow Harry, Parvati, Hermione and Krum. 

They were astonished whispers and a few mocking whistles as you travelled across the crowd with him and took your place on the dance floor. A beat before the music started, Neville looked at you right in the eyes.

The orchestra began to play, everything became kind of a blur. You remember gracefully dancing across the floor, twirling around like the other couples at first then introducing intricate figures flawlessly in your choreography. You were laughing from the excitement while Neville kept a determined but radiant look, a little smile, while leading you steadily. Out of the blue, the partners were switched as other pairs joined the dance. 

You were swaying with a suddenly shy Viktor Krum as Hermione giggled while dancing with Harry. You noticed that Fleur Delacour, of all people, had a troubled look on her face in front of Neville’s new-found confidence as he was making her whirl around. You then jived with a completely uncoordinated and off-beat Harry but having a great time. You saw Parvati living her best life while dancing a crazy rock with Neville. You also remember leading and being stepped on for two minutes straight by Roger Davies, Fleur’s date. 

The party continued as every student joined in. Time flew by as you were having the best time with Neville who never looked so happy since you knew him. You noticed Hermione rejoining Harry and Ron and their dates on the other side of the room. You saw Ron and Hermione fighting and Hermione leaving, as you predicted because you bet with the Gryffindor girls that Ron would be jealous of Krum. You decided to cowardly leave Neville to a horde of girls wanting to dance with him. 

You rejoined the boys, who seemed to think they had done their share of dancing. Parvati and Padma looked absolutely bored out of their minds. “Are you not ashamed?” you said to Harry and Ron, who did not seem to understand what you meant. A popular pop song began to play. You turned to the twins. “Ladies, shall we dance?” A grateful look appeared on the girls’ faces. “Yes please!”

You danced all night long. Memories pop up one by one. Fred and George dancing salsa with each other, then with you. Seamus and Dean having the worst dance-off in history with Durmstrang boys. Two Hufflepuff muggle-borns attempting what they called “the Dirty Dancing lift”, whatever that meant. They both crashed in a group of offended/hilarious Beauxbatons students. 

You didn’t know what time it was, but you were exhausted. A slow song began. As you were about to leave after saying good night to everyone, someone grabbed your wrist. It was a completely disheveled Neville. Without saying a word, he pulled you back on the less crowded dancefloor and began to slow dance with you. No complicated steps, no wild rhythm, just the two of you. Nonetheless, the heat began to rise in his cheeks and a little bit in yours.

“You know, my grandma always told me that a man should know how to do three things: fight, learn and dance”. He giggled. “I’m not really good at either fighting or learning even though I try so hard. Thank you for teaching me how to dance”. You shook you head. “I didn’t teach you a thing Neville. You had it in you the whole time. I only noticed it. You showed what you’ve got to the rest of us and you did it perfectly. I’m sure the fighting and the learning is somewhere in there!”

He sheepishly smiled. “You really think so?” You smiled back. “I’m persuaded of it. Thank you for a great night. I’m gonna steal that confidence of yours and nail the next task with it!” 

He laughed. “You? Lacking confidence?” You raised your eyes to the starred ceiling. “Of course! Surviving an encounter with a dragon doesn’t mean I’m not completely terrified of what is next!”

He stopped dancing for a bit, looking right at you. “I assure you you’re the most capable person in this tournament. You can win it if you want it”.

You were startled by his sudden seriousness. Not knowing what to say, you took him in your arms and hugged him. You were vulnerable for once and incredibly grateful, because that is what you needed. A friend, someone you cared about to believe in you, so you can believe in yourself again.

And that night, the two of you learned something about themselves from each other.

#neville longbottom #yule ball #neville x reader #fanfic #harry potter #imagine #hp one shot

[omgkatsudonplease]

Victuuri, History Maker :D

Yuuri’s heart is beating so hard he’s sure the photographer can hear it. It’s another set of interviews and photoshoots, though this time the tone is a little more risque than the Vanity Fair one. The tradeoff, though, is talk about Yuuri’s current project, where he’d – predictably, though still unexpectedly – been cast as the love interest opposite Viktor in History Makers, a Netflix miniseries about a washed-out figure skater making his comeback with a new muse. 

It’s a little manic pixie dream girl, but Yuuri takes it for the opportunity to act opposite Viktor, and besides, originally the role was supposed to go to a doe-eyed, red-haired ingenue, and that somehow feels even less truthful than his sham of a relationship with Viktor. So here he is. 

The casting announcement, quick on the heels with the news breaking about the two of them dating, gives Yuuri the sort of dizzying ascendance to fame that feels less like a steady mounting progression of success and more like a sickening rise to the zenith of a roller coaster. Part of him wants to get off.

The rest of him is excited at the concept of being able to afford his half of the rent and send money home to his parents in Hasetsu, and so he continues. 

(“Man, I can’t believe I’m rooming with a celebrity,” Phichit had told him as he looks up from the tent where he’d been blindly extricating his roll of 35mm film from the camera and loading another reel. He and Leo are doing some sort of experimental, avant garde stuff involving recording hours of ambient noise around Los Angeles and random droplets of water and moving cars. Yuuri’s not really sure what’s going on there.) 

(”Please remember us when you’re richer than god,” Leo had added from over his sound mixing. Yuuri had laughed at that, and asked him where the cornflakes were.)

“Mr Katsuki,” says one of the interns. “We need you at your mark.”

“Sorry,” Yuuri apologises, stepping onto the spiked tape with a sigh. Next to him, Viktor grins at him as he toys with the ties of his bathrobe. Yuuri shivers. 

“Let’s get in position,” says the director, and Viktor’s eyes are sparkling as he undoes his bathrobe. Yuuri exhales, doing the same. They’re only going to be shot from the waist up, and this is only barely skirting the edges of ‘scenes of a sexual nature’. It’s meant to be erotic, but also classy, though Yuuri’s pretty sure erotic and him exist on opposite sides of a spectrum from one another. 

He’s seen Viktor’s chest in lots of movies. But none of that really prepares him for seeing it up close and personal.

“Katsuki, move a little closer.”

Or touching it, for that matter. 

The director maneouvres them into position with a couple terse instructions, and the two of them go willingly – though Yuuri vaguely wonders if he’s the only one of the two of them whose heart is racing hard at the feeling of Viktor’s chest against his, of his hand in his. He looks up, trying to ascertain Viktor’s expression, but the man seems distant and inscrutable as he fixes his gaze on something just above Yuuri’s shoulder. 

Yuuri swallows, turning his own gaze to Viktor’s collarbone, and tries not to think about how Viktor would look with Yuuri’s marks on him. 

The director arranges a set of sheets around them, draping it carefully over their bodies, before stepping back to grab a couple shots. They then direct the two of them to change the angle, to do things like cup each other’s faces or touch each other’s shoulders. Viktor kisses his forehead; Yuuri ghosts his breath along Viktor’s collar. The director coos their praise; Yuuri shivers in the cold of the room. 

The photos turn out well, headlining an article about the upcoming History Makers show. They’re still going through principal photography, but the hype surrounding the sudden change in cast has driven more attention towards the show. When he finally finds a copy of the magazine, Yuuri thumbs through to the pictures immediately, in pursuit of the spread. 

If he spends a little more time with it than what’s probably considered decent, then, well, that’s really no one’s business but his. It’s his copy, after all, and for all intents and purposes even Phichit doesn’t know that he’s faking his relationship with Viktor. 

It feels like a secret too great to bear alone. At some point something’s going to go wrong, Yuuri’s certain of it. Someone’s going to notice the dots not connecting, or some flaw in their cover story. Or one of them’s going to slip up, and all will be revealed. 

And when that happens, Yuuri will be falling with no one to catch him.

#actor au #viktuuri #victuuri #lily's dabbles #yoi #it's 1am lol i need to slep #iwritebetterthanispeak #ask

[lovingnikiforov]

2017 Fic Writing Round-Up

Total year-long word count: 397,326 words.....jfc

Word count by fandom:  ~ Bungou Stray Dogs: 304,788 ~ Yuri on Ice: 92,002 ~ Noragami: 536

Fics completed: 34

♥ Drabbles: ~ 15 tumblr prompt fills - bsd, yoi, noragami ~ chasing happy - bsd, odazai

♥ Oneshots: ~ Unwrapped - bsd, soukoku, pwp, IoL companion ~ just a start - bsd, soukoku, eating disorder, pre-canon ~ Seventy-Three Hours - bsd, soukoku, IoL companion ~ Reaching for Normal - bsd, soukoku, first date, IoL companion ~ Masterpiece - bsd, soukoku, tattooed Chuuya, IoL companion ~ all night long - bsd, soukoku, pole dancing Chuuya ~ You're Mine - bsd, soukoku, choker kink, mafia boss dazai, IoL companion ~ PDA - bsd, soukoku, choker kink, mafia boss dazai ~ on cliff's edge - bsd, soukoku, pre-canon, alt first reunion ~ Touch - bsd, reader-insert, pwp, gift fic ~ Closure - bsd, pre-canon, alt first reunion, gift fic ~ Deals Kept - bsd, soukoku, college au, gift fic ~ slow dancing in a burning room - bsd, soukoku, alcoholism, self-harm, gift fic ~ Drop the Act - bsd, soukoku, pwp, mafia spy Dazai ~ reach out and touch - yoi, viktuuri, touch-starved viktor ~ Puppy Love - bsd, soukoku, kid fic, jealous Dazai

♥ Chapter Fics: ~ Illustrations of Lying - bsd, soukoku, mafia boss dazai au ~ don’t you ever tame your demons - bsd, soukoku, dystopian/mafia boss dazai au

Works-in-progress: 3 ~ Equivalent Exchange - viktuuri magic/fantasy au ~ where your loyalties lie - soukoku arranged marriage/yakuza au ~ Rent a (boy)Friend - phichuuri fake dating au

This year I wrote and posted: 37 fics in total: 2 completed multi-chapter fics, 3 wip multi-chapter fics, 16 oneshots, 16 drabbles.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you'd predicted? So, so much more. This is the most fic I've ever written in a year by far.

