#in the dream i had somehow finessed my way into being part of his family’s thanksgiving. like i was staying with his family and his mom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dreamkidddream · 3 years

Note

Can I request a teen mc who is like YUJI from jujutsu kaisen as in they are the vessel of SUKUNA PLSS? Like maybe they can manifest SUKUNA in his curse form as another being as well like megumis dogs? (If you don’t know JJK can you just do a chaotic teen mc? ❤️)

WHEW THIS ALMOST DID NOT GET POSTED SINCE TUMBLR DELETED PARTS OF IT.

So let me tell you: I started reading the manga but have yet to watch the anime 😭 it’s really good though and I’m probably gonna start it this week, but I’m not sure if I’m 100% confident in writing Sukuna. BUT this request was too good to pass up, so if you don’t like it I will write the other scenario instead just let me know!

So for these headcanons, I made it to where MC is Sukuna’s vessel like Yuji, and that they can manifest him if needed. But, I still kept it to where he’s not exactly a good guy with MC’s best interest at heart. Reader is gender neutral and younger than the Bros, so the dynamic is more family instead of romance just a heads up! Hope you enjoy!

TW: Minor cursing, spoilers for Lesson 16 in Mammon’s, Beel’s, and Belphie’s part

The Brothers with Teen MC who’s Sukuna’s Vessel

Lucifer

Was very irritated with this revelation, but still curious

Still annoyed either way though

He already had to make sure that you stayed alive during your stay and not disappoint Diavolo, but now he had to make sure that you kept this curse at bay too!

#GiveLuciferABreak2021

He’s very skeptical of you: not only because of you being a young human but also being a human with essentially a demon inside of you

A very troublesome demon if not kept under control at all times

Honestly Sukuna was like an buzzing gnat who wouldn’t just go away, so Lucifer didn’t see him as a threat personally. More of a nuisance that could grow into a threat if remained unchecked

After you explained the whole situation, he still assigned Mammon to you, but he made sure to personally keep an eye on you too

Your presence was seen as a threat at first, but as time passed, he, along with his brothers knew you meant no harm, but the same couldn’t be said for this Sukuna

He wanted to have faith in you, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe it. After an incident at RAD with another demon attempting to attack you, your powers (or rather Sukuna’s) came out to play

He saw the markings, the extra eyes, the malice spread on your face, and he then realized just how serious this has become. You were able to gain control back, but the damage was already done. You were so distraught, sobbing before you, trying to apologize and swearing that you didn’t mean for this to happen, all the while Sukuna was laughing, morphing a mouth on your cheek

It was so bizarre to see, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for you. You were such a kind person, always going out of the way to spend time and help wherever you could. You essentially became a part of the family, but he knew that you didn’t feel accepted because of him

After that, your “punishment” was to practice holding control over Sukuna with Lucifer, every day after school (which can just be seen as him checking in on you on a daily basis, and trying out different techniques to make sure repeats of this incident doesn’t happen again). Meaning that you trained on manifesting him at will, instead of him completely taking over

Not gonna lie he’s acting like a proud dad when he sees you making progress and Sukuna just sitting in your head tired of all this positivity lol

Lucifer cares for you, he’s accepted you fully even if you hadn’t for yourself. He wants to protect all of his family (including you), and he doesn’t want to think about what could happen if Sukuna becomes a danger to the Devildom or Diavolo...

Mammon

Is impressed but also low key nervous

Humans are not suppose to be like this, ya know!

He’s not the smartest demon in Hell, but he definitely knows that you can’t summon demons without a pact, and he knows your baby face doesn’t have one with the King of Curses

You had to break down the whole deal, and it made him even more confused and distressed

Was still acting annoyed being your designated babysitter, I mean seriously, just how annoying can you be?!

Just kidding! You guys are totally partners in crime in no time and you both make Lucifer get 2x the wrinkles now

“MC, let the Great Mammon show you how’s it done!”

“Mammon, you’re going to be the reason why we’ll be strung up again for the third time this week.”

“It’s going to be both of your idiots’ faults. Such a pathetic display.”

SHIT HE FORGOT YOU GOT A WHOLE CURSE INSIDE YOU

He HATES whenever Sukuna makes an appearance, whether you call on him or he makes his own special appearance. He’s like a gritty and more sadistic version of Lucifer, minus the style and uptight personality (and honestly the finesse too), which made him 10x the more aggravating

He honestly hates Sukuna in general. Here you are, his MC, one of the only people to stand up and defend him always, struggling to live a normal life because of him. It was bad enough that you got sent down here with no warning, but now you got sent with him, and from what Mammon could hear with the conversations between you two, he wasn’t exactly your BFF

Denies being excited about seeing you perform your cursed techniques, but only because it brings him out (and he guesses it’s a little cool that you know how to do it). But human, you don’t need that lame curse, you got the great demon himself to protect you!

On a darker note, you made Mammon swear to you that if Sukuna took over and you for some reason couldn’t gain back control, that he would protect himself and his brothers first before worrying about you. He hated this even coming up, you should be worrying about what’s the next scheme you guys could pull off, not some weird sharpie colored entity causing problems. But you were dead serious, and you made him promise that if the worst case scenario ever happened, he would make sure it’s taken care of

Mammon realized you were the missing piece to their family. It felt nice to have someone depend on him, to actually treat him with respect and care for him truly. He refused to accept Sukuna as a part of you (really he just acted like he didn’t exist, which he didn’t in his mind), and he refused to let him or anyone else harm you

You’re family now, and he wasn’t going to lose anyone else ever again

Leviathan

Oh look, another normie

Wow, you’re such a normie that you’re even talking to yourself through a manifested mouth on your palm-wait WHAT

You broke it down to him, and you just...stared at you, with a blank expression on his face. Until-

“OMG THIS IS JUST LIKE THE ANIME-“

How ironic lol

He practically had a fanboy overload moment whenever you showed off your cursed techniques to him after he begged asked you countless times

You guys remember that vine with the kid saying, “I have the power of God and anime on my side”? Recreate that while doing your moves and he’ll be in awe and dying laughing at the same time

Will post it to his Devilgram and DevilTube

His envy will start to show at first. How is it that someone boring like you get to have all these cool powers and have an actual king reside in you?? You’re living the Shonen dream and not even grateful for it!

But this reality for him would soon shatter after he saw Sukuna for himself, and the way that he behaved towards you. The way that the curse would just look at with disdain in his eyes just made Levi’s skin crawl. He was made well aware that you were in fact not living the anime dream he thought you were. The look in your eyes reminded him of how he would feel whenever he felt like a scummy otaku, and from that point forward he would find ways to cheer you up

You can plan on having anime marathons, game nights, even talking with Henry (I hc that he can talk and understand aquatic animals) when you get into these moods. Anything that helps him get out of his funks he’s hoping it helps you too. You don’t deserve this type of treatment from anyone, especially someone that even he can no doubt eliminate

You were honestly one of the coolest people that he knows, and one of the strongest too! Not just physically, but mentally too. He can’t imagine what could be going on in your head since Sukuna became a part of you, but he knows that you’re strong enough to overcome anything that he throws at you. And if you had moments where you faltered or doubted yourself, that’s okay! Levi would be right beside you the whole way, doing anything he can to keep pushing you forward

Be the teen anime hero that he’s know you can be MC! You wouldn’t be his Henry if he didn’t have any faith in you, you know?

Bonus: you don’t have to worry about your anime nights being ruined after one night when Sukuna somehow found a spoiler to an anime that Levi was really anticipating became a very visual warning for the curse. Levi convinced you to let him take over, and whatever was said resonated with him because you never heard a peep after that, both out loud and in your head

Satan

Oh he was BEYOND fascinated

We all know how much Satan loves to read and how smart he is, so while you look at your condition as a curse (no pun intended), he saw it as an opportunity

Could you feel this curse coursing through your body? Did you feel stronger? Could he see through your eyes all the time or only when you let him? He had so many questions it wasn’t even funny

Very understanding of your situation surprisingly (but still called you dumb for eating Sukuna’s finger)

Satan would be one of the only people you could really trust when dealing with Sukuna. Yes, you trusted all of the brothers, but if you were really in a bind you could count on Satan to come up with a solution quickly

The only issue was his anger. Everyone knows just how angry he can get, and to avoid him ASAP if you even think he’s getting frustrated. Sukuna knows this too, and will be more than happy to taunt him to truly bring out his wrath. While he does need you alive (for now), it wouldn’t hurt to have some type of fun around here. Plus, this could cause your bonds with these brothers to weaken, and the weaker the bond, the weaker the will to help you keep him at bay and defeat him

But Satan knew better, and you did your best in keeping Sukuna away. He may be the Avatar of Wrath but that didn’t mean he was stupid. However, he did have one slip up unfortunately

You see, he was just having a bad day and already got into a spat with Lucifer, and you sensed that he certainly needed his space. So while you slowly backtracked to your room and from his path, Sukuna decided to be the evil ass that he is, and proceed to provoke him. What finally made him snap was his comment that, “You would be a formidable opponent if you weren’t in your older brothers’ shadow, but oh well. Can’t help who you come from I see.”

It took Beel, Mammon, and Lucifer to properly restrain him from ripping Sukuna (really you) limb from limb, with him laughing manically and you scrambling back in fear. Which called for a very long, detailed family meeting (of course after Satan fully calmed down) that resulted in mediated meetings between you and him for the next month. You felt guilty, you should have done better containing him, but you couldn’t predict whenever he decided to pop up!

But after a long talk, Satan didn’t blame you. He blamed himself for losing to his anger and especially blamed Sukuna. He decided that it was time to get rid of this pest once and for all. Be ready MC, cause once he puts his mind to something, there’s no stopping him

Prepare for your bonding time to be deep into books and practicing new hexes and curses. But don’t worry, it’s not always boring and Satan makes sure that you’re having some type of fun. He’s really doing this to have some sort of protection for you: whether it’s against Sukuna or himself. He wants you to know something besides your cursed techniques just in case they fail for some reason

Will shockingly want you to manifest the curse, one main reason is to obviously collect information on him, the other reason is to test said hexes and curses on him

Can a curse be cursed? Let’s find out

You helped Satan with him realizing that anger isn’t the only emotion that you can feel, and with you being so young, he wanted you to experience life as much as you can. And while you had an extra...passenger with you, he will do his best to make sure that it doesn’t get in the way of you enjoying life. It was nice to see a joyous smile on your face

Also you guys did find a hex that made Sukuna meow for the whole day and it was the best thing to ever happen with him lmao

Asmodeus

Honestly wasn’t really bothered with it at first. If anything, he treated it like hot gossip when you told him in the beginning

One thing he will say though: humans can be so revolting at times. I mean you ate a rotten finger, a cursed, aged, sharp, disgusting- you get the point. He did cringe at that, but everything else was pretty normal besides that

Still talked about your daily gossip, painted nails, the works. But recently, Sukuna’s name has been coming up more and more in your recent convos. Asmo, being quite the messy curious demon, wanted to know more about this curse

He really treated Sukuna like he was just your show and tell act and would want you to bring it out to see how he really was. He was amused with your cursed techniques, but he wanted to see more!

He heard you both talking with one another, and he wanted to see him in person! He hasn’t done anything and you’re among the seven strongest in Hell, so what could go wrong?

So much. So much could go wrong

And so much went wrong

After you manifested him, it went downhill from there. The large amount of control you did show caught his attention, but then it moved to the King of Curses himself. He was very delighted to see him up close for more than a couple of seconds, and took his time admiring his physique up close. It was fun for him, but not for you. Sukuna could feel your will slipping since your focus was being divided dealing with Asmo, so he took this as his time to shine

You had an exhausting day, and you were tired, which he used to his advantage. Asmo started to complain when Sukuna suddenly disappeared, but didn’t have a chance to voice it as your arm suddenly gripped the front of his shirt. He felt himself jolt, feeling his heart pumping. He looked into your eyes and realized that this wasn’t you, this was now Sukuna. The black markings that lined your face along with the new eye color (and the extra pair of eyes) came with a grin that stretched across your face

“What’s the matter? You were so eager to be in my presence, is it not to your liking now that the tables have turned? You claim to be one of the strongest, yet I would be able to kill you just being in this form-Ah, the brat is trying to come back, what a shame. Do me a favor, little Asmodeus, don’t insult me like this again. I am a King, and you will remember that. I might have to pay you another visit and take your heart with me next time to make sure you’re aware of that.”

He didn’t give Asmo time to answer, as his grip loosened and you were back. He saw you stumbling, shook out of his own thoughts and reached to catch you. He knew that this curse was an issue, but he didn’t understand just how serious this was, how serious it had gotten so quickly. The thought of Sukuna didn’t scare him, but the promise of him coming back just for him caused some worry. He wasn’t the weakest, but he didn’t want to hurt you! As much as he couldn’t stand his new found scorn of Sukuna, it wasn’t enough for him to take the chance of injuring you

You didn’t strike fear in him, rather the opposite. To see someone he has grown to care about be the one to try and bring his demise was...saddening. He could just feel his heart breaking at the notion. And if this experience taught him one thing is to be more understanding of what you’re going through

You remembered bits and pieces of the incident, and whenever you asked Asmo about it, he would divulge a tad in what happened, but wouldn’t go into too much detail. He didn’t want you blaming yourself, and he didn’t want you to distance yourself from him either. You already proven yourself of formindable you are ever since you gotten down here, and Asmo wasn’t going to let some jealous wannabe demon get in the way of that!

So no more talk of the thing, and whenever it did want to make an unsuspecting visit, Asmo would be ready. The thing was immune to most curses, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be charmed to some extent, right?

Has covered the eye slits up with makeup and other beauty products every morning, becomes both of your favorite bonding activity. Anything to erase any evidence of it existing and to hear your giggles brightens his day everytime!

Beelzebub

Is very sympathetic of your ordeal

Has mad respect for you eating that finger though, even he doesn’t think that he would eat that

Maybe with some sauces and some Hellroast he might

Is another brother that tries to keep an eye on you. If this Sukuna really is as dangerous as you make him out to be, then he would make sure to be prepared if things went south

Beel’s motto: stay ready you ain’t gotta get ready

Will want you to practice your moves with him. Beel’s pretty powerful, and on muscles alone is one of the strongest brothers. He wants to make sure that you can recognize your full potential, and to always do your best. Expect to be in the gym or the HoL’s backyard working out and training majority of the week

Is thoroughly impressed with your cursed techniques

Beel doesn’t understand that while yes, you have a whole curse residing in you, doesn’t make you less of a human. He forgets that you still have some limitations, and you have to remind him at least twice a week. You gotten more powerful yes, but you still weren’t at Beel’s level

“You can do it MC! Don’t give up!”

“Beel this is over 500 pounds...are you forgetting that I’m still HUMAN-”

But you can never stay mad at him, he’s just too sweet and he means well. He genuinely wants you safe and prepared if anything happens with Sukuna, and if getting you buffed up makes him feel somewhat at ease, then you’ll deal with it

Shares his food with you sometimes. He makes sure that you eat properly too, so no skipping out on meals!

Great listener! Whether you’re complaining about class, talking about a new restaurant you’re interested in (he’s definitely tuned in), or venting about Sukuna, he’s all ears. Even gives you advice if you ask for it or if you really need it

Has encountered Sukuna while he took over your body once, and let me tell you, he was not happy at all

Beel is one of the brothers that are in touch with his emotions; he doesn’t really fly off the handle into a rage unless someone has done something to his family or if he’s being denied food. But now that you’re family and vulnerable not only to other demons but to this curse inhabiting your body, he wasn’t taking any chances

He made sure to be very clear when talking with Sukuna. He wouldn’t stand for anything happening to you, and he made sure that the curse would wish he stayed scattered if that boundary was crossed

Beel is a very protective big brother that’s constantly looking out for you all the time. Even if you feel like that you need to bare this burden on your own, he makes sure that you never feel alone.