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? Yuri on Ice. There's already so much content for the fandom and I spent the first 6 months of the year without a single piece of inspiration for a yoi story and now I'm writing two.

What's your own favorite story of the year? Not the most popular, but the one that makes you happiest? Rent a (boy)Friend. It's definitely not my normal genre and that's why it's entertaining to write. Also the fact that I have no idea what I'm doing amuses me everytime I go to work on it.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I feel like my writing theme this year was taking risks. dyetyd was a big one for me: I've never tried my hand at dystopia and I've also never written anything that was as dark as that story. There's also some stylistic choices I was playing with in terms of narration. I also tried writing in present tense for the first time with wyll (which has stuck, I like it). Not to mention the scale of the worldbuilding for EE considering that it's my first yoi fic almost made me not write it.

Your best story of this year: Hmm, this is a hard one. I think I might have to go with Equivalent Exchange even though it's not finished yet. I'm really pleased with the worldbuilding and the character development in the story.

Your most popular story of this year:  Equivalent Exchange, though to be fair the yoi fandom is a lot bigger than the bsd fandom.

Story of yours most under-appreciated by the universe, in your opinion: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Looking through my fics I couldn't pick one that feels under-appreciated. The amount of support I received this year for all of my fics has been humbling.

Most fun story to write: Puppy Love. I had a lot of fun swapping headcanons with Rie (AnonLearnsToWrite) on twitter and the story practically wrote itself.

Story with the single sexiest moment: You’re Mine. Honestly I think this overall was the sexiest story I wrote this year, but I'm partial to the bit when Dazai learns just how prepared Chuuya is.

Most "Holy crap, that's wrong, even for you" story: slow dancing in a burning room, this was a prompt fill though so I feel like there's a gray area here.

Story that shifted your own perceptions of the characters: Illustrations of lying. Since this was my first bsd fic it's the one where I kind of fumbled my way through understanding the characters. Some of the choices I found on accident here ended up really impacting how I characterized Dazai and Chuuya for the rest of the year.

Hardest story to write: don’t you ever tame your demons (i know let’s all act shocked). My goal from the start of this fic was to challenge myself and I think I did too good of a job with that lol.

Biggest disappointment: Closure. There were things I wanted to do conceptually with the fic that didn't end up reading the way I wanted them to. I just always feel like I could've done better with this one.

Biggest surprise: Sora's Piece (wyll companion). I literally wrote this on a whim in response to an ask and was not prepared for my wyll readers to latch onto the character.

Most unintentionally telling story: reach out and touch. While this fic is about a viktor headcanon I've agreed with for a long time this definitely ended up being more of a vent fic than I anticipated.

Favorite opening line(s): ~ Of all the things that Dazai would have expected to find in Chuuya’s apartment, a stripper pole was certainly not one of them. - all night long ~ It is an universal truth that power rests in the hands of only a minority of those who seek it. - don't you ever tame your demons

Favorite closing line(s): ~ (He’s fairly certain this next mission probably would manage to kill the older man, and he’d prefer not to fuck this up). - Puppy Love

Favorite 5 line(s) from anywhere: ~ Her gaze runs over Chuuya’s face and she cocks an eyebrow, “you voluntarily married Dazai?” - wyll, ch. 9 ~ Kouyou turned her back to the city and met Dazai’s gaze. “When you break him, Dazai, do not be surprised if I tell you he is beyond repair.” - dyetyd, ch. 2 ~ Gin’s lips curled into a wry smile, “I don’t think whatever causes some to have abilities and others not to have them gives a damn about how the world handles it. - dyetyd, ch. 16 ~ "Hey, Kunikida-kun, did you know that I finally achieved my dream?" Dazai hums, as if the question was never asked. "I'm blissfully dead."..."If you're dead, why are you still bothering me?" - wyll, ch. 10

Top 5 scenes from anywhere you would choose to have illustrated: ~ Yuuri telling Viktor the story of the First Mage- Equivalent Exchange ~ The reveal of Mary Shelley’s ability- Illustrations of Lying ~ Chuuya touching Dazai’s tattoo- where your loyalties lie ~ That bit in You're Mine with the mirror....u kno what I'm talking about ~ Chuuya and Dazai's first kiss- don't you ever tame your demons

Fic-writing goals for next year: This has been the first time I've had a 100% completion rate for my chapter fics and I want to continue that into 2018. No more abandoned fics from Dessa 2k18.

#i only picked 5 fave lines #bc i can't remember anything i fucking write #tysm to all my readers for an amazing year!!!! #cannot believe how many words of fic i wrote this year wow #dessa.txt #long post #fic tag #t: fic review

[kingfisherunion]

This world is cold and madness

Chapter 6: this world is cold and madness

Read on Ao3

Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)

Relationships:

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Katsuki Yuuri & Victor Nikiforov

Characters:

Katsuki Yuuri

Victor Nikiforov

Yuri Plisetsky

Otabek Altin

Otabek Altin's Sister

Nishigori Yuuko

Yakov Feltsman

Additional Tags:

Car Accidents

Character Death

Married Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov

Anxious Katsuki Yuuri

Angst

Fluff and Angst

Angst and Hurt/Comfort

Grief/Mourning

Established Relationship

Anxiety

Anxiety Attacks

Death

Hurt Yuri Plisetsky

Character's Name Spelled as Viktor

Comforting Katsuki Yuuri

Comforting Victor Nikiforov

Victor's last season

Supportive Katsuki Yuuri

stage husband yuuri

moody viktor

Fights

Swearing

Yuri Plisetsky Swears

Post-Canon

DJ Otabek Altin

Motorcycles

it seems like Viktor is insensitive

but he really does care he's just not great with feelings

Language: English

“I get it,” he said coolly. “It’s weird to have another person who’s so in tune with your emotional side.  Like… you spend so much of your life dealing with that stuff alone. Huh.”

Viktor wasn’t home when Yuuri returned to their flat that afternoon.  He wished he could just suck it up and text him.  He tried several times.  In all honesty, he was feeling a little guilty about his dramatic exit from the Plisetsky residence that morning.  He hadn’t wanted Yuri to see him crying, not that it would be anything new, certainly, but it seemed somehow insensitive to the whole situation.

Viktor would probably tell him that no one struggle precludes another and that, yes, he was allowed to feel and to express - he knew it all already.Maybe it was less that he was concerned for Yurio and more that he hadn’t reached that level of openness with him yet, even now.  That he’d needed to stay in motion, to shake the ever-impending vise of anxiety that followed him around, ready to press down upon him from all sides the moment he let his guard down.

A hot shower.

A change of clothes.

These moments of rote occurred as if subconsciously, buried themselves beneath the constant stream of thoughts.

He stopped by the market on the way back to Yuri’s, picked up some ingredients.  A home-cooked meal.  The most he could offer.

Viktor wasn’t there when Yuuri slipped into the cozy studio, either.  Yurio’s feet in cheetah-print ankle socks poked out from underneath the plush blanket on his bed.  The curtains were open, at least.  It seemed much less cave-like in the natural light.  Yuuri did his best to keep quiet as he searched through the cabinets for the utensils he needed.  He hated making rice without an automated cooker, but Yurio’s cookware was actually very nice quality, albeit a little old and mismatched.  He wasn’t sure if Yakov was coming, or anyone else, for that matter, so he made two extra servings to set aside for later - if anything, Yurio would have some leftovers.

Cooking at least had some predictability.  The steps of preparing pork cutlet bowls flowed with a satisfying pace - each step allowed him the time to prepare for the next.  Very little waiting.  Very little having to think.  Cut the onions.  Prepare each cut of meat while the previous one fries. Put together the sauce while the onions soften.  All of this talking about the same amount of time as the rice takes to cook.  The finished toppings, once combined, cook in just enough time to portion out the rice.  It was balanced and consistent work.

The plush blanket wandered over as the onions were going down in the pan.

“Hey, how did I know!  Any excuse for katsudon, right?  Go ahead.  Take advantage.  Or was it not me who won gold in the Grand Prix Final and Europeans the past two years?”

“Viktor took Worlds and Russia, I took the Four Continents and Japan, and wasn’t it King JJ Leroy who beat you in France last fall?”  Yuuri recited, glancing over just briefly enough to see the young man's momentary outrage, then the quiet resignation.  When he smiled, he made sure it was warm and practiced and calm.  “I’m cooking this for you, Yuratchka.”

“Don’t you fucking say that Canadian moron’s name around me, pig!”  Yuri spat.  “Where is Viktor, anyway?”  Yuuri shrugged with a sigh.

“I haven’t seen him.”

“He was all upset when I got out of the shower.  What’d you do?  You fighting?”  

"No, not... really..." Yuuri dabbed at the sweat on the bridge of his nose to keep his glasses from sliding.  He sighed again.  This wasn’t what he wanted to talk about right now.

“He just wants me to be quietly emotional and proactive just like him and I try, really, but… it’s not like I idolize him still or anything… he’s just got a lot to live up to.  And a lot riding on this year.  And he wants so badly to take care of me but I can’t let him focus on anything but himself, at least until the season ends.  At least until…” he trailed off, horrified.  The words had spilled out of him without his meaning them to. His mouth went dry.  He pursed his lips, tried to ready himself for the ridicule that was surely about to rain down on him.  The onions were suddenly very interesting.  He let them abstract in his vision, poking uselessly with the spatula.  Yuri leaned on his elbow on the counter, watching his movements closely as he cooked.  

“I get it,” he said coolly. “It’s weird to have another person who’s so in tune with your emotional side.  Like… you spend so much of your life dealing with that stuff alone. Huh.”

His answer shook Yuuri from his momentary spiral.  It wasn’t at all the hostile response he had come to expect.  He glanced up in spite of himself.  Yurio’s green eyes were set, serious.  

“Of course, you’re wrong.  You do still idolize him.  Don’t try to make it perfect, Katsudon.  He’ll do that on his own.  Let him take care of you.  You know better than me that his idea of success is way more than just the gold he earns now.  Aren’t you taking care of me to cope with your own shit?  What if he needs to do the same?”

Yuri wasn’t nearly as shallow as he liked to let on. And as far as Yuuri could tell, he was right.  The Russian Punk gave a grim little half-smile.  The silence that fell in the wake of his words was not altogether unpleasant.  Not even Viktor ventured to break it when he wandered in a few minutes later, two bottles of vodka in his bag.  The most he could offer.  He slid into one of the chairs at the table and put one hand on Yuuri’s side with a gentle squeeze.  Their eyes met briefly, a minute exchange that lasted just a moment.  A flash of inquisitive concern, a wash of relief. A smile behind blue irises.

No one said a word until three picturesque pork cutlet bowls were on the table, and three glasses to accompany them.  As they pulled their chairs up to the little dinette, Viktor cleared his throat.

“It’s been a difficult day,” he said ceremoniously, pouring three gratuitous vodkas.  “And the days coming… aren’t going to get much easier.  But we can take solace in knowing that they will, eventually, get easier.  And until then,” his lips curled into a wry smile.  “we can always get drunk.”  He slid the other drinks across the table, holding his high, expectant.  “Yurio, I haven’t had the privilege of drinking liquor with you yet.  Come.  Drink.  To Otabek.”

“To Otabek,” they all muttered, a sotto-voce chorus before the dutiful draining of glasses.  Yuuri felt more than a twinge of embarrassment when he was the only one whose face twisted into a sour grimace at the taste.  He had totally forgotten that Yuri’s eighteenth birthday had been just a few weeks prior.  He knew some plan had been in the works for a vacation, just him and Otabek, the likes of which rivaled the month-long honeymoon from which he’d just returned.  He wondered if that had actually happened as he got up to fill his empty glass with water.

An hour later, the trio were pleasantly full and dangerously close to finishing off their first bottle.  The bowls were piled up in the sink, and Viktor was fishing through a crate of secondhand records on the table.  The tense atmosphere that had dominated most of the day had dissipated, and while they were by no means cheery, the three skaters had, at the very least, relaxed considerably.

“Yuuri,” Yurio drawled, pouring his fourth glass.  “Don’t you think you owe your husband an apology for disappearing today? Let’s get the newlywed drama out of the way.” He sipped with only slightly more modesty than he had with the last glass.  Viktor laughed.

“No! Yuratchka, don’t.  Yuuri,” he said, pulling some brightly-colored pop album from the crate, “you owe me nothing.  Where’d you slip off to, the rink?”  

“Yeah, I did,” Yuuri mumbled.  “I, uh- I had an idea?  I wanted to think about it for a while, try to work it out.  The ice felt like the only place I could think.”  His blush must have deepened when he smiled, the way his husband was gawking at him.  “Dont…. Don’t you think we could hold an event for Otabek?”

“An event?”  Viktor poured another vodka before any more water could find its way into Yuuri’s glass.  Yurio’s hand stopped mid-sip.  “A memorial?”  

“Not… not exaclty.  But in memory… Some sort of exhibition skate.  Or an ice show…”  he dismissed the thought with the wave of his hand.  “Anyway, I didn’t get very far.  After a while, it was just nice to skate.”

Yurio slammed down his glass.  “Katsudon, it’s obnoxious sometimes how smart you actually are.”  He pulled the crate across the table, almost upsetting Viktor’s drink in the process, and begun fingering through his collection of records.  “Beka… he just found this last week, down the street… he said it was one of his favorites, that he wanted to skate it.  The whole thing.  A big spectacle kind of thing.” He brandished an ancient-looking sleeve, dusty and battered, depicting a large symphony orchestra in black and white.  It was useless for Yuuri to try to read the Cyrillic text.  He looked to Viktor imploringly.

“Carmina Burana?”  Viktor hummed.  “That does seem to be exactly his style, doesn’t it?”  It did.  Yuuri had heard the Carmina Burana in concert in America, a dark and dramatic setting of ancient pagan texts.  It depicted the ever-turning wheel of fate: life, death, lust, love, war… everything.  “It’s a little… morbid. Yuri, think about this for a second.”

Yuri scrambled across the room to his desk, glass still in his hand, and pulled a turntable out from underneath.

“Please, just listen,” he said, eyes wide.  He fussed with the wires for a moment, fitted the record onto the spindle, and looked back.  A fighter’s determination. Yuuri had only ever seen that face in practice, on the ice.  “I’ll think about it… if you listen to it with me.  We can talk about everything after.”  He waved them over.

Viktor downed his glass and pulled Yuuri to the daybed with him.  His grip on his fingers was tight.  Yuuri grabbed the second bottle as he was whisked away, certain of one thing: Yurio was thinking ahead, thinking forward, and thinking of skating.

#yuri on ice #yuri on ice fanfic #yuri on ice fanfiction #yuuri on ice #yuuri on ice fanfic #yuuri on ice fanfiction #yuri!!! on ice #yuri!!! on ice fanfic #yuri!!! on ice fanfiction #yuuri!!! on ice #yuuri!!! on ice fanfic #yuuri!!! on ice fanfiction #yoi #yoi fanfic #yoi fanfiction #viktuuri #victuuri #vikturi #victuri #katsuki yuuri #katsuki yuri #victor nikiforov #viktor nikiforov #yuri plisestsky #otabek altin #welcome to the madness #snarkybreeze #snarkybreeze fanfic #snarkybreeze fanfiction #yuri katsuki

[ibulletin12]

Embracing Chaos to Discover Calm

by Aparajita Biala

These are extraordinary times. Times we will remember all our lives. The world has never stood still as it did. And that was one thing we knew was certain, no matter what there will be the rush to office in the morning, traffic snarls, the routine and the hustle of the consumerist world. But the uncertainty of this time proves otherwise to us. While the battle against the virus is just an external battle, there is an equally consequential battle inside our minds. Most of us are and have been going through a roller coaster of emotions that are scary, alarming, and most certainly different. We don’t quite know what to make of it, and there has been no historical experience that we can tap into to understand what this is making us feel. On the one hand, we feel a wave of absolute anger and frustration; on the other hand, this is the time to connect, to build bonds with the community, family, loved ones, and our selves. It requires empathy and resilience to be aware of both these facets in these times and be compassionate to accept all that we are experiencing.

There has been a prevalent narrative in our society about being happy and positive. On the face of it, it seems like the right thing to keep motivating and encouraging people. We often hear people say things like, “don’t be angry, be positive, and be happy.” “Don’t be sad, be brave.” By doing so, we create a notion that happiness and joy are the most important emotional experiences one can have. The opposite of which are the negative, bad or weak emotions – frustration, anxiety, grief, loss, fear, sadness. Over time, we become comfortable with happiness, uncomfortable with difficult emotions, and we push them aside. We are creating a subconscious pressure to be “happy,” “content,” “brave,” etc. When that begins to happen, we establish and create anchor points to happiness. “If I meet my friends, I’m happy,” “if my boss appreciates me, I’m happy,” and “if I can buy a holiday, I’m happy”... hence, focusing more on happiness as a goal. This is the paradox of it, the more we chase something, the more elusive it becomes – the more we chase happiness as a goal, the less happy we become. We are seeking something versus living life in acceptance and compassion. Rather than trying to find happiness, this is the time for us to come into ourselves, come into our emotions.

It is with the same discomfort we treat the single most unquestionable reality we are faced with - death. We aren’t at ease talking about it, thinking about losing loved ones or facing our mortality. Take, for example, the discourse between children and parents on death. Most times, parents try to brush it aside, not knowing how to explain this to their young one’s curious minds—rubbing off their discomfort to their offspring. On the contrary, being courageous with difficult emotions and addressing it with the young ones also enables them to practice acceptance of these – it’snormal to feel scared, it’s okay. This is how life functions; we will all die. Perhaps this is also the most persuasive message for these times –to not weigh in on our fear but rather reach inside of ourselves and find our courage.