He already lost Lilith, and he doesn’t want to lose you too. He won’t mess up this time

Belphegor

See, he knew that there was something wrong with humans, and you were living proof of that

How can you trust humans not knowing if they have another creature living within them?!

Whatever, he’s too sleepy to even care about it

And you weren’t one of the worst so...he guesses that you’re tolerable, but don’t push it!

In the beginning, he thought it was easy to manipulate you, but he could just sense that something wasn’t right with you (and no, it wasn’t because you were just human). He would hear you talking aloud to yourself, except that you were...responding to yourself too?

He thought you finally cracked up lmao

He brought it up as a joke once, but the way you reacted was tense and...ashamed? Oh, he just hit a gold mine. This could make things much more interesting. You shared a little bit of your story with this so called “King of Curses”, but he was smart enough to make a plan off of the information. Maybe he could take advantage of Sukuna like he is of you. Kill two birds with one stone

Well his plan backfired swiftly. After he was freed from the attic and went straight in for the kill, things went array. His hands were wrapped around your neck, he could-should see the life leaving your eyes, but instead he was met with Sukuna’s gaze. Belphie thought he planned this right, he made sure that he didn’t give you enough time to manifest him or to use your curse techniques, so how was this-

“You think I don’t recognize the look of bloodlust, you spoiled child? You were foolish enough to believe that you could get rid of me this easily like the brat?!”, and he was sent flying across the room. How was this happening, this wasn’t suppose to happen!-

“As much as I would like to see them die, they’re useful to me for the time being. Once they are of no use anymore, the only one who will be relishing in their demise is me. They’ll be dying by my hand, not by some weakened child.”

Those words still resonated with him still to this day. Honestly, the whole incident did. No matter how many times he tried to convince himself that you forgiven him and want to build a real bond together, his mind refused to erase that horrid memory, and he deserved it. When Belphie remembers back to that day, he remembers the horrified and heart breaking looks on his brothers’ faces, the way that your eyes show how betrayed and petrified, and how you were gasping out begging him to stop, before he comes out and puts everyone in danger

He felt disgusting, guilty, mortified, regretful, a disappointment. Those feelings only escalated after having them explain the truth to him, both about yourself and being a descendent of his dead sister. He could see how much you touched his family, and you extended that kindness to him too, and he just exploited it

He stayed far away from you for a very long time. He didn’t try to approach you at all, only staying in the planetarium or even the attic, to avoid crossing paths with you. He didn’t deserve to make a connection with you like his older brothers, as much as he wanted to. He was remorseful, it wasn’t because of the whole Lilith revelation, but because you really didn’t deserve that happening to you

You made the first move to make amends, to have a fresh start, and he couldn’t have been more grateful, albeit nervous. He was so terrified of messing things up again, but you were there to help keep him grounded. “I won’t lie to say that what you did was okay, but I’m willing to move on from it. You aren’t completely forgiven, but we can work towards fixing things, together.”

Belphie was shaken by Sukuna’s words, but he wasn’t necessarily scared of him. In fact, he would personally find a way to cast him out of your body and destroy him permanently as the perfect apology and thank you gift; the thank you for reuniting him with his family, and for helping them develop healthy relationships with one another. They weren’t as separate as before, and it made him feel so warm every time he thought about it

Not that he would ever say that to anyone

You both spent time together either napping or plotting for future LYS (Lucifer You Suck) pranks. And since Belphie is pretty good with magic himself, he would be teaching you some new spells or curses that you could use to protect yourself, even against the curse inside you

Belphie will make sure to not make another huge mistake when it comes to you ever again. He’ll have his little slip ups, but you were never put into harms way because of them. He doesn’t want to sabatoge this bond, and he wants you to truly be happy spending time with him. He’s not the greatest role model (obviously) and may be tight lipped about how he feels most of the time, but he really does have your best interests at heart

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cryinginthebackseat · 4 years

Text

initials t.c.

Fandom: Open Heart

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x MC

Words: 7.299 (I’M SO SORRY)

Summary: Tobias Carrick makes Claire an offer she can’t refuse.

Warnings: 50% plot, 50% smut, swear-a-thon, blasphemy

Author’s Note: when the book first introduced us to tobias carrick, the first thing that hit my mind was “okay, but that dude is like the carbon copy of jesse williams and that’s hot” but then, once it reveals who he is and what’s his role in the book i went “interestinggggggg” cause you know, i’m a sucker for morally grey characters and all, and i’m not even ashamed to admit it. also, carrick is shaping up to be such an interesting character with each chapter and maybe one day- okay, maybe this sounds like a pipe dream- but one day, i hope he can be a li (let a girl dream plz) lmao

also if anyone’s interested, i made a PLAYLIST to accompany reading the fic.

the title is inspired by serge gainsbourg’s initials bb

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Cast down off heaven Cast down on my knees I’ve lain with the devil Cursed god above Forsaken heaven

To Bring You My Love - PJ Harvey

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Whenever Claire thinks about Tobias Carrick, admittedly, unfortunately, tragically, she always thinks about his eyes first before remembering what a colossal pain in the ass he is.

It always comes in that order. Like the number 3 always comes before 4, like the seawater dragging back from the shoreline before a tsunami occurs, like pouring milk before the cereal (she honestly didn’t get what the fuss is about until one day Elijah cried ‘oh, hell no you don’t, satan!‘ one morning and proceeded to give her bullet points why pouring the milk before the cereal is considered a sin and more of an abomination than Nephilims’ existence and that there’s a higher probability that she’s a psycho for being a ‘milk first’ kind of person). So apparently, Claire’s a psycho now which explains so many aspects- but she digresses and the point is, the reaction is uncontrollable and she high-key hates how she can’t control her goddamn mind most of the time.

The point is, she needs to stop thinking about him to begin with.

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Claire Castelnuovo was born in the summer, under the sign of Gemini. Marilyn Monroe once said that stands for intellect, being a Gemini, but she was too blissfully unaware of this guerdon that she devoted her adolescent years to being outdoors instead. Too many days she spent trampling along the cornfields with her cousins until the skies faded out with brilliant purple-tinged amber and she was carrying a piece of the sun in her skin and smelled like one, stuffing wildflowers inside her boots as she walked around the neighborhood with her dad’s old stethoscope, napping in a hammock with Oasis’ All Around the World on repeat. By the time she hit 15, her black strands had turned brown from repeated sun exposure. She loved it.

But it was a different time, a different place. Somewhere that only exists on the margins of her memories, lost and hidden.

Now, Claire prefers the night.

It’s 9:30 pm when she arrives at a hotel bar in downtown Boston. A newly christened establishment which has somehow become a regular spot for Hemingway’s enthusiasts once the Boston Globe wrote an article about their Hemingway Daiquiri and how, as they wrote it, ‘probably the only place that’s brave and crazy enough to adhere to the 1930s original recipe’ and bourgeois party birds at wee hours during the weekend.

Her eyes are gritty, dry and strange. Her mind’s much worse for the wear- she feels like shit, like in the middle of watching that scene from The Green Mile shit when all is hopeless and you feel like walking out of the theater, but you’ve spent your last savings just to buy the ticket, so you decide to stick through it.

Claire makes a beeline for the bar, tries to flag down the bartender. She orders an Old Fashioned, making sure to specify to double it because she’s not a regular here and he’s not Reggie and that’s how she’s been taking her drink for years.

She knows well deep in her bones that she should be somewhere else. Somewhere more familiar, somewhere where Tim Mcgraw often plays from the subpar speakers, and the rustic wooden bar countertop is gouging and discoloring from the cheap household cleaners and alcohol stains, and her friends are cramming together in the same booth in the back, reveling and laughing until they close the bar down and make a mess all over. Perhaps it’s a mistake coming here, where no one’s a familiar face and the drinks are a tad overpriced for her budget.

But then, perhaps this is exactly what she needs; the unfamiliarity, the visceral feeling knowing that she doesn’t belong here, where no one knows her name and the huge deal of weight she’s currently carrying on her shoulders. Perhaps, she can’t face her friends after what happened, after what Esme has done. Shit, how could any of this happen? Claire knows this all on Esme’s, but her guilt has grown hopelessly tangled with her anxiety. She’s her intern, for fuck’s sake, Claire’s supposed to prevent this from happening in the first place.

Man, where’s Declan Nash when she feels like punching someone in the face?

Claire makes the mistake of drinking her drink too quickly, because it hasn’t been ten minutes and she’s drained half of the content. Then she reaches for her phone in her bag, fiddles with it, absent-minded, equal parts bored before then settles on watching the band performing Art Pepper’s You Go To My Head and immediately thinks of that time she accidentally dropped her brother’s saxophone in a moment of her rather graceless, wine-soaked self with the whole family present.

Someone plops down on the empty stool next to her. Claire’s now scrolling through her phone- again, bored. Sienna commented on the post Elijah shared to the group chat with a few unnecessary-yet-totally-necessary emojis to the already convoluted series of texts and Claire only reads them in silence, not only because her friends’ texting behaviors are too chaotic for her to follow sometimes but she’s not really feeling like talking to anyone right now.

“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Famous last words.

Claire freezes in her seat. Her phone’s still glowing in her hand, alighting her features. She recognizes that voice- too well, that is and it’s enough to set off her flight-or-fight response.

She glances up from her phone, preparing for the worst.

Well, what’s presented before her is literally the worst.

“Of all the gin joints…” she says once her eyes find Tobias Carrick sitting next to her, still in his work shirt, sleeves rolled-up, a few buttons undone, reeking of smoke, soap and antiseptic with a shit-eating grin plastered over his face.

She should have gone to Donahue’s instead.

“Evening to you too, Castelnuovo. Drinking your dinner tonight, I see?”

“What, this? No, this is breakfast. 100% daily value of alcohol and pretty much nothing else. I mean, it’s not the weekend without a bad case of hangover and an aspirin snowglobe in the morning, am I right? You know, like a glass of aspirin? Not a literal snowglobe?” she blabbers, realizing just so by the time she hears him snort. Claire chokes down another sip to shut her mouth up. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m about to commit first-degree murder and burn this whole place to the ground,” he drawls, the ever goddamn sarcastic. “What do you think? I’m trying to get dru-”

“No, I mean what are you doing here, of all places? Can’t you get drunk somewhere else?” she interrupts, her midwest accent does funny things to the vowels and consonants- something that only happens whenever she’s in distress, or at least according to Jackie.

“Last time I heard, this joint’s still owned by the Hilton, not a certain junior member of the Diagnostics Team at Edenbrook hospital.”

“Dude, what do you think of the H in Claire H. Castelnuovo stands for?” Deadpan, trying to keep up with the rolling sarcasm, she retorts. He smirks.

“Horatio?”

“Get the fuck out of here,” she mutters, mid-eye-roll, mid-snickering.

He chuckles, his voice rich and smoky amidst the late-night swing and distant chatters. Carrick doesn’t leave, of course, typically him- if those anecdotes Ethan told her has taught her anything about his character, that is- defying everything, scheming his way to the top, the embodiment of ‘those devilish boys with their heavenly eyes’ type your mother warns you about.

Not that the latter is relevant.

“Or what?” His mouth twitches but there’s a hard, challenging light in his eyes that she knows too well by now.

“Or I’m leaving.“ She shoots him a glare. He’s testing her patience- again, like it’s his finesse. Some things never change, it seems.

“Come on, Castelnuovo, don’t be a sourpuss. The night is young and I can promise you, the last thing I am is a horrible drinking buddy.”

With a touch of irony, she replies: “I’m sure. I bet you asked your friends to fill out a questionnaire every time you went out with them, did you?”

Carrick hums.

“You’re funny.” But he says it in the same tone that someone might say Jesus fuck, you’re probably one of the most frustrating creatures I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also, because the next thing he says is: “A little rough around the edges, but funny nonetheless.”

“That makes one of us then.”

Carrick frowns, which is kind of a surprise because she’s half expected him to flash her that signature cheeky grin of his.

“Listen, I’m just trying to make a friendly conversation here. I know we haven’t really seen eye-to-eye with each othe-”

Claire snorts and crosses her arms over her chest. “That, doctor, is an understatement of the fucking century.”

“Okay so, we’re like Tom and Jerry but sans the background music and a naive little duckling running around calling one of us his momma, but I feel like now’s the time to call out a temporary truce between us.” A beat, then: “I heard about what happened with the intern.”

Something flashes across her face- and Carrick must have noticed it, because his face does this odd thing- it softens, even for a moment. She hates it. He’s not supposed to be looking at her like that, not supposed to see her at her weakest state or saved her ass- And Jesus, why does she have to be indebted to Tobias Carrick, of all people- But god forbid, the last thing she’ll ever do is crying in front of him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mutters, barely audible, trying to temper her fluctuated emotions.

“Then don’t. We can talk about anything else or fall into some sort of endless, meaningless platitudes. Whichever will work.” As if sensing Claire’s lingering hesitation, he adds. “Tell you what, to sweeten the offer, your next drinks are on me.”

She assesses him for a long minute, eyes narrowing. She’s shaking her head, but her mouth, as if against her will, instead says: “Careful, Carrick, there’s a chance I’ll be abusing that offer and run you dry.”

"Hey, if you want to butcher your liver so bad, don’t stop on my account,” he says. “Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to save your ass again this time around. Pro bono.”

Claire looks as if she’s just swallowed a dead rat. “Thanks, but no thanks. Death seems more like an appealing choice.”

“Well, I stopped death from interfering then, I’ll stop it again.” Carrick winks, she pretends to gag again yet remains still in her seat, so Carrick waves at the bartender for their order- she orders for a refill and he, a martini and Claire is this close from asking 'shaken or stirred?’ but then remembers who he is and immediately washes the question down with her drink.

“You know, if anyone told me weeks ago that I’d be having a drink with you tonight, I probably would have socked them.“

Carrick is in the middle of lighting his cigarette, but laughs instead. “The Times They Are a-Changin’, as Bob Dylan said.” A puff of smoke escapes his mouth, curling around his fingers. Claire instinctively looks away. “Which reminds me of that one time your mentor sang Ballad of A Thin Man on the fucking subway when we were 20.”

She swivels her head to his direction, on the verge of choking on her drink. “Hold on, hold on, Ethan Jonah Ramsey sings?”

“Give him a dare he couldn’t refuse and a few shots of whiskey, and I promise you he’ll sing like Sinatra on crack.” He grins, his eyes are all crinkled and bright; she thinks that means he’s genuinely amused. “Ah, good times. We were like- wait, who was it he’d like to say we’re like again?”

A small smile pulls at her lips. “Bert and Ernie.”

“Jesus, he really fucking compares us to some Sesame Street characters, huh?” She laughs at that, loud and bright. He does the same. “Personally, I’d always say we were like Butch and Sundance back then- rebels with a cause, a band of misfits, trying to leave our marks on the world. You know those types. We were young, we wanted so much- I still do. I mean, let’s be real, whoever’s wanted to be defeated at their own game?”

A crease forms between her eyebrows, not quite a frown.