Handling difficult emotions: When we are faced with difficult emotions, we either judge them or push them aside. This could take the form of either bottling them up or brooding and getting stuck in them. We need to develop the ability to be with ourselves, to allow ourselves to experience our emotions entirely in ways that are compassionate because these times are tough, and our emotions are real. We need to be curious- what is my frustration telling me about me? What is this event triggering in me, and why? What is my guilt telling me when I’m interacting with my children? What does my anger tell me about what I most value? If we can move past the place where instead of pushing aside these signposts, we can be compassionate with these emotions when we can start asking ourselves - even in the midst of fear, how can this emotion help me – be aware of it, and also not get stuck in it. What are some courageous steps I can take even in the midst of a reality that I didn’t choose, and isn’t of my asking? This is emotional agility – to recognize your inner experiences and approach them in a mindful, productive, and values-driven way. (Emotional Agility by Susan David )

Practicing emotional agility during these times - The principles of emotional wellness remain the same, regardless of the context changing. Perhaps the need for emotional agility is more profound and clearer now than before. Viktor Frankl said this, “Between stimulus and response, there is a space and in that space is our power to choose and it’s in that choice that lies our growth and freedom.” This is extremely relevant to what we are going through - we didn’t choose these circumstances. This stimulus has been served to us, and this is the time we have to choose how we respond to this. This time is our power; it is our freedom.

Loneliness. Emotions are our signposts of things we most deeply care out. If we are feeling lonely, it’s telling you that you value presence and connectedness, and you don’t have enough of that right now. Maybe you don’t have enough of what you value, so bring this into your life, or move in this direction. Start by asking yourself- what are some small changes I can make that are important to me, what are ways in which I can come to my experience.

Fear. When we feel fearful, or the situation is ambiguous, our mind tries to fill in the blanks of what we don’t know. We might catastrophize things or develop anxiety. In the endeavor to find answers, we reach out to our social media feeds that provokes more anxiety, more fear, and more emotional contagion when we subtly pick up the emotions of other people. Hence, we become mindlessly stuck in our experiences. Instead, we should ask ourselves – is this helping me, is there an alternative way I can be engaging? What are those things I’ve meant to do – creating a garden, reading the books that have been on that list for long, spoken to a long lost friend, do my relationships need tending – are my actions serving me, the loving being that I want to be. Yet, don’t carry the burden of productivity, belittling yourself if you find it hard to meet your ambitious expectations.

Simple strategies to be compassionate with yourself

- Being granular with our emotions: We often use this language – I am lonely, I am sad, I am angry. This is the default way in which we describe how we are feeling. But effectively we are saying- 100% of me is that one single emotion. By language and therefore, by our understanding, we begin to define ourselves by our emotions. But we are not our emotions; we own our emotions; they don’t define us. We want to treat our emotions with compassion and curiosity, but we also don’t want to get stuck in them. Hence, label your thoughts, emotions for what they are. Instead of saying “I am sad,” consider saying – “I’m noticing that I’m feeling sad, I’m noticing the urge to shut down this conversation, I’m noticing the urge to keep going on my social media.” By labeling your thoughts and emotions, you are creating a space between stimulus and response. Often we use very big language to describe our emotions; for example, I’m stressed a commonly used phrase. There is a big difference between stress and disappointment. Or stress and feeling overwhelmed, or stress and fear. What we do internally, when we label our emotions in a more granular way, is to move away from “I’m stressed” to “what is this emotion really.” It helps us to understand the cause of the emotion and what’s the pathway forward. From a macro “I’m stressed” to maybe I’m overwhelmed. You can do something overwhelming. You can bring in some bits of control.

- Little things go a long way: We think that to do something, to make a contribution we have to do big things. But think of the need to belong, every one of us feels that and we can half someone’s pain just by being that person’s person today. That might just be a phone call, but if we can reach beyond ourselves, it is healing for ourselves as well as others.

- Find your focus and establish pockets of control: First, find those things you are doing, which are sucking the life out of your day- constantly checking the COVID numbers, scrolling through social media? As far as you can try to establish pockets of control in your life. There are lots that are out of our control. But we control how we respond; we can control how we connect, we control how we use our time off to the best of our abilities. That could mean making a list of things you want to do in a day or putting your phone on silent for an hour a day, or shutting off something that is all-pervasive like music playing all through the day. Maybe some silence would be your form of exerting your control. Find for yourself those 2-3 things that create some kind of routine and bring back pockets of control in your life.

And so while we have internal battles we are also dealing with and look for sanity amidst the chaos, there is real suffering – people who don’t have food, are stuck with a violent perpetrator in the house. Ask yourself, amidst my challenges, how can we as social support such people, that’s our capability as a community. Many of us would be doing this already, connecting and forging bonds within the community. On the other hand, there is another prevalent narrative of divisiveness. That, too, is natural. When human beings are faced with mortality salience, anything that threatens existence, we tend to become more us and them. These are predictable responses when faced with these situations. It is not a surprise, therefore, that we hear nations on a blame game and communities against each other.

We will need to rise beyond these discourses into compassion for ourselves and the community. We’ve tried to solve the world’s problems through our minds, but perhaps it’s time that we moved from there into our hearts, into our compassion and our wisdom. Beyond right and wrong, judgments and understanding why someone might be doing what they are, that is giving in to the openness of who we can be as human beings.

#1st ISSUE #June 2020

[yoyoplisetsky]

for the ask meme: i'd love to see your take on an hp au?

send me an ask like ‘i’d love to see you write a fic of …’

Everyone in the school knew about Viktor Nikiforov, of course. The pure-blood Hufflepuff who for some reason never wears his own scarf, and is often spotted wearing clothes from the other houses (”Yuri gave me this scarf!” One day, wearing a Slytherin scarf, followed by an angry shout of, “You asshole, you stole it! I didn’t give it to you!”). He’s self confident and everyone thinks he’s a playboy, but Phichit Chulanont swears that he saw him trip over his own feet and fall down a staircase one time.

He’s horrible at potions and everyone dreads being his partner, because it’s inevitable that something will explode. He’s incredibly gifted at Charms, though. He’s a low-level Metamorphagus but rarely uses it for anything other than a switch in haircut or a change in hair or eye color for a short period of time.. He plays Quidditch as a Keeper, and is the best player the Hufflepuff team has had for years. It’s rumored that he’s going to be picked up by a professional team soon, but he says nothing about it. He claims he has no plans for a future career, but has revealed to Yuuri alone that he’s considered professional Quidditch for a few years, and maybe be a journalist or reporter for the Daily Prophet, or, even better, an announcer or referee for Quidditch. 

He’s fascinated by Muggle things, and meets Katsuki Yuuri in his second year (as the boy is a year behind himself), who lets him come home with him one Christmas, and Viktor never wants to go back to his own house again. At his house, he’s got his poodle named Makkachin, which he begged his parents and the school to let him bring, but even Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t get his way with pets, so he’s just got an owl which he also calls Makkachin, in spite.

Yuri Plisetsky is a Slytherin and he won’t let anyone forget it. He’s half Veela, but tries to avoid telling anyone that because Viktor Nikiforov doesn’t ever let him forget it. He’s got a lot of house pride, and no one questions why he was put in Slytherin - not because of the stereotypical ‘Slytherins are mean’ qualities, but because of his ambition. His fearlessness and bravery had the Hat considering Gryffindor for him, but he threatened it and it put him in Slytherin.

He’s two years below Viktor at Hogwarts, and so shares none of their classes. He’s particularly talented in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, and in his third year, he takes a shining to Divination. Though legitimately good at the subject, whenever Viktor asks him to See for him, Yuri likes to give Viktor dark predictions that make him leave him alone. His overall goal is to maybe be an Auror, or Potioneer if that plan fails. There’s also the appeal of being a Hit Wizard, though.

He’s a Beater on Slytherin’s Quidditch team and definitely the most aggressive Beater currently at Hogwarts. During a game in his third year, he knocked Yuuri Katsuki off of his broom and actually apologized and it was the talk of the school for a month. It’s become a joke, though, that every time Slytherin plays Gryffindor, JJ Leroy will end up on the ground, because Yuri always aims for him. Despite his talent, he doesn’t want to go professional, because he’s sick and tired of being compared to Nikiforov and wants to show he’s different and his talents extend outside of Quidditch. He’s got a cat with him, and borrows Viktor’s owl whenever he wants to send a message to someone, because he doesn’t care for the school owls.

Yuuri Katsuki took nearly ten minutes for the Sorting Hat to Sort, much to his anxious mind’s despair. Eventually, he gets put into Ravenclaw, He’s a Half-Blood, but since his first day, there’s been a rumor going around that he’s actually Muggle-Born and he hates it, not because he has a dislike of Muggle-Borns (for example, his best friend Phichit Chulanont is Muggle-Born, and Yuuri thinks nothing less of him for it), but because they think it’s an insult to call him that. Also, frankly, he’s proud of his magical heritage. He has friends in many houses, but is also glad to stick to himself in Ravenclaw sometimes.

He loves Herbology and Charms, but is also fascinated by the History of Magic, because the class, while sometimes horrifically boring, presents so much information that no one normally gets. In his third year, he chooses to take Care of Magical Creatures at Viktor’s suggestion, and never stops thanking his friend for that suggestion, because in that class he finds his passion, finally. His dream in life develops to become a Magizoologist, but he also spends some time as a Dragonologist/Dragon Keeper because the giant creatures are fascinating and beautiful to him.

He only went for Quidditch because his friend Yuuko, a year ahead of himself, saw him during his broom lessons and told him how talented was, and that he ought to try. He tried out, and Ravenclaw house was happy to name Yuuri Katuski as their brand new Seeker. He does love the sport, but leaves the potential professional career to Viktor. He has a small owl named Vicchan, which he embarrassingly has to admit he named before he saw Viktor Nikiforov, something most of his friends refuse to accept as the truth. 

The first time he sees Viktor Nikiforov is when the boy was sitting with Christophe Giacometti in his first year and turned his hair bright blue before the two dissolved into giggles. The first time he actually met Viktor Nikiforov, he nearly ran into him during a Quidditch match. Viktor immediately decided he was a friend and basically attached himself to Yuuri’s hip. Yuuri didn’t stop him.

(He also didn’t stop himself from falling in love with Viktor during Halloween of his third year, or admitting it when he went home with Viktor during Christmas of his sixth year, Viktor’s last.)

And I’m gonna stop with those three because clearly these headcanons have gotten out of hand and I could probably write this much for all of the characters in this show. You know, unless people want me to return to this (I want me to return to this).

(thanks to @maximumhetalia for helping me talk through my house choices because i struggled a lot with yuuri and viktor)

#pencilwalla #thishasbeencary #yuri on ice #hp au #yoi fic #ahh now i want to write it shoot #my fic #believe it or not i have never written for this au before #ask #victuuriwriters

[eidolones]

actors!AU

I wrote a thousand words of an actors AU once, but I don’t know when I’ll have time to pick it up again so just leaves what I have here. I’m a CS major and the only thing I know about acting is from seeing my university’s student play two semesters ago. Also I lied at the beginning, econ degrees are useful as fuck.

The original plan had been, in fact, to graduate with some sort of bullshit econ degree overseas, just to fake the prestige, and return to Hasetsu where his parents waited expectantly for his contribution to their onsen. Acting had never even factored into it, except Yuuri had always been a little in love with the stage and a little in love with putting on a performance, loved it the same way he loved dancing as a child and it felt like some sort of equivalence.

The university is hosting auditions for a university production of Equus -- because theatre majors were all kind of pretentious fucks even when pretending not to be -- and Yuuri decides to give it a shot with the split second decision making that he has been, historically, fucking awful at.

He figures he’s only a second year, and not a very out-going one at that. It’s not like anyone would remember him anyways.

It’s horrendous and embarrassing but Yuuri musters as much bravado as he can pull off during the entire casting duration, if only so he could call Minako-sensei that night to really face the tremendous idiocy of his choices.

“I auditioned for the the university play.” He admits miserably, while trying to ignore Minako-sensei’s peals of laughter as she is presumably contorting her body in new and exciting ways, despite having been retired for several years already.

Minako-sensei was, as always, the most logical person to confess this great shame to, if only to keep it a secret until he made something of it. He didn’t know how he would face his parents effusively suffocating belief in him that he so rarely deserved or his sister’s understandable surprise, predictable but no less hurtful. Minako-sensei, on the other hand, had always been the first to know and last to judge and was patiently indulgent when he had been learning into himself.

She had known him since he was short and pudgy, and taught him how to dance until he grew into his own body, had been with him through the ache in his limbs and taught him all the things his parents, who loved him dearly but were always so short on time, could not. He had told her, and nobody else, when he kissed an older boy at school and cried in her studio, embarrassingly, when Viktor Nikiforov suffered an accident while filming his a movie a year later. It felt only natural that he tells her this too, just another one of his embarrassments to add to a long list of other embarrassments.

There’s another sighing noise on the other end of the phone, presumably Minako-sensei returning to a vaguely human pose. “You’ve never been one for the stage. At least you can say you’ve tried it. “ She declares, comforting, before continuing without a shred of remorse, “Or maybe this is your calling. Maybe this is how you’ll finally meet Vikto--”

Yuuri doesn’t here the rest of whatever she says over his embarrassed sputtering of “M-minako-sensei!!”

She only laughs gently and hangs up on him, after which a week passes and Yuuri could almost forget that the audition ever happened. The theatre majors were always some sort of weird cult anyways and he remains as anonymous as ever. This was fine. This was better than fine.

Except a week and a half after the audition, he wakes up to an email sitting in his inbox that reads SUBJECT: OFFICIAL CAST LIST.

Somehow, one play in his second year Fall semester spirals into a second third, and fourth play and then suddenly it’s the Fall semester of his final year and he’s staring at yet another email titled SUBJECT: OFFICIAL CAST LIST. Yuuri has lost track of what was going on two plays ago.

He’s cast as the lead role this time, in Death of a Salesman and he’s not even sure how this fucking happened. He’s made a little more of a name for himself now and even if the University productions have never been that grand, there were at least several acting BFAs who hate him because he’s pursuing a BS instead of any sort of creative degree.

Somehow, it’s all worth because somewhere between his third and fourth play, he meets Phichit, who was probably made in a test tube from sugars and spices and everything nice, and shits sunshine out of his ass. Phichit isn’t in an sort of arts major either, relegating himself to something as boring as econs, but he confesses what he really wants to do is music.

They first cross paths because the volume mixer has a meltdown and drops out of university, and it turns out the guy who they originally recruited as a stage tech also knows a thing or two about the sound system. Phichit has an ear for it and it’s not long before the director decides it would probably be more prudent to just hire another stage tech than find a guy who listens as well as he does.

Yuuri doesn’t actually talk to him though, until right before the first show and this is the first time he’s actually got a lead role in anything. It’s 2 hours before curtain call and he’s begged off for a bathroom break with every intention of just sitting there and not going back. All he could feel is the breath constricting in his throat, his heart beating too hard and too strong, and the world blanking out around him. His thoughts alternate between suffocating self-deprecation and working a million miles per hour with all the ways the show could go wrong or he’ll fuck up. Yuuri doesn’t even think there will be unsecured wires onstage, but he’s sure he’ll trip over one anyways.

There’s a  tap tap of footsteps by the door and before he could tell whoever it is to go away, the footsteps at stopped.

“Half an hour before Ryan wants you.” Someone says, overly cheerful and brimming in self-assurance that makes Yuuri want to dislike him.

He doesn’t reply and expect that whoever is standing vigil will leave soon anyways. Except the stranger doesn’t, just stands there and breathes, and commenting every now and then on something from… Facebook? Twitter? Yuuri has no idea, he doesn’t use or even have social media. At least stranger-by-the-door doesn’t seem to be looking for a response, content to inject his easy voice into the silence every now and then.

Yuuri feels something loosen in his chest bit by bit, his stuttering heart evening out, until he’s finally able to breath again.

30 minutes later, he finally forces him to step out and face the world.

Stranger-by-the-door still hasn’t left, apparently, and smiles sunnily when he sees Yuuri, “Feeling better now?”

“A bit,” Yuuri says, and proceeds to dunk a couple gallons of water on his face and hopefully the girls in wardrobe won’t be too angry.

“Great! I’m Phichit by the way, really excited to see you perform.” Stranger-named-Phichit announces, introducing himself without prompt, and Yuuri takes his proffered hand warily.

#victuuri #yuri on ice #actors!au

[khalilhumam]

Belarus in turmoil: the view from neighbouring Lithuania 

New Post has been published on http://khalilhumam.com/belarus-in-turmoil-the-view-from-neighbouring-lithuania/

Belarus in turmoil: the view from neighbouring Lithuania 

Belarusians’ activism has surprised even their familiar neighbours in Lithuania

Vilnius’ Cathedral Square, one of the most prominent landmarks of the capital of Lithuania. Photo by Filip Noubel, used with permission.

Belarus and Lithuania share more than just a 600-km long border in the north of Central Europe. Although both countries have gone in very different ways since the collapse of the Soviet Union — Lithuania may be a NATO and EU member and Belarus part of the Russian-led CSTO military alliance — much in their common history unites them. While Belarusians are a small minority in Lithuania, representing less than two percent of the population, this minority plays an important role in Belarusian national historical narratives; from the 14th to the 17th century, Belarus and Lithuania were part of the same entity, the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and many key Belarusian intellectuals lived, worked, and studied in Vilnius, its capital. Today the two neighbours share in the aftermath of the August 9 presidential elections in Belarus, which has seen Belarusians take to the streets in mass protests against an attempt by longtime President Alexander Lukashenka to secure a sixth consecutive term in office. Lukashenka came to power in 1994, and over his long rule more than a handful of Belarusian opposition activists have moved to Lithuania. Several Belarusian civil society organisations can be found in the Lithuanian capital Vilnius as well as the European Humanities University, which the Belarusian government forced out of the country in 2004. Lithuania remains a likely destination for opposition supporters if the political situation in Belarus deteriorates further. They would join opposition candidate Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, who fled to Lithuania on August 11 after receiving threats from the Belarusian authorities. In exile, she continues to call upon Belarus to hold free and fair elections and announces her readiness to lead a transitional government. For its part, the Lithuanian government has voiced strong support for the opposition protesters. For example, on August 12 the country opened its borders, which were shut due to the COVID-19 pandemic, to Belarusian citizens. Then on August 18, the Lithuanian parliament voted overwhelmingly in support of sanctions against Belarus, stressing that the results of the presidential election must not be recognised. What does the Lithuanian government seek to achieve with these moves? And what do Lithuanians make of the turmoil next door? GlobalVoices spoke to Lithuanian activists, politicians, and civil society figures to find out more.