“Nobody,” Claire concurs, hating herself for it. “But was it worth it? Betraying the closest thing you had to a brother or a lover…” Carrick coughs on his smoke from the latter. “or whatever in the process just to get what you wanted?” Claire was obviously aiming for that brash, hard-hitting jab, but it lands gloriously too soft.

The bartender finally places their ordered drinks down on the bar. Carrick reaches for it, taking a careful swig, then sets his glass down. He takes a deep breath.

"It’s nothing personal. It never was. I never considered him as my rival.”

“Yeah, but by doing whatever you did, you’ve made an enemy out of him,” she counters. “Look, Carrick, I know we live in a dog-eat-dog world and I know being good sometimes doesn’t get the job done. Perhaps Machiavelli was right. Perhaps, when necessary, you have to be ruthless, dissembling and manoeuvring- what did he say again? ‘The end justifies the means’? But if any worthwhile end can justify the means to attain it, if everyone outright surrenders to their darker side, then what’s left of our humanity?”

For an interminable moment, there is only silence. He simply stares at her, as if she’s a walking, talking Rubik’s cube he can’t solve or a book that he has opened and now he’s got to know so much more and she feels pinned under those warm irises, uneasy.

Suddenly, his mouth begins to take shape; the corners hike up, stretch and then he does the unexpected.

The bastard fucking laughs.

“Excuse me?!” she spits, white-hot anger lacing each word. Carrick laughs harder- the audacity- despite Claire’s growing razor’s edge stare. “Did you just laugh at me? I was being fucking seriou-”

“Sorry, sorry.” Wiping an imaginary tear from his left eye. “I was just remembering Harper’s words. She’s right, you really are on the side of the angels, aren’t you?”

She points at him with her glass, snarling. “And you, mister, are the devil himself with a medical degree and an egg head- and I don’t mean the slang for a highly academic person.”

“Ouch,” Carrick says out loud, still kind of laughing, borderline frowning. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn straight. Though you have a lot to apologize for.”

He groans. “Don’t tell me you’re still pissed about that one patient I stole under your nose?”

“The North remembers, ser,” she says, mean-spirited.

“Then does the North remembers that I saved her life?”

“Oh, so you’re discrediting the efforts of the other doctors that helped you make the cure?”

“Alright, alright. You win.” Carrick holds up his hands, the universal gesture of defeat and takes one final drag of his cigarette. He stubs it out, all the while keeping his gaze on her.

“So, how exactly can I make it up to you?“

Claire blinks- once, twice, thrice, realizing his intent. His voice drops an octave and he’s leaning in, close enough for her to notice the constellations of freckles splaying across his face and the way his brown eyes glinted like two shots of whiskey under a stream of light, intense and all-consuming. She feels her mind races, her brains feel as if they underwent a short-circuit and get caught on fire, and the fact that her mind’s on the precipice of exploring the idea is not helping.

A burst of laughter erupts from her throat, not that it’s funny- there’s nothing funny about the situation, but someone ought to diffuse this shift of tension between them, or that was her aim, at least.

“What, you wanna pay me back?” she asks, trying to keep her voice from cracking but failing miserably. Fingers trembling against her glass as she chugs nearly a quarter of her drink in one go.

He notices that.

"A Lannister always pays his debts, does he? If you think that I owe you one, then I’ll gladly pay.” His eyes flick back to her face, searing into her. The air crackles between them. The band is playing a different song now, a sound that only exists on the margin of her attention. If they’re in, say a mid 2000s rom-com movie, someone would probably interrupt this moment and save her from this. But this isn’t a movie.

Claire licks her lips, a candid reaction which encourages him to inch closer- or is it her? She can’t tell anymore. Tracing odd patterns on the palm of her hand with his finger and oh god, this is Carrick, the bane of her fucking existence, she’d shoot him first before she kisses him. But something about the prospect of fucking this bastard twists her insides deliciously into a confused mess.

“How? By fucking me?” she inquires, feigning scandalized- all that Catholic guilt bullshit.

He grins, all-teeth and wolfish and shrugs as if they’re talking about his life insurance policy or shit. “Well, that’s the idea.”

“But you don’t even like me.” It should come out as I don’t even like you, but even she knows that’ll be just another lie she tells.

“On the contrary, I enjoy our rivalry far more than I should, Castelnuovo,” he purrs and places a hand on her knee. Her throat bobs. She’s wearing a skirt, it didn’t seem important then, but now his hand feels warm against her skin, dangling on the edge of impropriety. Like gravity, all it takes is a little push for him to cross that line.

“I should be disliking the way you talk to me, challenging me and putting me on the back foot every goddamn time. I should be focusing on taking you down a peg, but the more I see you, the more I realize you have an attractive kind of power. And I’m just one man. And if there’s anything I learned, the only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it.”

But then his movement suddenly ceases. Claire almost asks why.

"However…”

“What?” she stares up at him, eyes wide, breath hitching.

“However if you only accept alcohol as the currency for transactions, then I’ll tell the bartender to get us another round instead,“ he tells her, offering her one last chance to back out from this, from making this mistake with him.

Claire stares into her drink, actually mulling this over. Her mind tells her no, but the other part- the alcohol-infused part of her mind- whispers otherwise. She imagines if Ethan or any of her friends are here, they would probably grab her shoulder and shake the living hell out of her for even reconsidering his offer.

But then again, intelligence, alcohol and desperation have always had a bad history of getting along together.

“What about June?” Claire asks against her better judgement, after a long, considerable pause. Carrick raises a confused brow.

“What about her?”

“I thought you guys…” she trails off, makes a face, feeling all-kind of flustered and aroused and wow, she’s really doing this, huh? “I mean, I don’t know- I don’t wanna get in between you guys.”

“Nah. It was only a three time thing, but there’s never been anything between us.” He chuckles at Claire’s askance look. “If you don’t believe me, you can fact-check it with the woman herself,” Carrick adds, looking at her dead-on with his eyes like he wants to get the message across.

She regards him silently for a long second, and maybe she’s a touch drunk now, maybe the bartender put something in her drink, or maybe she just needs to blow off some steam after what’s been happening in these past few weeks and Carrick happens to be a decent warm body for the occasion, but Claire finds herself shifting closer.

"Then I want you to pay me back.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” she answers, more sure this time, more determined.

Her nose bumps his, his breath fanning across her face all the while Carrick’s slightly pushing her skirt up, letting his fingertips travel higher. His eyes keep darting back and forth from her eyes and lips, checking for her reaction. There is no inhibition here, not anymore. People might be watching- heck, they could be already watching and it terrifies her that she doesn’t give a damn about it.

“But if you tell anyone about this, I swear to god… ” she warns and a shadow of mirth passes across his eyes, making her almost regretting this. Almost.

“Claire, darling.” It’s the first time he’s ever said her name and her stomach does a tango. “Your secret is safe with me.“ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He gets them a room in the hotel, it’s on the twentieth floor. Carrick handles the accommodation- he can afford it, apparently, which is not really surprising and the nuisating check-in procedure while Claire only waits in the lobby like a beautiful, agitated china doll amidst the turbulent sea the whole time until he comes back, flashes the room key at her and beckons her to follow.

She goes ahead of him, but he catches up. His body heat sends her anxiety rocketing sky-high through the roof as they walk next to each other, hands briefly brushing against one another but she ignores that (or at least she tries).

They are silent in the elevator, they are silent even once they reach the designated floor and walk down the hall to their room where the dim and shadowed lights follow their steps like vultures.

Carrick holds open the door for her and she enters, taking in the windows and the striking view of Boston skyline peeking behind the curtains, the TV and the queen-sized bed. The latter does nothing to assuage the anticipation that’s bubbling in the pit of her stomach, by the way.

Claire hears him shut the door, locking both bolts. She peers at him over her shoulder, half-turned, one eye on him. Their eyes meet, neither speaks. He’s taking off his black peacoat, back against the door, he’s looking at her as if wanting her is his full-time occupation and the realizations comes in like a mule kick, how that tiny voice inside her head, the one that tells her that this is a bad idea and she’s better off leaving never comes.

The room is not considerably huge (with $110 per night, you would have expected you’d get a bigger room), he could easily have her in six large steps, yet he stands there. Sizing her up, smirking rather devilishly, handsomely as if challenging her to make the first move. It’s another fucking game with him. A display of power, waiting who would fall first.

Claire finally turns around to face him. With a renowned determination, she removes her coat, letting it fall unceremoniously onto the carpeted floor. Her blouse follows next and her skirt, which she tugs it oh so slowly down her legs.

Carrick’s eyes widen, if she doesn’t know better, she thinks he’s speechless. He takes a deep breath, his gaze religiously following every movement as she twirls around once more to unhook her bra. His jaw clenches and unclenches. He’s having a hard time keeping himself in check which she takes an immense pleasure in. Claire just wants to see the man squirm for a change, even if she has to shed every article of clothing she wears.

By the time she slips off of her underwear, she is breathing raggedly. He hasn’t yet approached her so she crawls onto the bed, lying on her back with one elbow props her up, legs crossed. She kicks off her heels, rolls down her stockings with a bit of that noir come-hither, Lauren Bacall-esque heavy bedroom eyes.

Finally, Carrick steps closer until he’s only a hair’s breadth away, like a target, filling her line of sight. The tension in the room is hot enough to send the thermometer reaching its maximum limit and she’s burning, burning, burning right through the core.

Claire cranes her head up to meet his gaze, noticing the way he’s drinking in her body like a pirate ogling a bottle of rum. High-strung, tense, Carrick lowers his head to her, his fingers carding through her long hair. Dimness consumes him raw, his silhouette is starting to find its place amongst the shadows except for his eyes. Never does the fire in his eyes falter, merely alight.

They are already nose-to-nose when Claire suddenly raises her hand over his lips. He withdraws from her, looking confused and hot and bothered.

“Take a seat over there, will you?” She motions to the settee near the bed, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He smirks, but she can see his bravado if faltering. “Ordering me around in the bed now, are we?”

“Didn’t you say tonight is about you making it up to me?”

“Touche, touche.” Carrick straightens his posture and makes his way to the settee across from her, shifting uncomfortably in his seat given the growing issue in his pants.

With eyes still trained to his, Claire cups her own breast, fingers pinching her pebbled nipple before the same hand travels lower down her stomach, her thighs. Carrick leans forward in his seat, obviously liking where this is going before Claire slowly and teasingly part her legs for him to see.

A surprised groan escapes him.

“Jesus, Claire,” Carrick hisses. “Fuck, I didn’t know you’re a goddamn tease.”

She doesn’t bother replying to him, but a winning grin finds its way across her face as she lays on her back, her shame and modesty are distant, knees pulled up so he can have a clear view of her. With two fingers, she runs them along her folds, dragging them slowly up to her clit. Claire imagines they are his fingers- which once upon a time would have horrified her, but tonight, as she repeats the motion over and over, knowing that he’s sitting there, watching her without being able to get his hands on her, she decides to submit to this newfound fantasy.

A rustle pulls her back to reality. He’s undoing his own pants, palming his cock, runs his fingers over the leaking head.

A low moan catches in her throat at that, her gaze snapping up from his erection to his face where his irises have darkened and pupils dilated. He wants to show her, that’s he’s as depraved as her when it comes to wanting, that he fucking wants her and in spades and she fails to think like a normal human being anymore.

Claire uses that image to work on herself harder, faster, feeling the intense pressure beginning to build beneath her fingers. She’s so wet now, despite him being able to see that, she wants him to hear it as well as she uses her idle hand to tap against herself. Carrick growls, his pace matching the rhythm she’s setting.

She slips her fingers inside her, drops her head back against the mattress and bites a loud moan that threatens to escape her lips. Flushing scarlet all over her abdomen, her breasts and up to her neck. Her blood thumping louder than bombs in her ears, her breaths begin to come in gasps.

Another fast and hard thrust from fingers, and Claire finds herself sighing his name.

“Tobias…”

And every last bit of his self-restraint snaps.

In just a blink of an eye, Carrick is already on his feet, grabs her waist, harshly, and tugs her down onto the edge of the bed where he’s now kneeling before her. He doesn’t bother with the teasings or soft kisses or caresses, and even before Claire has the time to register what’s happening, he crushes his face between her parted legs and eats her out.

She gasps, high and fleeting, twisting the bed sheet between her fists while his tongue flicks over her, moving back up, back down, lapping along her folds in the same motions she showed him with her hand, how she likes it. Claire forgets how to breathe. It just occurs to her just how arousing the sight of him on his knees like this, sending her mind hitchhiking into outer space.

“Oh, fuck.” She breathes, back arching on the bed with a drawn-out moan. “Fuck, Tobias!” Her hips gyrate over his mouth and she presses her heels against his shoulder blades. She’s so close. All she needs is a little push to send her careening into oblivion and it seems that Carrick can sense it because he brings two digits to her entrance and slides easily inside her, setting a ruthless pace.

With her hands reaching out to the back of his head, Claire cries out his name and trembles violently. Encouraged, Carrick curves his fingers inside her, hitting that exact spot that finally undoes her as she comes, long and hard, around his mouth and fingers- the kind of orgasm that you can feel deep in your bones- and watches as fireworks dance behind her lids.

When she finally comes down from her high, everything is hazy. It’s like waking up from a deep slumber after a decadent soak in a scented bath and she loses all orientation, until she feels him nipping the inside of her thighs. She hisses, glances down, heavy-lidded eyes finding Carrick is leaving bruises after bruises all over her skin like some kind of a lewd memento of his work, like he wants her to remember this the next time she wakes up in her own bed and he’s not there.

"Are you trying to turn me into a Na'vi, doctor?” She asks, still kinda breathless, feeling surprisingly conversational despite having just experienced, if not, one of the best orgasms in her life. He smiles against her thigh and withdraws from her, only after her thighs are sufficiently bruised enough, licks his fingers clean and stands up at the end of the bed.

“Maybe. You’d make a cute blue extraterrestrial creature, though,” he replies cheekily, then undoes the button of his shirt, showcasing his naked torso.

Claire feels her cheeks heating up again, but forces herself to stare; eyes following his pectoral muscles, down to the toned lines of his abdomen while he slides off of his pants. The man is one fine specimen, alright, and he knows- smug bastard- and she thinks it’s such a shame that Carrick is… well, Carrick. If the man learns how to shut up for one minute or avoid trying to sabotage everyone’s career at Edenbrook altogether, maybe, just maybe, she’d consider him.

“But honestly, I just wanted to hear you say my name again,” Carrick continues, crawling his way up to her, pulling her out of her musings. He settles between her thighs. His lips finding her ear and nibbling at the lobe while his fingers pinching and pulling at her nipple. Claire shivers. Nails scraping along his skin, raising angry marks that would certainly be there tomorrow.

When they kiss, it’s so good that she can’t help but curl her toes. He kisses her like he’s trying to steal her breath or her name. She can taste herself in his mouth, which sparks so many feelings inside her. Her mind’s foggy, sweat pooling on her forehead. Carrick is but shoves his tongue into her mouth, lapping at her, biting, sucking and she leans hard into the kiss, retaliates by scraping her teeth against his bottom lip. It spurs him on. Making his cock twitch against her thigh and Claire decides she can’t wait anymore.

Claire rolls her hips at him. He takes the hint and rolls over to grab a condom from his pants. Then he’s back on top of her, his weight and heat crushing her most deliciously and brings her body further up the bed with him; she drapes her legs around his hips, hands gripping his arms. Her lust and anticipation collaborate to the point of near madness.

Carrick nips the taut line of her jaw and drives himself into her.

They both groan in unison.

“Oh, fuck.” Carrick mumbles between shaky breaths, his face pressed against her throat. “Fucking hell, Claire, you feel so warm.”

Claire, on the other hand, goes rigid under him. Her mouth hangs open and her world narrows down to the feeling of his cock inside her and the pleasure that builds up again in her abdomen.

This is happening, she thinks, he’s inside her and it feels so amazing. She might as well be crazy for agreeing to do this with him in the first place, but the promise of the thrill beats the doubts.

He starts slow, just the smallest fraction of hips, gently thrusting back and forth in shallow motions. She whines, frustrated and impatient, raising her own hips to meet his, but Carrick’s weight pins her onto the mattress and she can’t fucking move.

“F-faster,” Claire stammers, her molars grinding like toothache.

The bastard smirks, like he’s been anticipating the word coming out of her mouth.

“Beg for it.” His words are punctuated with every unhurried stroke he’s giving her, teasing her and if she’s not in the middle of being fucked right now, she would have kicked him in the balls.

Growling, she swallows her plea by pulling Carrick down for another kiss. This time, she’s the one who does the biting and the sucking, making sure he’s distracted enough and then just like with all the things she does in her life, she takes the matter into her own hands.

With all her strength, she scrambles up, pushes him off of her and knocks him onto his back flat on the bed. When she swings her legs to straddle him, his eyes pop.

“Holy shit, you are feisty.”

“Only cause I’m angry and horny,” she bites off. Angling herself above him and with one hand, guides his shaft back to her opening. “And you- you weren’t doing a proper job fucking me.”

He smirks. “I was trying to wind you up.”

“Fuck you.”

She lowers herself and sinks back onto his cock, relishing in his moans and growls.

“Baby, you’re doing it.” His hands curling around her waist, his head falls back onto the bed, exposing his throat and Claire is so hard-pressed not to bite him there.

Claire ignores his smartassness, naturally, and lifts herself, drops back down. Slamming her hips into his until she’s bouncing on him. Nails clawing at his chest. Finally be able to set a pace she desperately craves for, finally wiping that smirk off of his face.

Under her, Carrick is biting his lip in an effort to not to lose control. His hands are everywhere now; her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her cheeks. Leaving fire on its wake. She might still hate him after this is strange, little arrangement is over but at this juncture, he’s exactly the remedy she needs after everything.

Then Carrick wraps his arms around her and picks up the pace, thrusting into her hard and fast. Claire shakes. She can’t catch her breath, her forehead pressed on his shoulder, her teeth latching onto his skin. Breathing a string of 'fuckfuckfuck’ while he squeezes her ass and continues to fuck her with careless abandon.

"Tobias.” Her moans amplify. She’s close to climaxing again, her legs quivering. Eyes wide shut. “Please, please.” So much for not begging.

He pulls her to him so their foreheads meet. Their lips brush against each other, but they aren’t kissing, merely trading breaths. A hand touches her cheek and her lids flutter open, finding his eyes- those depthless, amber eyes that pretty much lead her to this point, are watching her, pulling her in.

“Say it again,” he encourages darkly, face twists in pleasure. “My name. Say it again.”

She does it again, it comes out as a groaned whisper, repeating it over and over again like a sacred mantra.

Her second orgasm sweeps through her, making her spine arches, it tears a winded moan from her throat and it’s more than enough to trigger Carrick’s own release; fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, groaning gutturally.

Panting, sore but sated, Claire collapses on top of his chest, his arm still drapes around her. The rise and fall of his breath lull her to sleep. Before she knows it, he gently rolls her to his side, pulling the covers for them and kisses her on the shoulder, which comes out as… odd for her.

The bed moves and she feels him leaving.

He’s leaving.

She doesn’t know why it stings, but it does. But also Claire opts not to pay no mind to it and forces her mind to surrender to sleep that once again tries to take hold.

Claire wishes she doesn’t dream of him that night, but she does.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It’s way past midnight when she wakes up. The room is dark. The curtains are closed. She’s still naked and sore under the covers, mind reeling in from what has just transpired.

One might ask in which universe does Claire Castelnuovo agree to sleep with Tobias Carrick? Well, apparently they did it in this one and oddly still, she doesn’t regret it. Though she’s still low-key sad that he left her straight after sex, but hey, what can she do about it? This arrangement itself is nothing but a means to an end, anyway, a perverse alternative for him to pay back what he allegedly owes her, she shouldn’t be surprised if he left after the ‘debt’ is paid.

Feeling her mood somehow takes an unexpected dip, she gets us from the bed and gathers her clothes on the floor.

She’s in the middle of zipping up her skirt when the bedside lamp flickers and comes on.

Claire turns around. Carrick, rousing from sleep, looks at her, rubbing his eyes and stifles a yawn. His lips still tinged from her kisses and bites.

“Leaving so soon?” he asks, voice still raspy from sleep and Claire thinks her mouth is hanging open, standing rooted to the spot like a spider on an icicle; frozen in time.

For a moment, she does nothing but stares at him, being rendered speechless. For many times, Tobias Carrick never fails to surprise her. Just when she thinks she has him all figured out, he comes sneaking in through her windows like a thief in the night and it just strikes her, how he really is an uncharted territory for her. Despite her having him pinned under her, exploring the hard planes of his body under the touches just a few hours ago.

The man is like a fucking myth, at this point. She knows him only from stories and her limited time around him, but who is exactly Tobias Carrick? Is he the competitive doctor at Mass Kenmore, the Machiavellian asshole that severed his friendship/relationship with Ethan for the sake of his greed and ambition? Or is he, Tobias Carrick, the man who saves her life, makes her laugh and kisses her shoulder in the afterglow?

She’ll probably never know.

“Yeah, my roommates will probably deploy a search party if I don’t come home tonight,” she replies, distracted, finally finding her own voice back. He nods, feigning disappointment- or is he not? She clears her throat and continues putting on her clothes. “I thought you left.”

He chuckles at the absurdity of her deduction. “And without saying goodbye?” Carrick rolls off of the bed and rises to his feet. He’s already wearing his pants- thank fuck for that- and approaches her. “I may be an asshole, Castelnuovo, but just so you know, my mother raised me better than that.”

So they’re back to their usual last name basis perimeter. That’s good, right? After all of this, she thinks a little familiarity would be nice for her sanity.

“Good to know, then.”

Silence encompasses the room. It’s awkward and overwhelming and it throws her a little off-balance. At the bar, they seemed to know exactly what to say to each other- especially him; but now, even she can sense the hesitation in his gait, at the way he’s looking at her and a faint alarm is trilling her head. Because if he’s making this awkward, she can do a whole lot of worse.

"Oh, before you ask, that makes up for pretty much everything, yeah. I mean, it’s alright.” You fucking dumbass, she thinks to herself, averting his gaze while a smile blooms on his face.

“Good to know, then.” He parrots her words and she huffs a laugh, freely and sweetly, like she’s currently not knee-deep in her problems or she’s just fucked the most incorrigible man that ever exists. He does too, but his gaze lands on her mouth before going back to her eyes.

Another silence passes. It’s time to go.

“I have to go now.”

He nods mutely and moves away so Claire can step past him.

She wears her coat. In the mirror, she still looks thoroughly fucked; her hair’s dishevelled, she smells like him now, but she really needs to go. She promises herself that this will be a one time thing because, Jesus fuck, she’s supposed to be smarter than this. She’s not fifteen anymore, and this is not the summer where she can watch the sunset from the cornfields with her cousins even though his eyes possess the same color.

Yet she walks toward the door in a daze, like she’s forgetting something but can’t pinpoint what it is.

“Can I-”

“Hey, do you-”

She stops, mid-turning, and closes her mouth. She doesn’t realize she’s interrupting him.

“Oh, sorry,” Claire says, embarrassed. “You go first, it’s alright.”

“Can I have your number?” he asks, uncharacteristically hesitant.

She thinks he’s joking or maybe he’s just feigning interest, but one look at his eyes and she can tell that this isn’t smoke and mirrors.

The eyes, chico. They never lie. It’s dumb, but that line from Scarface is the first thing that comes to her mind. That’s why when she hands him her phone, her hand is shaking slightly. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from grinning like a maniac.

Claire takes a cursory glance at her phone once he returns it. He saved his number solely as t.c. with the water drop, the syringe, the ghost, the eggplant, the firework emoji and she chuckles endearingly, questioning the universe how he can easily get both a rise and a laugh out of her.

“I’ll text you?” Carrick asks again and she nods a little too enthusiastically at it, but what the hell?

“Sure.”

“Alright.” He takes one look at her, steps closer and for a moment, she thinks he might be going to kiss her.

“Goodnight, Claire,” Carrick says instead and she nods, admitting the fact that he’s not going to do it.

“Goodnight to you too, Tobias.” Then pauses at the doorway, feeling surprisingly bold. “I gotta give it to you, though, for someone who’s become the bane of my existence for months, you’re a damn good lay.”

He barks out a laugh, obviously, that Claire can hear all the way down the hall. And she thinks she can get used to the sound.

fin.

Tag list: @villain-fuckarooni @beckaroo @arfeiniel @this-person-is-busy @colossalpainintheass @drethanramslay @hatescapsicum @theeccentricbibliophile

#playchoices #open heart #tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart mc #oh mc #pixelberry #choices stories you play

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littlemessyjessi · 3 years

Text

How They’d Be As Mukbangers: Harry Potter Characters

How They'd Be As YouTube Mukbangers

James: Every video has a theme. Like, I'm not even playing. Holidays? All kinda of holiday themed food. Quidditch World Cup coming up? Things inspired by the country of his favorite team. Just a random day? Everything is blue. He's that type of way.

Sirius: If a mukbanger was a thirst trap. I could easily see him really getting into. Dark background, black gloves, aesthetic as fuck and like, he doesn't even talk. He just sits there, looks hot and somehow makes eating looking incredibly sexy. And he fucking knows it. Bitch also one hundred percent rolls his eyes back when it hits his taste buds. Licks his lips and his fingers. Takes way too big of bites. Most people would say it's cringy how sexual his videos are...but everyone is secret subscribed anyway. With notifications on.

Remus: This goes one of two ways. If he's in a good mood and things are chill, he'll find a recipe, make it to the mother fucking 't' and then have a little mukbang slash review on said recipe. Nice lil chat. Sweet tol bean. Precious. If it's near the full moon there ain't none of that. Ya boy, brings in his monstrous plate of food, sits it down and just tears into like a fucking beast, no talking. Just nom nom nom. Unintentionally thirst traps and people opening talk about when Remus goes beast mode.

Peter: Candy and sweets channel! Small mukbangs with reviews from different candies from Honeydukes!

Lily: Lol, Lilypad. She ain't playing around. Her videos are planned out, edited and just generally finessed to perfection. Even had music added to it with tiny vlog segments as it's set up. It's a little pretentious but she does have a good following.

Marlene: This bitch. Fucking competitive eating queen. Tiny ass lil ho can eat you under the table, bro. Think RainaIsCrazy on YouTube. She can fucking smash. Usually does eating challenges from different resteraunts and competitions. Often, challenges Remus on his wild days. He's a beast but she still wipes the floor with him.

Dorcas: The collab. Dorcas always has good food and good company. She's all about sharing a meal with someone and talking about random things.

Alice and Frank: The couple channel. It's generally filled with so much fucking cute and the food is always tasty. It's sickening they feed each other but you also can't help but awww.

Molly Prewett/Weasley: Family recipes. Molly's channel are tried and true recipes from the Prewett family. Cook with me and tons of kitchen life hacks. Also, that woman can turn a ham sandwhich into a full course meal. Bet. Always taste tested by Daddy Weasley. Yes, I said Daddy Weasley.

Lucius Malfoy: The most pretentious fucking channel to ever exist. It's a whole fucking production that admittedly he does put a lot of work into. Somewhat thirst trappy like Sirius' but instead of just having a plain black background he goes out of his way to shove as much of his manor into. Only eats the most expensive food fucking on the planet and of course, it's prepared by House elves cause he's a twit. (Yes, I know this is Thranduil but honestly wouldn’t put it past Lucius to be this fucking pretentious.)

Severus Snape: Actually pretty solid content. His exquisite skills in potions actually made him a rather good chef. Tasteful shots, edited well with music over everything and subtitles. Simply audio for the eat portion at the end. Nothing too fancy for the background. Often just a very clean kitchen. Solid content though.

The Black Sisters: Mass chaos. Part vlog, part drama channel, half the time the food never even gets finished because of fights.

Bill Weasley: The Traveler. A lot of egyptian food. Some made by hand. Some vlogs from street food while he's out just generally doing his job. Short videos but solid. He's hot and he picks good food. It works for him.

Charlie Weasley: This extra ass bitch. He's the bitch that does all that outdoor cooking. You know what I mean. Shots in the woods, roaring fire. Lit by a precious dragon child no doubt. Dragons lounging in the background like those bitches who always have their dogs there. Yes, I'm jealous. Close up shots of him cutting things on a custom wood cutting board. Everything he makes causes your mouth to water. God damn, scarred, freckle faced bastard just gobbles it up and ends every fucking video with a wink. Charlie Weasley is the ultimate thirst trap and he fucking knows it.

Percy: Percy's channel could be epic but instead is boring as fuck. Why? Because he insist on having the most snooze worthy meals that are 'sensible' and THEN he proceeds to talk about politics. He actually had a pretty decent following of other like minded individuals but my god- politics and porridge, Percy? Really?

However, once he chills the fuck out, leaves the ministry to do something else - it’s a game changer. Brings the family on for mukbangs. Does videos with mummy weasley. Percy grows his hair out and Bill teases him for being a copy cat. Much better. Still talks politics but it’s fucking hiliarous and now the food is poppin.

Fred and George: Alright, this shit right here. Every fucking bit of it is a self promo for the shop. Meals inspired by and that would go well paired with 'this product'. Like, that's the whole thing. And then they run an add for their shop at the end featuring the product. It works for them because they're smart, they're hot and they're also wildly entertaining with their constantly sibling squabbling. But yeah. Big promo for the shop.

Ron Weasley: Honestly, out of everyone. Ron probably has the most followers and it's because he doesn't say shit while he's eating. He sits down with a massive fucking turkey. Nods at the camera and just tears it up. It's literally so satisfying. All the food is prepared by his mother. So it's obviously fantastic. ( I just had to use this gif.)

Ginny: Gin's channel is usually team building videos with the Harpies. 'Cheat Day: Vlog and Mukbang w/the Harpies' type of vibes. It's cool though and since it's a famous quidditch team the fans enjoy the behind the scenes action and actually drop all kinds of recipes for them to try in the future.

Hermione: Hermione could easily veer off into Percy's channel of misery when she gets started on her rants but mostly they're really chill videos. Mukbang and Book Review type of vibe. Or sometimes even the playing of an audio book while she does her thing. All in all, wholesome.

Harry: Lol, I swear. Fucking awkward bean. Harry's videos are literally of him making the simplest of things and being so fucking awkward. "Er, well, hi guys. So I'm about to head out for work. Running a bit late. But we're having a bit of toast and jam." Like it's literally just little videos of him eating whatever throughout the day. But of course, since he's Harry Fucking Potter- his follower count is astronomical.

Neville: Now, this boy. This boy is a goblincore gobbo's wet dream. Gardening videos with homegrown veg. Recipes from Grandmother. Have a nice Veggie Pot Pie with Professor Longbottom in the Hogwarts Greenhouse. There is a fanbase and it is huge.