Surprises and solidarity 

Despite this familiarity, Lithuanians were taken by surprise when Belarusians responded with such anger to the announcement of the election results, particularly their readiness to take to the streets in the face of incredible state violence and to go on strike. Lithuania's former prime minister and current member of the European Parliament for Lithuania Andrius Kubilius told GlobalVoices that he sees a generational dynamic at work in these protests:

What triggered this unexpected reaction is a systemic change, the end of what I call the totalitarian regime syndrome of former Soviet states. After 26 years in power, Lukashenka could not provide permanent growth of social conditions. During the last ten years, it actually went into the opposite direction in Belarus. It is also a generational change, Lukashenka always tried to convince people how bad it was before he took power in 1994, but young people did not witness that “before”. They travel and see different living conditions for themselves. Belarusian society has changed dramatically, but Lukashenka hasn't, and that became unacceptable.   From Belarusian experts, we hear that the final straw was the pandemic, during which Lukashenka seriously explained to his people that “one can simply cure and prevent COVID-19 with a visit to the sauna and vodka”. But people took it on themselves to help patients and doctors; they understood they can do quite a lot on their own, and this movement [of social activism] laid the groundwork for the election campaigns and protests. 

Given the proximity of Belarus, large parts of the Lithuanian population have shown great empathy, inspired by female Belarusian protesters who came onto the streets wearing white dresses and holding flowers in peaceful daytime demonstrations. Andrius Tapinas, a social activist and founder of internet TV channel Laisvės TV [Liberty TV] explained his own initiative, in which Lithuanians will channel their own struggle for independence into a statement of solidarity with Belarus:

On August 23, I am organising a human chain of people from Lithuania to Belarus. We call it The Freedom Way to Belarus; it is a copy of the Baltic Way of 1989 which has an amazingly deep symbolic value for us. We are going to build a living chain of people from Cathedral Square in central Vilnius, the starting point of original Baltic Way, all the way to the Belarusian border. We reckon it will take 25,000 people to achieve, but we have already registered interest from many more than that, so I expect a double chain of 45-50,000 people. We hope that the Belarusian people will extend the chain from the border into their country, all the way to Minsk. However after Lukashenka promised that he will break the chain by any means necessary, as of today it is unclear whether Belarusians will join.  

Vilija Navickaite, a pro-democracy activist and a creative learning practitioner, says that she is eager to take part in Tapinas’ living chain to the Belarusian border. She explained her motivations for supporting the protesters in Belarus:

In my bubble almost everyone has changed their photos in FB with white-red-white Belarusian flags in support for our neighbours and I know people that are closely following the events in Belarus. All this might be a bit similar to 2014 when Lithuanians felt so close to Ukrainians… We were part of the same country with Belarusians for a long time and have similar words in our languages, very similar customs, and the same heroes from the period of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. It seems that for a while, Belarusians were a bit like our forgotten brothers and sisters. I am happy that's changing. 

Looming fears

However, some Lithuanians have markedly frostier attitudes towards their southern neighbour. Lukashenka has pushed for the final construction phase of a nuclear power plant at Astravets, located not too far away from the suburbs of the Lithuanian capital. It is a sore point; Lithuanians remember the April 1986 nuclear catastrophe at Chernobyl all too well. Kubilius shares these same concerns:

Lithuania has passed into law a ban on buying energy from Astravets, which was built initially to sell energy to the Baltics and Eastern Europe. People voted in a referendum in Lithuania against a Japanese-based technology plan after Fukushima to replace our own former Soviet nuclear plant in Ignalina. It is hard to predict the view of the new Belarusian government, but there is also a lot of opposition within Belarus to Astravets, so we might have better opportunities in the future for Lithuania. 

Many Lithuanians also looking warily towards Moscow, which is bound to play a key role in the ongoing political crisis. Foreign Minister Linas Linkevičius went as far as to say that Vilnius does not discount an intervention by Russian troops in Belarus, which the government fears. According to Kubilius:

For Putin, Belarus is a real trap: he cannot support the revolution as it could serve as an example to Khabarovsk [a city in Eastern Russia hosting anti-government demonstrations] from Moscow, but if he associates too much with Lukashenka, he will repeat the same errors as in Ukraine, with [former President Viktor] Yanukovich, ousted in 2014. In the end Putin united all Ukraine against Russia. So he would be more happy to remove Lukashenka to avoid strong emotions that could inflame people in Russia, instead opting to install a new leader who is less against the Kremlin. If there are new elections in Belarus, he could get his way. The only hope today lies with the European Union's response: in the European Parliament we have now great support through Euronext to launch an investigation into what happened in Belarus. The biggest challenge to a new democratic government will be the economic situation: just as the EU provided help to Ukraine after the Euromaidan protests, about 14 billion Euros, so should we now provide 3.5 to 4 billion Euros for Belarus, whose population is about four times smaller than that of Ukraine. 

That approach is shared by other EU member states bordering Belarus. On August 14, Poland's Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki announced a five point plan to help Belarusians, including support for independent media and civil society initiatives and support for political emigres. Some 11.4 million Euros have been allotted to these goals. Poland has a long history of political support for its immediate neighbours to the East, which was once articulated as a diplomatic strategy known as the Giedroyc Doctrine. However, in recent years critics of the country's ruling right-wing populist Law and Justice (PiS) party argue that the government's attacks on political pluralism and the rule of law at home undermine Poland's credibility in promoting transparency and good governance abroad — including to Belarus. For example, an op-ed published in the major liberal newspaper Gazeta Wyborcza on August 13 argued that Poland's role in that regard had been taken over by Lithuania. Jörg Forbrig, Director for Central and Eastern Europe at the German Marshall Fund of the United States, has directed a programme in support of civil society in Belarus for the last 15 years. He stressed that it did not necessarily make sense to contrast EU states’ perceived levels of commitment to Belarus in this manner, given that the effort towards reform is an all-European one. However, he praised Lithuania's outsized role in engaging with Belarusian civil society, stating that this gave Vilnius extra credibility with other EU states on the issue:

Lithuania is not [merely] fully in line with EU policy, it even spearheaded quite a lot of the direct support for Belarusian democrats. It hosts a free Belarusian university, numerous NGOs working on democratic change in Belarus, and has now proposed, together with others, a dialogue to resolve the current situation in Belarus. In short, Lithuania has been just as committed, and often even more so, to a democratic and free Belarus [as any other EU member state].

However the situation in Belarus develops, it is likely that Vilnius will be the first port of call for many of its young opposition activists — either as representatives of a new order or as exiles from another fateful attempt against the old.

Written by Filip Noubel, Maxim Edwards · comments (0) Donate · Share this: twitter facebook reddit

[obsidianarchives]

To All The Wizards: The Trial Run

As it turned out, committing to a fake relationship couldn’t have come at a better time. Spending her time with Dean gave Hermione a valid reason to be unavailable to engage in Harry’s obsessing. It was becoming increasingly clear that Katie Bell wouldn’t be returning to Hogwarts before the start of winter break. These unfortunate tidings had given new fuel to Harry’s speculations about Draco Malfoy. He was determined to pursue his own ideas on the subject rather than trusting Professor Dumbledore and the Order, and no amount of logic from Hermione seemed to sway him.

That wasn’t to say she had gotten accustomed to the idea of having a fake boyfriend. To the contrary, she was stumbling through the whole thing. This seemed to escape everyone’s notice, because Dean was graciously picking up her slack. No one noticed her discomfort on Day One as they saw him handing her a note embellished with sketches, or when he was holding her hand in between classes, or studying closely with her in the common room; the gossip spread itself.

Dean was a lot more skilled in his art than she remembered. The two notes he had presented her thus far were usually just a series of doodles or cartoons. Her favorite was a cartoon of Professor Slughorn and Harry. In the sketch, Professor Slughorn was cartoonishly short and Harry wore a superhero cape that read “Chosen One.” The speech bubble above Professor Slughorn’s head read “50 points to Gryffindor, Harry, my boy for being such a splendid Chosen One.”

Two days into the arrangement, Hermione found herself crossing paths with Luna and Ginny. Hermione and Ginny didn’t speak often when they were at school, having such vastly different schedules and social circles. However, they had always been on friendly terms when they saw each other outside of class. Trying her best to feign normalcy, she squared her shoulders, resolving to move forward just like she would if she were in a real relationship. Besides, she had her own predictions about Ginny’s feelings for Harry.

“Good morning, Hermione!” Luna said cheerily as they approached each other in the corridor.

Hermione smiled at Luna, returning the greeting. Luna was almost dressed normally, draped in her winter cloak, except for the headband with silver antlers that adorned her head. “Good morning, Ginny,” Hermione added, smiling directly at Ginny.

Ginny allowed the slightest of smiles that didn’t meet her eyes to pass over her features in response, before prompting Luna, “We should hurry before we’re late for Charms.”

“Good-bye, Hermione!” Luna called as Ginny dragged her by the sleeve of her cloak without another word.

Had she been wrong? She had felt so sure about Ginny’s renewed feelings for Harry. Surely they would supersede whatever remaining feelings she had for Dean. Dread continued to gnaw at Hermione as the week went on. The thought of being romantic rivals with Ginny Weasley, who was popular and beautiful in ways that she wasn’t, just didn’t appeal to her. But this was the risk she took.