Luna: Honestly, the weirdest fucking channel in the world. Like she finds the weirdest things to eat and goes from there. But Luna is bae so it's cool. Also, a thousand percent does Smoke Sesh + Mukbang videos. You know it's true.

Dean and Seamus: Literally, eating in the most crowded pubs as they visit football games around the country. Seamus will definitely pull the Irish card from time to time to have a drinking competition. He wins everytime. He may be a little dude but shit- homie can hold his own.

Cedric: Honestly, it's so fucking pure. Straight up did videos during his time at Hogwarts in the Hogwarts kitchen. Such kind little conversations with the house elves. "Hey, guys. Thanks for coming back to another video. Today we're making some really tasty biscuits. Whispy, one of the talented bakers here in the kitchens, is here to help us today so please say hello to her in the comments." He'll also always make extra and leave them in the Hufflepuff common room for everyone to enjoy. Like, it's honestly so pure and he's such a soft boi and oh my fucking geeeeeeerrrrrrdddd!!!!!

Draco: Actually takes it really seriously and put a lot of hard work into it. Nothing like his father's ego-tistical recipes. Surprisingly, every. single. recipe. is a muggle recipe. How would he know? Because he cross referenced with Granger of course. Cooks it himself. No magic. Lots of random talks. Just like a monologue of things and it gets kinda deep sometimes. Like, it's the channel to go to when you need advice that you didn't even know that you needed. Still eats incredibly proper. It's that pureblood raising of his. Old habits die hard.

Tonks: Pure chaos. "Hey, today we're having Mum's homemade lasagna and I'm also getting a new tattoo. Might dye my hair. Don't really need to since I can do this but whatever. So yeah, there's that. Like it's just all over the place and you'd think it would take but the chaos is too good not to watch. Literally gives herself beaks and snouts while she eats. It's iconic.

Dumbledore: Mother fucker just sits at his desk, stares straight into the camera and eats a lemon drop. Like a weirdo. The video usually no more than a minute and each video is just some variation of that. Meme lord.

Hagrid: Tea With Hagrid. Also, so the recipes suck, they too, but Hagrid is a peach and it's relaxing to see his gentle half giant there in his hut, pumpkin patch out the window and Fang laying by the fire. It's a mood and he's just like the comforting Dad figure.

McGonagall: Honestly the best one in the entire world. She makes a full course traditional Scottish breakfast... and then transforms into her animagus the cat...and promptly knocks it off the table. A fucking legend.

------------------------------

Please attack the ask box!

Love, Kenny

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Love, Kenny

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bygosscarmine · 4 years

Photo

We Who See Thestrals

A Harry Potter post-canon fic: Luna Lovegood x George Weasley

hopefully that isn’t a shocker at this point

Go to Chapter 1

2: George Weasley, Talent Manager

2183 words

They went clattering down the stairs to the shop's main floor, where Luna was standing behind a cleared table, with a circle of children of varying ages. As they got closer, George realized she was doing Muggle magic. Her soft voice pattered through a nonsense description of space and time, while the cards seemed to leap from her hands--not necessarily that strange to a wizarding audience, but different cards seemed to leap out of the deck and show themselves as she said words related to hearts or kings or seven and so on.

"Not that," said Ron, annoyed. "It's the Pygmy Puffs!"

George went to the big glass enclosure, and peered in. The coloration and markings range seemed to be normal but...

"Gobstopping Goblins," he whispered.

There was a nest of baby Puffs in the corner, just naked tiny bean-blobs. All Pygmy Puffs until now had been magically altered Puffskein young. The best results were at about two weeks before birth, but the range of about two weeks around that date was usually fruitful. The tricky bit was transforming only the developing young, not the parent. Never had he dreamed they could actually reproduce the Pygmy mutation naturally.

"Are you telling me that Luna is in some way responsible for inducing the Pygmys to have offspring?" he asked Ron, trying to imagine this process.

"She thinks it has to do with telling them fairy tales. I think it has more to do with the fact that she's built them little homes."

Sure enough, there were little decorated boxes, two large enough to hold a whole pack of Pygmy Puffs, two smaller as if for a nuclear family unit. The nest appeared to be made from the shreds of one of the smaller boxes. The tiny hairless creatures he assumed were the natural children of some couple within the glass container were being hovered around by two pink Pygmy Puffs, who had floated to be between his large head and the nest so he could no longer see it directly.

"You know, I think you're right. Probably you're both right."

He stayed until Luna had finished her magic show, to ask her some more questions.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Is my Muggle magic pretty good now?"

"I saw you finessing that with some summoning," George said severely. "Which just goes to show you are a very skilled witch, since that's not easy real magic, either. What about these guys? You've been giving them the birds and bees talk?"

"Just a little privacy and folklore to build their culture on," she said, reaching down under the mesh top of the cage to let some of the little fur balls cluster against her fingers. "I thought about separating the males and females but Ronald said you didn't know a way to determine sex. Besides, we don't know if they have a binary breeding system."

One of the pink parental puffs bobbed over to Luna's hand cautiously, zoomed at her as if beating her off, and rushed away again. Luna slowly withdrew her hand.

"I don't think they are smart enough to recognize a person," she said somewhat sadly.

"They're probably smarter than they let on," said George, who had never seen the puffs so interested in a human. There was a bit of an issue of bonding with the puffs, which wasn't bad for shop profits, but wasn't quite what he liked as an inventor. Puffskeins seemed just barely large enough to have the brains to recognize a familiar human. Pygmy Puffs, not so much.

Maybe they were usually just too immature.

"Was there anything else?" Luna asked.

"Sorry?" George was a little startled.

"You came down here in such a rush, and I hate to keep you from your work. Ron said you only come down to work in the shop when it's really crazy."

"Well, yes," George said. "Rather. Summer hols coming up, will need to be up to snuff so we can just offload our goods on the children who will be loose for a few months."

"So was there anything else you needed to ask me about?"

"Nothing I needed to ask, but plenty I'd like to," he said, grinning. "How long did you practice the cards before coming up with that little twist?"

"I bought a pack and the pamphlet and took it home," said Luna. "So I've had a lot of hours at home working on it."

She seemed to be apologizing for not being an instant expert.

"I have never seen anyone over the age of fourteen put so much effort into card-tricks before. I am impressed."

"Oh," said Luna, nonplussed.

"I was also going to ask you to consult on my ideas for a new mothers line of products, but somehow I don't think you're the right candidate for that."

"Can I see your workshop, though? I'm very curious about that," Luna said. "Ronald said you wouldn't want to be disturbed but he just went to get you so you're already interrupted."

"Certainly you can." He was pleased, really. "I just got off the phone with Neville, but maybe you can give me an opinion on the algae pet I'm developing."

"A phone?"

"Not a Muggle phone," George hurried to say. "I'll show you what I mean with that, too."

"I'd like to talk to Neville, too," she said. Her always slightly wistful voice was not necessarily more melancholy as she said this, but he was strangely afraid it was.

"Rhodie, we'll be back in a jiff," George called out. "I'm curious about our numbers of Pygmy sales to availability over the summer last year, if you have a minute to check on that."

He ushered Luna up the cramped stairs in the stock-room, where the muted sounds of children shouting at the Snap made the sense of having slipped out of the world more acute. He always felt that a little, coming up here, but leading a newcomer through the maze of boxes with their slight coating of inevitable dust, the sound of their footsteps in the heavy quiet, made it stronger.

"Did you have this one made?" Luna said when they came to the cabinet.

"Well spotted," said George, fairly sure he should be feeling a little shame about conspicuous wealth right now, but just feeling a bit pepped up. "It's pretty new. We had to actually do a lot of research and a little guesswork to get it made. Very complicated magic, have a feeling the originals were dark in nature. Nothing a little ingenuity couldn't fix!"

He opened the door. "Usually I'd say, after you, but always watch a man go first into his vanishing cabinet. I'll leave the door open on the way out."

He stepped through.

For a few moments, he was unsure if she'd lost her nerve to come. Or something bad had happened with the cabinet.

Then she stepped out nonchalantly, staring at the lintel of the door keenly, as if she'd been inspecting it.

"That felt like nothing. Really, apparating could well be replaced by a few of these in wizarding gathering places and we'd all be so much more comfortable."

"True," said George.

Now a pang of consumer guilt hit him, so he did not volunteer that to keep this one working accurately he had to limit daily use. Luna took in the room around them and he considered it himself. It was cleanish and brighter than most wizarding research facilities. He had a rather large terrace-house and the attic formed his laboratory. Everything from modern muggle science equipment to herbs hung from the gabled roof, with the highest center part over the working table, where he'd installed an intake fan so he could easily air out the fumes. He'd bespelled it to also make any colorful or intriguing fumes clear.

Just the kinds of precautions he and Fred had found out the hard way in their room laboratory all those years ago.

"How do you call Neville?" Luna asked.

"Here, see this? Do you remember the extendable ears?"

"Sure."

He held out the bits of rubber-covered foam that now were just as long as a fingertip, and brightly colored so he lost fewer of them. "It's actually connected to the Floo network, so you may see things slightly green for a moment, but you just have to give the address."

Luna gingerly took them but nearly immediately dropped the first one she tried to put in. George swiftly bent down to pick it up, and said, "Here."

He brushed some of her rampant hair away from her ear and squeezed the earplug before setting it in her ear. "Like this," he said, showing her how to compress it. She put in the other without too much issue, knowing know she could safely push it inward.

"What's Neville's fireplace?" she asked, a little too loudly.

"Twelve, Hogwarts."

The earplugs didn't really dampen sound much, so he didn't have to yell. But Luna did, as if jumping into a fireplace, and he grinned.

"Hello, Neville," she said next, in a normal tone of voice. "Did I startle you? Yes, it's me, Luna. Oh, this marvelous!"

She gave George an incandescent smile, and jumped a little. "Neville, how's Pomfrey? Oh, good. I thought that tonic should help his scalewort. I have to go. Maybe George will lend me his ears again. Goodbye, Neville!"

After a pause she said in a whisper, "Do I just take them off?"

"Yes," he said, holding out his hand. "Before I had them turn off with a word, but it was annoying to hear other people say half the word all the time, and it's easier if they just stop when one or the other takes them off."

She dropped them in his hand, scrutinizing them slightly, then turned to the desk beside them. "Were you talking to Neville about this?"

The goldfish bowls with the hopeful algae pets were lined up, labelled so he could track the various tests he'd done. Currently there were twelve. The first six he'd given up on as past further experiments were now living with his female relatives, and a few were set downstairs in the shop as a teaser while they waited for Neville to come pick them up.

"Yes. It's tricky to work with biological things. I don't have the hang of it. Neville secretly disapproves of me messing with nature, or I'd just ask him to be my inventor."

George raked his hair up on end as he stared at the blobs of algae that loosely resembled the heads of the Green Man but not enough.

"I suppose using a cutting charm to just fix them isn't enough," said Luna. "You want them to develop for real so people know what they are."

"And it's pretty easy to get them to look vaguely like people in an ugly way. We always think things look like people."

"You want them to be cute? One of your mom-line?"

"Yes," said George, a little surprised she had connected those thoughts. "If I figure out how to affect their shape more, then I can make them trolls or fairies or crones or princes. Then people can pick what they like."

"Yes, and then people can really talk to them, like a friend."

George had not considered this angle, but it made sense.

"Well, it's just something I'm asking anyone for leads about. Feel free to look around and ask about anything you find intriguing."

She pattered around, hands holding her hair back from falling on anything. It was so unconscious he suddenly saw her as a tiny witch in her mother's test kitchen, keeping her hands out of the range of anything dangerous. He had known her mother had been killed by a failed experiment, which he had promptly tried to forget, as an inventor prone to explosions himself.

"What is this?" she asked, leaning over a pan of starts.

"I'm just trying to learn more about botany and magic. They're violets."

She looked up, eyes glinting. She was laughing, for some reason, about him growing flowers. The skylights diffused the light well through the room, but she was wreathed in sun, since he'd put the starts right in the path of the light.

"Well, probably should send you back through to keep Rhodie in line." He stood, "It's been lovely having you. And don't listen to Ron if he says I'm not to be disturbed. I say that to him because I find him disturbing."

Luna chuckled, and swished out through the cabinet, which he shut with deliberation. Then he went downstairs from his house and out the door to walk all the way to The Three Broomsticks instead of just going out his own shop door and turning left.

By the time his friends showed up for the late Brazil v. Mozambique match, he was three pints in. Angelina swung her way in, and halted next to George to say, "Blimey, George. Why are you sodden already?"

"Just enjoying a night off," he said vehemently.

Go to Chapter 3

#We Who See Thestrals #Luna Lovegood X George Weasley #Luna Lovegood #George Weasley #pygmy puffs #Weasleys Wizard Wheezes #rarepair #harry potter #fanfiction