The plan did seem to be working. That she could tell, Ron hadn’t told Harry anything about his note, nor had he tried to approach her again. They were mostly back to where they were before – ignoring each other. She did find his blue eyes staring at her more often, especially when Dean was with her. Dean was immediately perceptive to this. When he noticed, he would put his arm around her or lean down to whisper something silly in her ear to make her laugh. Every time she would glance back at Ron, watching with satisfaction when he looked away, ears glowing red.

Possibly, it was Seamus’ reaction that had been the most surprising. The first night they had sat all together at dinner he immediately launched into news of Ireland’s most recently injured Quidditch player. This hadn’t bothered Hermione. She sat next to the two boys, fully intending to let them get on with it and get more reading done.

“Oi! If you’re going to date Dean, I have a few rules.”

Hermione looked up from her book bag in surprise. What other rules could he want to add on top of the contract she and Dean had agreed to?

“No reading at dinner. I don’t want to be reminded that we’re at school while I’m eating my roast.” Dean was biting back laughter at the look of astonishment on her face and signaled to Seamus that he had no objections. “Secondly, you have to help me with my Transfiguration studies.”

“Oh, is that all?” Hermione asked incredulously, her eyebrows raised. Dean was now laughing in earnest.

“Yes, it would hardly be fair for me to flunk out of my N.E.W.T.s classes while Dean aces everything, all because he’s dating Hermione Granger.”

“That’s all well and good mate, but Hermione is the smartest witch in our year, not a miracle worker.” Dean ducked as Seamus moved to hit him over the head, laughing at his own good burn.

“Alright, I’ll help you with whatever subjects you need. May I stay?” Hermione asked sarcastically.

“Yes, you may,” he said in what she supposed was meant to be a stuffy English accent. It came out a bit more cockney than anything.

“No. Nope. We agreed no more English accents from you,” Dean said as he threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulders.

After that, Dean and Seamus brought her into the fold as if she belonged there, rather than like a third-wheel to two best-friends. That she could remember, Ginny hadn’t spent much time with Seamus and Dean. It was always Dean accompanying her with her friends. It suited Hermione just fine. It meant she was spending less time listening to Harry go on about the Prince and Malfoy – and less time around Ron.

—

By that Friday, they had fallen into a sort of routine. It was the first sunny day they’d had in weeks and the bright blue of the Great Hall enchanted ceiling shined accordingly. When Hermione approached the Gryffindor Table at the end of the lunch break, she expected to find Dean and Seamus locked in conversation about the latest upset win by the Chudley Cannons, but was surprised to find Dean by himself.

“Seamus went to post a letter to his mum,” Dean said without her prompting.

She sat next to him as he finished up his meal. She had spent most of her lunch in the library, searching for the book, Forget Me Not: the Metaphysical Structure of Memory Charms, that Professor Flitwick had mentioned in their lesson that morning. She wanted to check it out for some additional reading before anyone else could beat her to the Restricted Section copy.

“Are you going to eat?”

She grabbed an apple off the table and smiled. “This will do for me. Are you ready?”

He grabbed her book bag as they got up from the table. In addition to the things they had agreed upon in the contract, Dean had insisted that he carry her books to all the classes they shared. They’d argued over it, but he ultimately won. She’d thought of pointing out that this might be exactly what Ginny meant when she said he was too chivalrous, but she knew that wouldn’t be tactful.

“Blimey!” he said as he swung the bag over his shoulder in a way that she thought was surprisingly effortless. “Have you considered going easy on the boulders?”

She rolled her eyes. “I told you I can charm it to make it feather-light. I only keep the weight because it helps me to remember whether I’ve forgotten something or not.”

He looked at her with amazement before sighing, resigned to his duty. “No. If I’m going to be your boyfriend, I have to do the thing right.”

The corridors were full of students rushing to their first class of the afternoon block. Hermione did her best to operate like everything was normal. This isn’t normal, though. She should be walking to class with Harry and Ron. Dean’s hand shouldn’t be gently resting on the small of her back as they walked. There shouldn’t be so many people whispering and staring in their direction.

“No running in the corridors, Nguyen!” she called after a Slytherin third year who was often causing trouble. Ignoring the additional stares this earned them, she moved her curls over her shoulder exposing her prefect badge.

“Got to admit, I didn’t expect our little charade would garner quite this much attention,” Dean said to her under his breath.

“Surely you’re used to this, girls are almost always looking at you.”

Dean’s face flushed. “Not like this they don’t,” he said in a mumble. “Is this what it’s like to be part of the ‘Golden Trio,’ then? People whispering over everything you do?” He shoved his hands in his pockets and Hermione felt herself relax a little without his pressure of his hand on her lower back.

“Well, I suppose Harry garners a lot of attention, so, in that way it seems like people are always watching you. But that’s different.”

Lots of girls swooned over Harry’s appearance, and everyone else was constantly speculating about the Boy Who Lived and the implications of him being the Chosen One. It was him they were watching, not her.

“Come off it. You’re Hermione Granger, the witch widely regarded as the brightest of her age, and you really think people don’t pay attention to you?” At this, he lazily tilted his head in the direction of a cluster of second years who seemed to be talking animatedly while repeatedly glancing at her.

Dean smirked. She blinked a few times in surprise. “Coincidence.”

She wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince him or herself.

—

By Tuesday, she was exhausted. Her time was split between pretending to be Dean’s not-so-very doting girlfriend and keeping up with her actual studies. She hardly had any time for relaxing on her own. Her mother and Viktor both had sent letters she hadn’t yet had time to read. She resolved that in the evening she would make time to relax by a fire and finish them. If she was lucky, she might even have time for a bit of knitting.

Potions proved to be further trying on her nerves. They had spent the class finishing their Calming Draughts. Hermione’s was nearly perfect, Professor Slughorn had said so himself. However, the shimmer of the silvery liquid was slightly too bright. The subtlety with which Harry’s potion shimmered and swirled was masterful, and it infuriated Hermione that she agreed with that assessment. Of course, Harry accepted all of the praise and house points without mentioning that he hadn’t actually completed the assignment as it had been instructed.

She stormed out of the classroom, irritated with the whole thing. Despite her very best efforts, meticulous attention to the instructions, and hours spent bent over the cauldron, she was still being bested by that dumb Prince. Calm and steady, Hermione, she told herself as she strode away from the classroom. She had scheduled time to relax for herself, she shouldn’t let that “book” ruin it.

“Hermione, wait!” It was Dean. She felt a little guilt creep over her for leaving him without a word, even if she wasn’t actually obligated to. If this had bothered him, he didn’t say. Instead he said. “Harry’s running Quidditch practice after afternoon block to get some flying in before the break.”

“Is he mad? It has to be five degrees outside.”

“It’s eight and it’s the warmest day we’ve had in weeks.” He shook his head dismissively. “Anyway, I want you to come and watch after you’re done with History of Magic.”

“Oh good, you’re mad, too,” Hermione said while laughing. Then she said in a low voice, “I agreed to Quidditch matches and the next match isn’t until February, assuming Katie isn’t back by then.”

“First of all,” he began, also in a lowered voice, “If Katie comes back, you still have to attend, you’ll just be my date. Secondly, while it’s not in the contract it’s a great opportunity. Both our Weasleys will be there together and you can be sure Lavender will be too.”

She glared at him. Did he not understand? She needed this break. “I have plans and they don’t include freezing my arse off in the stands!”

Dean looked as if he was trying to bite back laughter. The few students that were filing past them gave them strange looks. Attempting a straight face, he took a step closer to her, leaving only a few inches between them. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Language, Madame Prefect.”

Before she could retort, he pulled away. Her face felt hot. That was the closest they had been to each other since their last kiss. The past two weeks had been emotionally draining on her, which had to be why she was feeling so flustered. Plus, Dean was tall and his handsome brown eyes were twinkling down at her. Who could tell him no?

“This will be our only real opportunity to make a real appearance in front of both of them before holiday break,” he said imploringly. “We can spend the rest of the evening by the fire, if you’d like.”

“Alright,” Hermione said begrudgingly. Then she added over her shoulder as she turned to walk to History of Magic, “I’m still going to bring some work to keep me busy!”

Dean only laughed and shook his head in response before turning on his way towards the staircase.

—

After Professor Binn’s lecture, Hermione made a quick stop to the girl’s dormitory in order to change into some Muggle clothes and a Muggle coat. While her winter cloak was heavy enough for the weather outside, the wind usually found a way into the billowy fabric. Changing took a bit longer than she had expected. Crookshanks was lying stubbornly on her trunk where she kept her Muggle clothes.

“Crookshanks, off.”

He refused to move, bright yellow eyes staring at her defiantly.

She sighed and picked him up to set him on the floor. He was peeved at the lack of attention she was giving him. Well, she told herself that, but he typically only wanted her attention for treats anyway.

Once Crookshanks was sorted, Hermione headed to the Quidditch pitch. It was a blustery cold day.

“‘Eight degrees,’” she grumbled to herself as she hugged herself against the wind.

Luckily the sun still hung in the late-afternoon sky, which would give her enough light to read her mum and Viktor’s letters by.

As she approached the pitch, she could see the Gryffindor team already going through some warm-ups about 15 meters in the air. Hermione shook her head disapprovingly as she ascended the steps of the stands. Choosing to ride a broom for amusement always seemed to her, a Muggle-born, to be needlessly reckless.

She was surprised to find that Lavender was in fact not in the stands. The only explanation could be Ron’s interference because Lavender, when left to her own devices, didn’t leave his side except at night to sleep. The stands weren’t completely empty, though. A few rows up sat Seamus, waving her over enthusiastically.

“There you are! I didn’t think you’d come. I thought you didn’t like Quidditch?” he said through chattering teeth. His breath came out in puffs of fog.

With a sigh she resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn’t be able to read her letters here with Seamus so near. It might look a little odd for Dean’s girlfriend to be in correspondence with an international Quidditch player with whom she was once romantically involved.

“I don’t, but Dean does. So, here I am!” She tried her best to sound cheery about the being there. She grimaced. Try as she might, she wouldn’t be able to fake that kind of enthusiasm for a boy. Lavender might be able to teach her a thing or two on that front.

The winter sun hung low over the horizon. A shiver coursed through her and she noticed that Seamus’ teeth had not stopped chattering since she sat down. Figuring there was no sense in being miserable and bored while they watched the Gryffindors practice, she pulled out her wand. With a few quick movements of her wrist she had conjured a few glass jars and subsequently three bluebell flames to fill them.

Seamus looked at her aghast as she handed him a jar. “How did you do that? You conjured all of that so quickly. I feel like I blinked and then there it was!”

Hermione sighed with frustration as she set the second jar between them, taking the third in her own hands for warmth. “Yes, but I muttered the spell out of habit. I’ve been trying my best to achieve 100% non-verbal incantations.”

“You’ve got me beat then! I hardly ever use non-verbal incantations outside of class. S’pose you’re the top in the class for a reason.”

Before Hermione could chastise him for taking non-verbal spellwork so lightly, a whistle blew. It appeared the team was done with their warm-up. Harry was instructing everyone on the plays they’d be running. Before flying to his position, Dean flew by the stands, winking at her as he passed. Sheepishly she waved at him, aware that his sudden maneuver had caught the entire team’s attention. To her satisfaction, Ron was glowering at Dean. That’s not the point of this, she reminded herself. This was about proving she didn’t have feelings for Ron, although she did.

With what Hermione could tell was an eye roll, Harry blew his whistle, setting the play in motion. At first, Hermione watched on with vague disinterest. Then, as she watched the team moving about the field, play after play, some dynamics began to stand out.

Firstly, she realized that Dean was good, really good. Ginny and Demelza were quicker than him from what Hermione could tell, but he could throw farther and could out maneuver his teammates. He weaved in and out of the formations with deft ease. She could tell that Harry’s reflexes were superior to Dean’s, likely due to him being the Seeker, but Ritchie Cootes didn’t even come close to touching Dean with a Bludger as they ran through each drill.

“He’s so good!” Hermione said equal parts impressed and stunned.

“Yeah he is. Shame about the tryouts. He wasn’t on his best game.” Seamus shrugged staring at his friend as Dean tossed the Quaffle effortlessly past Ron in the center hoop. “When competition’s thick, you can’t ever be off your game.”

What was more, Ginny was also flying really well. She had improved even from the last match. Watching Ginny and Dean fly together, there was no denying they made a good team, whatever their issues were off the pitch. They worked through Harry’s drills and plays without issue, predicting each other’s movements as they flew up and down the pitch. They were totally in sync. Ginny tossed the Quaffle up in the air right as she reached the center goal post, and Dean appeared above head, catching it. He threw it down through the hoop from an angle, taking Ron by surprise, making it nearly impossible for him to block.

“Fair play, mate!” Seamus shouted clapping his gloved hands together.

Ron, on the other hand, was flying abysmally. She hadn’t seen him fly this badly in a long time.

“He’s really is off his game, today. Makes you feel almost sorry for that git, McLaggen.”

Hermione, didn’t respond to Seamus, looking away in case her blush betrayed her memory of a certain Confundus Charm. As she looked away, she saw Lavender entering the stands from the other end. She waved enthusiastically to her and Seamus. They waved back, awkwardly.

“Let’s go, Won Won!” shouted Lavender from the edge of the stands.

Another Quaffle flew past him through the goal posts. He had come to a halt midair as he whipped around at the sound of Lavender’s voice. They were too far to hear, but Hermione could tell he had groaned.

The practice deteriorated from there. Ron was clearly rattled by Lavender’s presence. He was moving left when he should move right, falling for each of the Chasers’ feints. Harry was very clearly frustrated. He called an end to the practice session early and the team headed to the locker rooms. Lavender rushed down the stands to be there when Ron emerged from changing, ready to comfort him. Hermione knew that would not go over well. She felt a little bad for Lavender. She truly seemed to care for Ron, who seemed increasingly disinterested with her.

“Glad Dean didn’t find him a lass like that,” Seamus said. He did seem relieved. “You’re not so bad. The only thing I’ve seen you get that ga-ga over is new library books.” He screwed up his face in a doe-eyed stare.

“You’re probably right,” Hermione said laughing. Seamus was funny and not in a mean way like she was accustomed to from Ron or the twins. He might poke fun at you, but you knew he never really meant it. It was strange for her to think that he had taken such a fierce stance against Harry, when he was in denial of the truth about Voldemort.

Once they decided that they had waited long enough for the team to finish changing, Hermione vanished their bluebell flames and jars, wordlessly. Seamus lamented the absence of the warmth, and Hermione agreed. It amazed her even six years on that she could conjure such a small thing that could give off so much heat.

To their relief, it was far less windy on the grounds and thus measurable degrees warmer. Some of the team had already made their way out of the changing rooms by the time they approached. Ginny was speaking animatedly to Demelza and seemed to be purposefully ignoring Hermione and Dean’s presence amongst the group.

Dean approached Hermione with a cocky grin on his face. “So, how did I fly?” he asked, grabbing her waist, pulling her into him.

She became distinctly aware of eyes on them, her queue to perform. The heat from Dean being so close to her, his muscular arms around her waist, his dimples peeking out at her, all of it was overwhelming her. Was no one else noticing how forced and insane all of this was? Ginny glanced at them from over her shoulder as she walked past with Demelza. This jolted her back to her senses. She had a job to do.

Hermione rolled her eyes in response to his question, swatting him lightly on the arm. But before she could ready a retort about how average he was, Seamus jumped in. “You were great, mate! The turns you were able to cut were phenomenal. If you had flown that way at tryouts...”

Amused with Seamus excited long speech about strategy, Dean didn’t notice as she disentangled herself from him. Ron had finally exited the changing rooms with Harry. Harry raised his hand in a brief wave, before turning back to Ron to continue what looked like a serious conversation. Ron seemed to be taking the coaching sorely, that she could tell. He did not wave to her, pretending to not notice her. His face fell further when he saw Lavender waiting for him off to the side of the group.

Having seen it before, she knew Seamus and Dean could go on for a while about the strategies and technicalities of Quidditch, especially in comparison to football. Dean liked to bring that into the conversation often, football being his main frame of reference for sports. She figured this might be her only moment to read Viktor’s letter so she left them behind, beginning to make her way towards the castle.

Unfolding the letter from her bag, she began to read as she walked up to the path,

...As I have mentioned before, our last match of the year will be in Madrid. I am wishing that you could be there. A few of us team members will be staying through the holiday time.

I have been reading the book you sent in the spring. This Nick Hornby seems to be very passionate about Muggle football. I am relating to him on this point. However, football does seem like a very boring sort of sport. Is all of it always played on the ground?

“That doesn’t look like schoolwork,” Dean’s voice came from behind her. They had evidently put aside their football banter at present and caught up to her. With his eyebrows raised, Dean tried to snatch the letter from her. She snatched it back, with an indignant look on her face. “You know, it’s bad to keep secrets from your boyfriend.”

There was a mischievous look about him. Instinctively, Hermione began to back away, but she was too late. His reflexes might not be superior to Harry’s, but they were far superior to her own. He began tickling her, mercilessly. She cried out in laughter. Valiantly, she tried to fend him off through her mirth, but she lost the letter to him as his hands found a particularly sensitive spot on her right side.

“Give that back, Dean!” She shouted it but she was still half laughing, tears streaming down her face. Her hands were on her hips in a way that she hoped denoted authority.

“Absolutely not.”

She tried to jump for it, but he raised it above his head. He was so tall that this put it far from her reach. “Dean!” she whined, breathless from the exertion and giggling. She was almost ready to give up. Vaguely, she could hear Seamus’ laughter at their antics and his exclamations in support for Dean’s cause.

Dean turned away from her still holding the letter out of her reach, and began reading.

“That’s private,” she said, trying in vain to reach around him and grab it.

When he turned back to her, she knew he had seen who signed it. His eyebrows were arched at her in amusement and the mischievous look remained on his face. “Oh you’re in for it now.”

Expecting him to tickle her again she backed away this time more quickly. However, he didn’t tickle her. Instead, to her shock, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She would have yelled at him if she wasn’t so busy laughing.

“My bag!” she said through her laughter. It had fallen to the ground at some point in the scuffle.

“Got it!” Seamus called to them.

Dean waved back to Seamus with ease, as if he were simply carrying his book bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, see you at the castle mate!”

Feebly, Hermione protested through her giggles. Her sides hurt. It had been a while since she had laughed that hard.

“Good work today, Granger,” Dean said as he gave her a playful hoist.

She propped her elbow on his back, and placing her head in her hand the best that she could, resigned to her fate. As she did so, she looked up at the changing rooms just in time to see Ron stalking back into them.

#Harry Potter #To All The Wizards #Black Wizard History #Dean Thomas #Hermione Granger