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head-under-water · 4 years

Text

permanent damage; 1

2007, JUNE “We don’t keep secrets from one another, Harry. That’s not who are!” Ginny’s eyes are gleaming with anger, breathing slightly rapid. The usual shine from Harry’s beryl eyes is gone, and he doesn’t look up at his wife. He is frustrated, perhaps even a bit ashamed, but he did what he thought was right. “Gin, I can’t go running off to my wife every time we get potentially dangerous news! I think it’d drive the both of us mad. Do you know how many false death threats we get on a weekly basis?” Harry’s voice raises, but his temper (perhaps equally matched to hers) is tamed. The redhead shook her head, recently shortened strands of red hair swinging at the sides of her face. “You do when it comes to our family. This was different. I don’t press you on things you don’t want to talk about Harry, but this is a direct threat to us, to our kids. I could have helped earlier than now.” She hated that feeling, of being left out as if she didn’t have anything to contribute. It made her feel like she was a kid again, being told what she could and could not do. After all these years, how much more did she have to keep proving to the world that she was more than capable to handle herself? A freckled hand raises a folded piece of parchment, it’s clearly been opened, unfolded and stuffed in pockets for quite a while; faint tears and wears among the lettering. A bloody f***ing riddle that they had to solve or risk the endangerment of their children. “I had it under control, trust me.” Harry removes his glasses, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, sweeping them across his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. Long frame leans against his desk, looking more defeated than he’d ever care to admit. She does trust him, there no one else she trusted more in fact, yet this felt like too much of an oversight. It didn’t feel like he had it under control. Ginny understood the need for security, for caution, but she had the right to know if there were direct threats to her children. Her eyes glide over the paper again, consuming the words until she practically memorized them. This was directed at her, she could just feel it. The years have passed to such an age that a child born that day will begin at Hogwarts. Befitting that a child can begin learning magic now, that I wonder: what did they teach you? Flames lick your hair, with fiery eyes to match it. Permanent damage, my future with the others. Blasted into glass that day, I can’t get past...how did you possess such strength? I give you no names, but a warning to heed; I am after your future, no matter their age. Who am I? Ginny had repeated the words in her head for a while, worry evident on her face from the way her brow furrowed, lost in deep thought. The swell of her belly is large, the child inside almost the size of a pineapple. How long ago it seemed that they were just a mere sweetpea, too tiny to imagine, still surreal. Her heart was beating hard against her chest, and she lets out a sigh for relief. Harry is quiet, likely ruminating on the riddle, each wrinkle and tear of the parchment clearly visualized in his head. Gazes meet in silence and Harry eventually walks over to her, palm against her cheek, fingertips sweeping. Ginny closes her eyes, breathing settling in until finally, her lashes flutter open and bright eyes meet his. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted to keep you in the dark. Or because I don’t trust you, Ginny. You know that. I didn’t tell you because it seemed unnecessary until now. I’m sorry. I should have, but I didn’t want to stress you out until I was certain. I didn’t think much of it because we’ve gotten a few the last month, but then this one came...” His voice trails off, the end of his sentence remaining a mystery. It had been tossed aside for a while, into a bin of what appeared to meaningless threats to sort through. The letter was elegantly folded into an acid-green envelope with red calligraphy, and if you stared at it long enough, it seemed to glow. A fact that someone only noticed when they were working late hours and caught it in time. Ginny thanked Merlin it hadn’t been too long. Though she questioned the sorting capabilities of whoever thought to chuck it aside. The very elegance of the letter gave her chills. Its dark aesthetic was appealing, made by someone with finesse and opulent tastes. “I know, Harry. I’m sorry for losing my temper.” Harry’s presence was always rather calming for Ginny, he felt like home, and no matter how angry or upset she may have been, he could instantly wash it away, like waves from the sea erase footprints on the sand. “I’m staying here to help though. I’ll owl mum and let her know James and Albus will be staying longer. This is too important.” Hours passed, and many of the lights from desks were flickering off; Aurors calling it a night to get to their respective families. Ginny and Harry remained, talking over the riddle. “The first bit is rather obvious,” She says matter-of-factly. “Eleven years, so eleven years ago. That was when we all went to the Department of Mysteries.” She trails off, lost in her memory. Leaning back on her chair, she closes her eyes, hands instinctively on her belly, soothing herself. Permanent damage, my future with the others. Ginny rummages through the memories, so raveled with one another that they all seem to blur into one another. That was how most of the war seemed to feel. Each day seeped into the next, loneliness taking over, and all you could trust was your mind and even then sometimes it failed you. My future with the others… “Future with the others...that’s it, the prophecies!” Ginny said excitedly. “Who was all there, Harry? Who do we remember?” She’s racking her mind again, the memories suddenly drowning her. So many Death Eaters that night. They split off accidentally from the Prophecy Room, she, Ron and Luna. She remembered desperately shooting stunning spells in every direction she could muster. In the Space room, they were surrounded by at least five Death Eaters, though it was a dark and blurry memory, perhaps there had been more. Gravity felt different there, almost as if you could float. Ginny remembered thinking she wanted to be firm on the ground, clutching the air until she got her bearings. Soon there was a scream of spells. 1996, JUNE “Protego! Protego Maximus!” Ginny screamed loudly, blocking a few stunning spells from hitting the trio. Ron had a look to kill on his face. “Oi, you bloody death bat, that’s my sister!” She recalls him screaming, heart swelling with pride as her brother manages to stun a masked man closest to their left. They’re all back to back, though the gravity is difficult to maintain, and suddenly they’re floating away from one another, each battling an approaching Death Eater. Stuck between two Death Eater’s now, Ginny finds herself spinning in circles, head turning rapidly from side to side. One grabs a hold of her foot, pulling it so hard she feels the searing burn from her ankle, fibula bone cracking and ligament instantly snapping off from the talus bone. Ginny screams loudly from the pain. The Death Eater ahead of her is approaching, ready to end her by the cold voice of parting from lips. “Avaa--” “Do it now Mulciber!” Macnair screams at the other man. “REDUCTO!” She screams loudly towards his face, and the man is blown back from Impact. “LUNA!” Ginny screams as the other man tightens his grip, hoping to finish the job his friend fails to. Soon Luna’s calm voice screams, hitting Pluto with a reductor spell so hard it smashes the man’s face. Ron’s not too far away, though there’s an odd look to his face. Ginny’s trying to maintain calm. “Let’s get out of here--” “Harry, I think I know who it is.” She says snapping back into reality, the room suddenly feeling heavier as she returns from her dream-like state. “I blasted a Death Eater off me that night. I was stuck between two of them, and I used the reductor spell, and I was aiming for his chest, but the gravitational pull was different you see, and when the other pulled my ankle, it shifted my aim towards his face...he fell and hit a bunch of planets. It was after we smashed the prophecies and all got separated.” Her heart was racing, excited to be solving the riddle. “His future was lost...Harry, I ruined his face. ‘Permanent damage along with the others’, he means to say I ruined him the way those prophecies can’t be recovered. Now he’s after my future...our kids. Harry, we got to find him now.” Harry looked concerned at her words, and light seems to flash in his eyes as she's speaking. “It’s Mulciber.” They both say at the same time. “He got out of Azkaban somehow...imperiused a guard to let him go and to…” He swallows hard. “...Run off the prison onto the rocks below.”

#// head under water #written by: g i n g e r s n a p #d i a l o g u e #//fire and brimstone

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itsblissfuloblivion · 5 years

Text

Glow

Did you know that the origins of Valentine's Day spin around the areas of martyrdom and ancient rulers of jolly old England? So Ginny finds out on a four day romantic vacation with their little family of four. A sequel to Kindle.

FFnet / Ao3

Cozy warmth greets Ginny as she shoves the door closed behind her, cheeks tingling as the chill slowly melts away. It’s been that awkward type of winter weather, where rain turns to sleet, winds beat against window panes, and Ginny wants to wrap herself in a heating blanket to never emerge.

But unless ‘heating blanket tester’ has now become a viable career option, her dreams are less than achievable. So she settles for work she loves and coming home to a cozy space heater of a husband. If anything to do with Harry being her husband can ever be called ‘settling.’

Shoulder knocking against the door as she wrestles dripping wellies from her feet, Ginny lets out a deep sigh and begins to let the stress of her day float off her shoulders. Tonight was pizza night, tomorrow was her first day off in nine days, and Harry’s rented the newest comic book hero whatever film.

All in all, her projected plans are the stuff of dreams and enough to give her the final burst of energy to wriggle her coat from her arms.

It’s only once she’s finished hanging the sodden wool to dry and tossed her scarf over its customary hook that Ginny really notices the odd silence hanging about the flat. With barking feet and tingling, wind chapped fingers, she picks her way through their little terrace house in search of her little trio of miscreants. “Ted? Harry?” she pauses, “James?”

A few more paces bring her just outside Harry’s study, golden light spilling from the half open door as Harry’s voice floats out in a low murmur. “And this is where Nana, Granddad, and Uncle Sirius lived - you’ve been there,” Ginny peers around the corner in time to see Harry shift to tickle James’ little belly, “Though James was just a little bean.”

Teddy nods, a careful finger tracing over the broad pages of the atlas, “I remember, the aeroplane.”

Smiling softly, Ginny tries to preserve the sight in her mind, all three boys splayed across the cozy rug they seem to prefer over any sofa she might find, socked feet kicked up behind them - with James’ barely clinging to his toes. After a moment, she fumbles for her mobile and takes a snapshot, forgetting the volume in her eagerness, and somehow manages to capture the image before all three startle at the noise.

Harry flips over onto his back, one elbow holding him up while his spectacles dangle precariously from his nose. And if that wasn’t adorable enough, James seems to take this as an invitation to climb atop his Dad’s belly like a ride at the carnival while Teddy struggles to shift the unwieldy atlas atop his legs.

“Hello, dear.”

“Hello, my loves,” Ginny says, tugging off her damp socks and tossing them aside before she claims a seat next to Teddy and lifts him onto her lap. Someday, soon, he’ll have grown too big to hold, but she’s not giving him up a day early.

She ruffles James’ already wild (and dangerously thick) hair, accepts a chaste kiss from Harry, and gives Teddy’s tummy a gentle squeeze. “How are my favorite blokes? Plotting an adventure?”

Teddy shares an eager look with Harry, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly and changes the topic with something just short of finesse, “We uh - I was showing the boys where I’ve gone on digs. And then where Mum and Dad and Sirius lived.”

“Potters are a globetrotting bunch,” Ginny agrees as Teddy wriggles in her lap, “Always up for a new escapade.”

Harry tenses when Teddy opens his mouth again, yet his jaw clamps shut as Harry clears his throat, “Speaking of - we’ve got the new superhero part whatever all ready in the den.”

Ginny narrows her eyes at Harry, who forces a look of innocence that wouldn’t fool Snuffles , and rises. “I’ll go order dinner. You three tidy up.”

Before long, their fresh sandwiches and steaming soups arrive and the little family is gathered around a scratched and well-loved kitchen table that’s held up many a meal and late writing session. Teddy’s dunking his grilled cheese with bacon and avocado into his tomato bisque when Harry nudges Ginny’s foot under the table.

She jolts a little, sending pureed veggies dripping down James’ cheek. He seems unaffected, in fact if anything the mess makes him more eager to eat the spoonful. Ginny mirrors his grin and taps his nose with a little ‘boop’ and then gives Harry her attention. “Yes, my love?”

“The boys and I - well I was. Valentine’s day is coming up.”

“So many poor sentences died in the making of that statement.”

Laughing, Harry swipes one of her crisps and bites down with a crunch. “Sorry.”

“Care to have another go?”

“I get that long weekend with my class schedule this semester.”

“Yes and it is glorious . I seem to recall a particularly lovely Friday morning romp…”

Teddy glances up and Harry’s real concerned they’ve just managed to prompt the birds and the bees chat about two years too early, but the little Lupin seems blissfully unaware. “Did ya ask Gin about the trip?”

Ginny smirks and Harry widens his eyes at Teddy. “Not yet.”

“What’s this trip?”

“So Valentine’s Day.”

Taking Ginny’s answering hum as invitation to continue, Harry blusters on, “Well the whole holiday is a bit odd - I mean did you know it’s actually based on pretty dark real life events?”

Her gaze darts toward Teddy, who’s raptly listening as Harry explains, but he waves her concern away and continues, “Ted’s fine. So the original, real St. Valentine was actually martyred way back when - ”

“Is that the technical term, Mr. Historian?”

“Hey, it’s Dr. Historian.”

Ginny’s eyes flash and Harry finds himself mentally calculating the hours until both boys will be asleep but eventually gets back on track. “Anyway, he was beheaded and then was named a saint. So all these churches and historical societies and whatnot say they have bits of him.”

“Still not seeing how this is age appropriate for Teddy Bear,” Ginny says with a quirked brow, but Teddy just grins, missing teeth creating an adorable little gap at the front of his smile, and bites into the second half of his sandwich with relish.

“And they’ve got his head in Winchester.”

“Are you asking me to take our boys to Winchester to see St. Valentine’s head,” she pauses to amend, “ alleged head - on our four day romantic holiday weekend?” Sheepish and looking almost boyish, Harry attempts a response, “What would happen if I say that I do?”

“I think,” Ginny’s face lights up with love, “That I would love you even more.”

“Brilliant, then start loving me,” he chuckles, eyes squeezed in delight.

“Patience is a virtue,” Ginny winks, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

And like any other virtue, Harry had to practice his a handful of hours before the night set in and both boys were peacefully snoozing in their beds.

“So,” Ginny rolls on her side, open palm on Harry’s chest, “Care to impart some more knowledge on that head of Saint Valentine bit from earlier?”

“You like it when I talk nerdy, huh?” He wiggles two ebony eyebrows, fingers sneaking to tickle his wife on her belly.

Laughing and batting his hands away, Ginny stretches her arms to steal his glasses. Adjusting the round specs over her nose, she requests in all seriousness, “Better start talking, Daddy.”

“Careful, Gin,” Harry’s eyes flash, his voice husky, hungry.

“To quote Beyonce, I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want,” she sticks her tongue out, palms moving under her head for comfort and a better view for a certain professor-doctor-archaeologist. “I’m listening,” Ginny giggles a moment later, snapping him out of his reverie.

“I swear they trained you in the area of light torture at that school of yours,” Harry shakes his head, gathering his lanky limbs under him as he shuffles to sit cross-legged on his side of the bed. “Where do I start? There’s the New Minster in Winchester, which was a royal Benedictine abbey founded in 901. Thing is, when they built it next to the original cathedral, also known by the name of Old Minster, the two buildings were so close to one another that the voices of the two choirs merged with chaotic results.”

“You’re a bit sad you weren’t there to witness that, aren’t you?” Ginny jokes, her feet gently landing in Harry’s lap as he traces their outline with his thumb.

“A bit. Now how familiar are you with Queen Emma of Normandy?” He plows on as Ginny waves her hand vaguely, a gesture meaning “not much” in the non-verbal thesaurus they’ve both adopted. “Well, Emma of Normandy was queen consort of England , Denmark and Norway. She was the daughter of Richard I, Duke of Normandy , and his second wife, Gunnora . Actually, through her marriages to Æthelred the Unready and Cnut the Great, she became the Queen Consort of England, Denmark, and Norway. She was the mother of three sons, King Edward the Confessor , Alfred Ætheling , and King Harthacnut , as well as two daughters, Goda of England , and Gunhilda of Denmark . She was one of the most politically active actors of the era, practically ruling England through the voices of her sons because, you know, people were still a tad paranoid and didn’t yet trust women.”

“Their loss.”

“You said it. So we already know Emma was politically involved and whatnot, but as important about her is the fact that she closely followed the tradition of Saint Helena. In short, this means that Emma was noted for her generosity to different churches and religious communities. On the topic, the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle mentions that on the death of her son Harthacnut, Emma offered the head of St. Valentine to the New Minster Winchester for the benefit of his soul in 1041. But what it doesn’t mention is how she managed to get hold of a relic that was peacefully buried in Rome, pay to have it and then deliver it as an offering for her son’s death, and it drives me batty,” Harry groans in heavy academically induced frustration.

“Aw, poor baby,” Ginny comforts him, tugging at his hands so he falls over her.

“Not that I care when I’m this close to you, but during the English Civil War, the remains of Cnut’s line were disinterred and scattered about the Cathedral floor by parliamentary forces,” Harry breathes as he nips at her jaw.

“What a mess,” she exhales, rapidly losing track of what they were discussing when his palms roam over a place or two they both know she likes.

Harry hums and lightly bites at her earlobe. “Mhm, they knew how to make a good mess back in the day.”

Ginny’s fingers tighten at his shoulders and she grumbles. “Stop teasing and let’s start making our own mess.”

“Gladly,” Harry says with a chuckle, drawing the covers over them both.

After much arranging of schedules, booking of train tickets, packing and repacking, the little family of four trundles off to Winchester. Light rain patters against the windows, only occasional spears of sunlight piercing through the grey cloud cover.

James is dozing against Harry’s shoulder, his chubby cheeks flushed red and his inky shock of hair a peaked riot over his forehead.

Teddy, meanwhile, has his nose pressed to the window pane, grey-blue eyes darting to examine every hill, cottage, and what have you that passes.

With a contented sigh, Ginny lets her head droop against Harry’s shoulder, her fingers stretching to smooth along Teddy’s straining back. “I might have a kip.”

“You should, because once we’re in Winchester I have plans to keep you busy,” Harry agrees.

Chuckling, Ginny nuzzles closer to Harry and murmurs, “You know that’s a lot less sensual than the casual observer would guess.”

“I dunno, carefully preserved decapitated heads of saints are pretty hot.”

“Keeping your proclivities quiet until I’m too invested to jump ship - not cool, Potter.”

“Go to sleep, Weasley-Potter,” Harry shoots back, pressing a kiss to Ginny’s hairline and slumping a bit on the bench, “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Before long, the steady rumble of the train lulls Ginny to sleep, Harry’s well-loved woolen jumper comfortingly familiar against her cheek and James’ little puffs of breath slow and even. After what feels like mere minutes, she’s jostled awake by the slowing pace of the train and Teddy’s insistent tugging at her sleeve. “We’re here .”

Ginny pinches the tip of his nose. “Thanks, Teddy Bear.”

He rolls his eyes at the nickname, an echo of his arguments that he’s much too old for such a baby-ish title, but the flush on his cheeks and suppressed smile assure Ginny she can get a bit more use out of it.

James woke at some point during her sleep, though Harry’s expertise in keeping children busy and quiet - forged in the fire of his PhD - prevented the youngest Potter from waking her. He pauses his faux automobile noises and halts the little yellow and red dump truck halfway across Harry’s forehead and makes a noise he seems to use when he’s attempting to get Ginny’s attention. In reality it’s some vague ‘mmmm’ noise that could just as easily mean he simply associates Ginny with food and is trying to convey ‘yummy.’

Either way, Ginny likes to rub it in that she got a name first.

With minimal drama, the foursome disembark, luggage and pram in tow, and Harry heads off with Teddy to claim their reserved car. Ginny tugs the diaper bag further up her shoulder and resettles James on her hip, then makes her way toward the little family bathroom since James’ smell is getting a bit rough for even a mother to bear.

He coos up at her as she lays him down on the table and she tickles his belly. “Your dad is a little arse, leaving all this ,” she gestures down south, “for me.”

And she’ll fight anyone who says James didn’t send her a supremely sympathetic look even as she swiped him clean.

Harry and Teddy swap out with Ginny and James, heading off to the loo before they start on the drive into town.

They’d booked a little cottage not long after the initial chat, a cozy brick thing on an estate just outside Winchester. Harry’d mapped it all out, and their longest travel time would be about a quarter of an hour, assuming traffic is as unlikely as he suspects.

By the time he and Teddy return, Ginny’s got James all buckled into his seat and has claimed the drivers’ side for herself. Rolling down the window as they approach, Ginny leans across the center console and lets her best smirk tick up the corner of her lips. “Get in, hot stuff.”

Teddy grimaces and tugs his own door open, already distracted by telling James everything fun they’re going to do on their holiday in the country. Harry, meanwhile, has propped his forarms on the open window and ducked his head down, eyes scrunched against the late morning sun. “You better not let my wife hear you propositioning me like that, she’s a bit jealous when it comes down to it.”

“Well then get in before she comes ‘round,” Ginny shoots back, tilting her sunglasses down and lifting her brows in challenge.

Harry barks out a laugh and complies, slipping into the passenger’s seat and twisting to double check the boys before Ginny pulls away from the curb.

Sometime during her nap and between London and Winchester, the stormy winter sky gave way to an almost imitation of a spring morning. The chill still nips at cheeks, noses, and fingers, and Teddy’s able to keep up his favorite winter car ride activity - foggy pictures drawn on cold windows - while Harry fiddles with the radio. The sun’s well and truly glowing overhead, warm rays turning Harry’s blue-black hair golden and his eyes sparkling as he laughs unreservedly at Teddy’s tale of his most recent foray into the fine art of finger painting. James wriggles happily at the sound, joining in with his own giggles, and Ginny finds as she splashes through puddles and the road turns from bumpy asphalt to rutted dirt, that she’s never been quite this happy.

The cottage is just as adorable as advertised, rooms beautifully appointed with stylish but homey tufted chairs, fresh bundles of lavender tucked everywhere, marshmallow-like beds with goose down pillows, and a gorgeous garden Ginny could lie in for hours on end and not be bored.

Teddy quickly claims his bed, a fluffy little something in a room of his own but accessible enough that they’ll all feel at ease even in an odd location. The owners set up a cot for James so he can share with Teddy, and the kitchen is an absolute dream.

“This is spoiling me,” Ginny grins wide, taking in the sight of the cosy and warm cottage.

Harry sets down the groceries they’d stopped off for in between Hampshire at the train station and runs his palm along the shined countertops. “Our kitchen is going to seem a bit of a let down after this.”

Teddy’s holding James’ hands and babbling on about all the games they’ll play in the yard when Ginny tucks herself into Harry’s side. “This was a good idea.”

“I’m full of them - comes with being a PhD.”

“You’re full of something alright.”

“Don’t get testy, you’ll be a doctor sooner or later.”

“It feels more like later or never,” Ginny groans, pressing her forehead into his chest dejectedly, “Did your program feel this endless?”

His hands rise to knead at her shoulders, and she nearly moans with the release. â As she huffs out a breath, Harry murmurs, “I think you need a few days without shop talk - we both might.”

“You, in a museum, with no shop talk.”

“No - I mean nothing we actually do at the university or at work or what have you,” Harry amends, hands moving from short squeezes to long strokes up and down Ginny’s back.

“I bet you’ll break first.”

“So competitive.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

And before Harry can volley back, Teddy shouts about rabbits in the yard and they’re spilling into the garden, wellies squeaking against the cobbled path.

Ginny wakes the following morning to a depressingly empty bed, given it’s Valentine’s Day, but finds herself soon mollified as the scents and sounds of frying bacon, toast, and some other lovelies to fill her hungry belly.

Lazily, she twists onto her side and blinks at the clock. It’s well past her normal waking time and Ginny starts when she realizes James hasn’t woken her. With a steadying breath, Ginny works her way from beneath the twisted sheets and sets her feet on the plush rug, warm heady scents mingling and calling her from the comfort of bed. Ah, coffee.

Grabbing one of the thick, luxurious dressing gowns hung against the wall, Ginny fluffs the collar around her neck and shuffles into the hall.

There’s clattering, easy chatter (courtesy of Teddy), and easy rhythms filling the air. Harry loves his playlists.

James claps gleefully when Ginny rounds the corner and Harry temporarily pauses his little dance - mostly the dorkiest and most tempting little arse wiggles known to man - and Teddy trots over to show her his latest foray into the art world.

Ginny combs his lank hair back and Harry turns to press a dry kiss over her forehead before resuming his last few tosses and dressings. “Everybody grab a seat, breakfast is up.”

With much excitement and the joviality that only seems to ever arise on holiday, the little family gathers around the wooden island, plates full and hearts even more so.

Dishes are soon washed, the family dispersed to dress and ready for a day of sightseeing, and Ginny finds her husband turned a bit amorous despite his earlier ‘all business’ focus on their vittles. She’s just finished tugging a creamy oversized cashmere sweater overhead (purchased particularly for this trip), when Harry’s chilly hands wrap around her middle from behind. “How’s things, Mrs. Potter?”

Shivering, Ginny twists and flicks her fiery locks free of the rolled collar of her sweater. “Better before your little icy intrusion.”

“I have it on good authority that my hands - icy or no - are a ‘gift from the gods.’”

“Stuff it, Potter,” Ginny says, hoping for something a bit less breathy than she ends up with as Harry’s fingers tickle at the waistband of her knickers.

Humming against her neck, Harry pulls Ginny closer. “Is that a rebuff or an invitation?”

With a snort, Ginny swipes at Harry’s face, nearly upsetting his spectacles, and earning a scoff in response. “Off with you, we’ve got a carefully preserved decapitated head to see. Now put on some trousers.”

“I never thought I’d hear that sentence.”

Ginny shrugs and flops back onto the unmade bed, tugging her jeans over her hips. “Well it’s cold out - can’t have you freezing off my best friend.”

Harry does the same, minus the bed wriggling, and lets out an affronted gasp. “Three years in and I find out you’re just sticking around for my goods.”

“What good goods they are though,” Ginny answers dreamily, fingertips stroking along his hip, “You’re a right temptress, Dr. Potter.”

“I don’t think - ”

An ominous thud followed by Teddy’s even more unsettling assurance that ‘everything is ok’ breaks the little banter-laden flirtation. Harry sends a longing look Ginny’s way and buttons his jeans. “I’ve got it.”

It only takes another quarter of an hour, two plasters for Teddy’s elbow and shin, and a final nappy check for James before they’re bundled into the little rental car, crunching over gravel and onto the asphalt covered in melty snow.

Teddy seems recovered from his little episode with the iced over back steps, pointing out landmarks and other points of interest (mainly a stray sheep or two) while James listens intently and sucks on his faux key ring.

Harry’s claimed the role of driver this time, seeing as he plotted the way to Winchester Cathedral from their rental the moment it became one of their top five contenders. As they trundle down the narrow roads, Ginny wedges herself against the door, bright sun warming her face so she’s halfway to purring like a satisfied kitten.

Like an old lady, or perhaps a baby, depending on your preference, Ginny finds herself lulled to sleep by the gentle hum of the car engine, Teddy’s easy chatter, and Harry’s answering ‘mhmm.’

Soon enough, Harry cranks the motor off and prods her gently awake. “We’re here.”

“Mm, I’m ready for some good old fashioned brain-growing, museum-touring fun.”

Teddy wriggles excitedly in his booster seat while James seems to have used up his good behavior on the ride over and begins his best impression of an air raid siren.

Unclipping his belt with practiced ease, Ginny lifts James from his car seat and sniffs at his bum. “Fresh as a daisy,” she asserts, lowering him to her eye level and smirking, “Seems like someone is just being a little dramatic.”

“Gets that from his mum,” Harry teases, gripping Teddy’s shoulder as a bicyclist shoots past.

Ginny rubs her nose against James’ and murmurs, “Guess Daddy forgot about the Ancient Aliens incident.”

“It’s a slight against the progress made by our ancestors to attribute their greatest achievements to extraterrestrials that probably don’t exist.”

Teddy blinks up at Harry, “But what if they do?”

“What if they what?”

“The aliens - if they’re real then saying they didn’t do it would be bad too.”

“Touche, Ted,” Harry allows as Ginny slips James into his pram and they take their little parade over the crosswalk.

Oaks and Medlars stand like bare sentinels lining every street, sidewalk, and byway, hovering over wooden benches bearing the last remnants of the previous night’s flurries.

They pass the University on the way and Ginny can’t miss the way Harry’s gaze flits longingly toward what’s got to be the library, given the students streaming out in little clumps with armfuls of books. She elbows his arm and earns a chuckle while Teddy crunches every leaf or branch he can find. James, meanwhile, is becoming increasingly dissatisfied with being strapped into a pram and favors leaning out as far as possible to see anything and everything while he kicks his little boots helplessly.

It’s not a far walk to the cathedral, and soon broad red signs boasting adverts for each of the special exhibits on display, Kings and Scribes, seasonal events for obvious reasons, and a few local events scheduled for the next few days.

The towering spires of Winchester Cathedral are no less impressive and stalwart than you’d guess, shooting up into the sky like spears, the front face is broad and boasts intricate glasswork inlaid amid stacked bricks. Statues paying tribute to saints and heroes rise up from the brown earth.

Inside, chairs are set in meticulous rows behind lovingly waxed pews that have held worshippers for centuries. Shined floors reflect everything that passes over them like mirrors, a fact taken advantage of by artists who’ve set bronze sculptures in the light cast by the intricate windows.

In something like a fairytale, James and Teddy seem stunned into good and quiet behavior as they pick their way through the cathedral. After making a circuit of the main sanctuary, arched ceilings lead them toward a broad room filled with glass cases and carefully catalogued artifacts.

Unsurprisingly, the skull is given pride of place, on display in a gilded tank-like case. Mere seconds before contact, Harry grabs Teddy’s perpetually grubby fingers and reads from the plaque. “Valentine’s Day originated as a Western Feast Day celebrating an early Catholic Saint, Valentinus…”

Ginny peers over his shoulder, “He could use a dentist, eh?”

Teddy snorts and Harry rolls his eyes, though a grin tickles his lips.

Throughout the day, as Teddy and James manage to remain relatively entertained by every nerdy fact and object Harry throws at them, Ginny finds herself wondering if it’s nature or nurture that has managed to ensure both boys are pretty solidly in the nerd zone.

Not that she’s completely without blame, or whatever you call it.

They make it through everything the New Minster has to offer, plus about a third of the University before breaking for lunch when James’ whimpers start, which are inevitably followed by louder wails until he’s fed. Plus Harry’s got that pre-hangry look in his eyes that Ginny’s learned not to test. After some poking around on the internet, they settle on Piecaramba which has pretty consistent reviews and some delicious looking menu items. Harry’s feeling adventurous and orders up a vegan something or other while Teddy and Ginny order a Bounty Hunter (buttery crust filled with chicken, bacon and melted cheese in a barbeque sauce) and fish & chips to share. James is contented with his pureed veggies so long as Ginny offers him a bit of crust so he can have pie too.

The rest of the day passes smoothly, until they wander back home for a family dinner and cozy evening spent in front of a roaring fire while snow falls gently outside.

It’s still early when the boys drift off, overtired from the trip and a long day to boot, and soon Harry and Ginny are tucked up on the couch. Cozy, warm, familiar, and more than a little amorous on Valentine’s day.

Wine poured and wireless cranked low, Harry prods the fire back to life and tucks himself against Ginny’s side with a sigh. “Who knew two children below the age of ten could be so tiring.”

Ginny chuckles around the rim of her glass and lets her head fall against Harry’s. “Probably most people.”

“I must’ve missed that lesson.”

“And you call yourself a PhD,” Ginny says, teasing as she lifts her hand to comb through Harry’s wild locks.

He nuzzles closer, breath coming out in warm puffs against her collar bone, sending her heart thudding. For a moment, Ginny considers the possibility that it’s unintentional, the way he’s making her wild. Until his chilly fingers breach the waistband of her trousers, prodding, seeking, but never quite delivering much of anything.

“You’re a menace, Potter.”

Harry sits up, twisting to get closer as his right hand rises to mirror his left. “So’re you, Gin. God when you’re not even trying,” the end of his thought is lost to Ginny’s lips as she tips them until her back hits the cushions.

Jumpers are quickly abandoned - Ginny pauses to smack Harry and tell him cashmere never gets tossed on the floor - and trousers loosened until they both come to their senses, a log cracking in the fire drawing them from the haze. “We have two kids, and one can walk,” Harry murmurs against Ginny’s sternum, his chest heaving as she takes a steadying breath.

Ginny hums.

“Maybe take this behind a locked door?”

They both straighten, Ginny running careless fingers through her knotted waves while Harry searches for his spectacles.

“I’m just going to take them off again,” Ginny laughs, grabbing her sweater and sauntering toward the bedroom.

Raising his fist triumphantly, Harry slips his glasses back over his ears and basically stalks across the room until Ginny’s shoulders brush the soft yellow wall. “I want to be able to see. Everything.”

“You - hm.”

“Speechless, Potter?”

“Not yet, but we’ve got time,” Ginny winks, but before she can depart with a cheeky strut, Harry’s arm bands around her middle and somehow she’s tossed over his shoulder.

“Such a he-man.”

“I’m reinforcing the idea that I’m a virile mate good for procreation.”

Ginny snorts as Harry drops her on the mattress, nearly sending her bouncing to the carpet. She props herself up on her elbows and shimmies her shoulders a bit. “Mm, bring it on, nerdy man.”

Harry shucks his jeans and kicks them away, then easily slips his socks off. “Have I ever told you about the intricate burial practices of the Maya?”

Ginny wriggles free of her trousers and throws her head back with a dramatic moan, “Oh, Harry!”

He’s cradled between her thighs now and nipping at her jaw. “There were thousands of different positions bodies could be placed in to symbolize status and the journey the deceased would take in the afterlife.”

As her hands wander low, Ginny laughs and nudges Harry’s lips towards hers. “I feel like this little academic exercise is about two sentences from creepy.”

He nods. “Me too. No more talking?”

She flips their positions and grips Harry’s wrists. “No more talking.”

The Potters plus Lupin sleep late the following morning in that magical, restful way that only seems possible on holiday. Teddy knocks on the door to Harry and Ginny’s room around half past nine, letting Ginny know James is doing his little ‘I’m hungry’ whimper and that if it matters, he’s a bit hungry too.

Chuckling, Harry tells Teddy to go start setting the table. Once the door falls shut, Harry flops back against the still warm bed sheets and groans. “Ah, Gin. I can’t tell if I’m too old for this or too young.”

“You’re just right, Goldilocks,” Ginny says, wandering across the room to find her pajamas in the tall chest of drawers tucked in the far corner.

As she slips her flannels over her hips, Harry somehow droops further. “That is the saddest sight in the entire world.”

With a snort, Ginny tosses a fresh pair of pants Harry’s way and nudges the drawers closed with her hip. Harry rolls from the bed and drags his boxers over his bum. “No, Harry. That is the saddest sight in the world.”

They share a rueful grin and Ginny presses a kiss to his forehead before disappearing into the hall, James’ whines gaining in volume. After a second, Ginny peers back around the doorframe, floorboards creaking underneath her feet. “Your son.”

Before long, breakfast is on the table, the family’s gathered around, and sunlight’s spearing through the brilliant white curtains. There’s swiping of sausage links, butter spread over crisp toast, and cubed fruit popped like bits of candy. Harry’s nothing if not an overzealous breakfast chef. But it’s just one of the many ways Ginny learned Harry’s love is less often told, and most likely to be seen and experienced. He’ll blush trying to whisper sweet nothings and then proofread, edit, and notate an academic article you’ve half finished writing while you sleep. And make dinner.

Tidying the kitchen is a quick affair and Teddy’s doing his best to carry James into the living room to play with the toys he’d managed to fit in his luggage (a few more than the ‘your three favorites’ instruction Harry’d given).

Harry and Ginny take turns in the shower - the lure of saving water overcome by the litany of terrible outcomes possible if the boys were left on their own - and by eleven, they’re all bundled and headed out into the yard.

The previous day’s flurries and the heavier snowfall overnight have cloaked everything in a soft layer of white. James is strapped to Harry’s chest and Teddy immediately claims the southern corner of the yard, shouting that he’s established Fort Lupin.

As he begins raising a thick, bumpy wall, Ginny works the snow into a stronghold of her own. When Harry attempts to take refuge, she tosses a few shoddily made snowballs to keep him out, careful to avoid James’ little capped head.

Teddy gives him similar treatment and Harry moans dramatically that he’s a man without a country. Which earns some jeers and a stuck out tongue from Teddy.

Once their hovels are built, there’s a pause while each army fills up their armory and then uneasy silence before the first projectile is thrown.

Harry, Ginny, and Teddy share tense glances, the air silent save for a few birds arcing overhead. Until James becomes bored with nothing to do and no one to play with. His shout-giggle serves as the gauntlet thrown and then the yard is filled with flying snowballs.

It’s a morning to remember, soggy, sunny, and filled with laughter. Cheeks are red with exertion and chill, Harry’s hat is lost in the fray, and Ginny tosses her mittens aside in favor of accuracy (ignoring Harry’s assertions that she’ll lose a finger to frostbite).

And when the little family collapses in a heap on the living room floor, bellies aching with laughter, Ginny thinks she’s never had a better Valentine’s Day.

Ginny’s got her first Saturday off work since March began so it’s only natural that she spends the small amount of time her boys are napping treating herself to a bubble bath, candles and music included.

“Smells nice,” says Harry, shuffling his slippered feet inside the en-suite bathroom, bleary eyed and hair sticking all over.

“Cherry Vanilla,” Ginny smiles, clearing the brim of the tub and adding a clean towel on top of it for Harry to sit comfortably. It’s almost become a tradition of theirs, her long baths accompanied by their long talks, with Harry rubbing her shoulders or gently washing her hair after an exhausting week of mind numbing but overall rewarding work.

He takes another appreciative sniff and claims the improvised seat, bending to reach the soap and spinning it between his palms until a satisfying coat of lather’s been created. He washes her back in silence, Ginny’s small moans of pleasure punctuating his strokes over her shoulders from time to time.

When he’s done, his hands travel up to her temples and tenderly massage them in large to smaller circles as she hums, relaxed.

“So what’s for dinner?” Ginny asks, leaning to rest her back as her feet stretch until they reach the wall of the tub.

“What would the beautiful lady prefer?” Harry smirks, tucking a stray lock of red hair behind her ear.

“Not cheesy pizza,” she grimaces.

“Well that’s new,” Harry raises an eyebrow, unaccustomed to his wife not wholeheartedly embracing the opportunity to gorge herself with some cheesy something or other.

“Dunno, I’m just not feeling it.”

“Okay, how about pasta?”

“Bah,” her nose crinkles as she dips herself under the water until it nearly reaches the tip of her nose.

“I’m getting the distinct feeling James inherited his distaste of whatever I propose as a meal from you,” Harry chuckles. “Paella?”

“God no!”

“So you’re not feeling very mediterranean tonight. Are you feeling anything though? Because I’m honestly out of ideas.” Harry’s shoulders slump as he watches Ginny pout, blowing bubbles through her pursed lips, unable to comprehend what’s bothering her. If he recalls, she’s never refused any of the aforementioned dishes and, luckily for his academic career, his memory is still in tip-top shape.

“Not particularly, but - oh,” Ginny’s eyes widen. A pause, then she rapidly rises from the sudsy water, splashes all over and jumps on the bathmat with accuracy, leaving Harry behind blinking and feeling very confused.

“Gin?” He calls, scratches the back of his head. Yet no one answers. “Ginny?” Harry tries again, raising to his feet to go after her.

“Harry?” Her voice quivers as she speaks his name, naked in the middle of their bedroom.

“Alright, love?” Harry quickly closes the distance between them, cups her brow and searches deep inside her chocolate brown eyes, worried and ready to shield her from any pain or sorrow.

“How would you feel about me wearing your sweaters this winter?”

“Brilliant, I guess. But I thought you really loved yours - oh,” He freezes as he finally understands, “We’re doing it again, aren’t we?”

A mischievous glint forms at the corner of her eyes and Ginny grins, “You mean the whole baby madness because yes! If my calculations are correct, that is - I think this is a surprise souvenir from Winchester.”

Harry smiles softly and holds her for a moment, arms draped around her shoulders as happiness unfolds inside his chest. And it grows and it grows until he can’t keep it still any longer so he lets himself laugh and cry at the same time, love and a feeling of completeness unraveling themselves in that moment, encompassing between kisses and clumsy hands hurrying to rid him of his clothes. Without a second thought, she wraps her bare thighs around his middle and he carries them both to bed, to celebrate the magic of having once again created life.

Later, cozy and sated among the messy bedsheets, Harry cuddles Ginny closer against his chest and laughs like a puff of air from his lungs. “Can you believe it?”

Ginny hums. “We really are good at that.”

“No - I mean yes we are but. Another baby - and conceived on bloody Valentine’s Day.”

“Bloody is right - he was beheaded you know.”

Harry snorts. “What an amazing piece of trivia. Anyone who shares knowledge like that is a gentleman and a scholar.”

“And a virile little baby maker,” Ginny adds.

“Two to tango.”

“What a tango it was.”

we're always over the moon to hear what you think so please don't hesitate to share with us :) we’ve missed fluffy-nerdy hinny dearly so bringing them back just in time for valentine’s day was a real fun ride!

lots of love and may your valentine's be as you wish it to be, @gryffindormischief & @fightfortherightsofhouseelves

#hinny #hinny au #muggle au #harry X ginny #harry potter #ginny weasley #ginny potter #read-a-hinny-fic #valentine's day #valentine's fic #kindle #glow #gryffindormischief #fightfortherightsofhouseelves #we're bringing fluffy back #and nerdy #def nerdy #hope you loved

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sdhanagare · 5 years

Text

Happy Birthday Amitji

Amitabh Bachchan completes 77 years and 50 years of entertaining us.

It was 1969 he made his debut. I was just 5 years old.

In 1970 we left for Brighton England for my Fathers doctorate, ( before which in 1969 a superstar came on the horizon in form of Rajesh Khanna

I remember the last movie we saw before leaving India was Aradhana).

We were in England for almost 4 years. So I missed the phenomena of Rajesh Khanna and the blooming of Amitabh Bachchan.

I remember the first movie I saw was Roti Kapada aur Makaan it was 1974 at Heer Palace Kanpur. I fell in love with the charismatic character of Vijay .

His journey from a unruly youth to the army where he looses his arm( my father used to tease me for many days as Dunda Haath Chalaaye Bandook ) was very well depicted by him under the direction of Manoj Kumar. The way he drives the motorcycle with the accelerator between his teeth. I was overwhelmed , His anger was so genuine.

The second movie I remember was Benaam. A suspense thriller and my admiration for him increased.

This was followed by reruns of Anand Namak Haraam and Abhimaan at our L7 auditorium at IIT Kanpur ( as they had been released when we were abroad )

I used to ask my parents to take me to see his releases.

Those were the days of advance booking and being away from the main city many times we could not get tickets to his movies..

We had to try thrice before we could see Deewar and Sholay both released in the year of emergency 1975.

Faraar, Chupke Chupke and Mili were the first movies I saw more than once in those days as a 11 year old. Thankfully for me my parents also were movie buffs. ( Obviously I could not go alone then but started doing so 4 years later )

Something which came to me genetically as my grandmother also was a movie fan. We used to see movies over the fortnight.

After almost 2and half months during my Diwali Vacation of 1975, we finally got tickets to Sholay at Sundar theatre. The movie then was ruthlessly edited with Asranis scenes as also Jayas Holi Scenes being cut . But that movie had a great impact on me, esp the character of Jai.

It was later in 1976 in its Golden Jubilee week I we saw Deewaar.

After Deewar I was totally smitten with Amitji, I used to tie a knot on my shirt like he did. Since then somehow or the other I saw every movie released.

In 1978 we shifted to Pune.

In Pune I realised that theatres were not so far as in Kanpur and I had a cycle.

In 1979 in 9th Standard I bunked school and went to see The Great Gambler ( which my parents would not allow as it was for Adults ). In Pune I understood the concept of Advance Booking, where bookings for a movie used to open on Monday and if one wished to see a film First day then that booking needed to be done.

In vacations we used to go my Dads Hometown of Washim ( then in Akola, now a district ) , there we had a theatre owned by a trust of which my grandfather was a trustee. Movies were free for us and seats were reserved for trustees.

Used to love going to the movies there but my memory brightens up when I remember that I saw Muqaddar Ka Sikander 4 times on the trot in 4 days, including once ( Interval to Interval ). Sholay I saw there 5 times in a week, this was thankfully the uncut version .

It is a well-known chapter of Indian film history beginning with the release of Prakash Mehras Zanjeer in 1973 which turned Amitabh into a goldmine.

This movie I finally got to see first on DD and in the theatre as late as 1980 during a re-run. Smouldering in the Salim-Javed dialogues and refracted through the Amitabh flamboyance fired the imagination of a whole nation as nothing had ever done before a trend which was carried ahead in Deewar, Sholay,Trishul, Don, Kaala Pathhar, Shaan, Shakti.

Movies then used to release phase wise first in Metros and a week or even later in other cities . Pune normally movies released a week later than Mumbai

And Lonawala used to come in the Mumbai circuit. I used to take a local to Lonawala to see Amitabhs movies. Once for Yaarana the tickets were not available in Black also , I took a ride at the back of a truck and went till Khopoli and saw the movie. Similarly Kaalia also I saw at Lonawala.

From Pune used to go for Summer Vacations to Mumbai and saw many movies there. Namak Halaal, Dostana, Desh Premee, Mahaan were all seen there.

Once I decided to go and visit his house, then Prateeksha. I had gone alone and after I reached just looked at the house in awe.

I always used to think if I could ever meet him, see him.

Thats a long story and long time ahead.

One incident I remember that in 1991, my father was travelling from Delhi to Mumbai,( and from Mumbai to Pune by road, as Pune airport was not functional then). On reaching home he asked me during dinner , guess who was next to me on the flight ( He was eligible for Business Class then ). I couldnt guess and he told me, your favourite Amitabh Bachchan. I was zapped, I said Dad did you get his autograph ? Dad replied, why should I , Iam not his fan, when you meet him, take it .

Cut to 1994 , I had won the All India award for Best Sales performance and the award was to be given at Mumbai. We were invited to Mumbai and put up at Ajantha Ambassador hotel. We were to join the team from Pune as they started from Sangli by Mahalaxmi express which reached Pune at 6am, we found that very early and decided to come by Deccan Queen which reached Mumbai by 10.30 am. As I reached the Hotel, I saw a Mercedes Van coming out of the gate, I wowed it and came to the reception where my colleague Pravin Rayate greeted me with.. You should have come a bit earlier, Amitabh Bachchan was in the lobby to pick up Jaya Ji {who had her office on the second floor ( Saraswati Audiovisuals, the makers of the TV hit seriel Dekh Bhai Dekh )}. So I Mercedes I saw was his and if I had taken Mahalaxmi express and come, I would have met him. It was not to be. It dampened the spirits of my award ( which I received two days later at Taj from the hands of Adi.B and Nadir.B Godrej .

The Journey moved on..

Insipte of the ups and downs, odds and evens Amitabhs box-office records can be described only in superlatives. Producers and distributors seemed to believe still that even a flop with Amitabhs name on the marquee is a good enough grosser, which was proved by the trade.

His image of the angry young man had viewers reeling under the magic of neorealism, where dream and daydream coalesced in a brave new world. The myriad manifestations of Amitabhs no-holds-barred rebellion offered a blissful release to the repressions of a whole generation. The star became a cult figure of radical dynamism, of iconoclastic change. He was no stranger to the seaminess of street life. His idealism rose not from birth or class, but from action. His avatars recurred in shanties and ghettos, in the underworld dens and among the dregs of humanity. There he battled with the predators of the concrete jungle for survivalhis belligerence hiding a tender heart, family virtues, human kindliness. He was the ultimate good man, often turned bad by circumstances, whose atonement came through self-sacrificeoften unto gory, long-drawn death.

So from Zanjeer through Deewar, Sholay, Mukaddar ka Sikandar, Shahenshah, Inderjeet, Agneepath and Akayla, to Khuda Gawah, the Amitabh archetype continues to reflect variations on a simplistic mould, magnified to a brilliant potency; it has now become part of the collective psyche of a nation of filmgoers. It was the perfect antidote to the dystopian nightmare of modern mechanistic existence, especially in the less cynical times of the recent past. Amitabh individuates his roles with the utmost confidence and conviction. He makes the unsubtle seem subtle, touches the crass with class, makes melodrama credible. Certainly, no other Indian actor had the speaking eyes and spellbinding voice to infuse nuanced suggestivity into stereotypical situations. His finesse did not alienate his characters from the masses.

In the mid 90s he moved towards central Character roles the catalyst being Mohobattein.

Then came the super hit T.V. show Kaun Banega Carorepati anchored by Amitabh. It gave an entire new life to his career which was under the dark shadow.

Finally out of the blue came the date, 12th November 2018.

The prelude to this date was the fact that I had connected to Amitji on all his social media accounts , also my senior colleague Dr Manoj Mehta who was an active participant of ABEF ( Amitabh Bachchan extended Family ), offered us a chance to be a spectator at the KBC show , we ( My friend / ex senior from Godrej Sanjay Pandey, and current colleague Kapil Sharma ) . The date was 12th November. It was the last week of shooting of that season. We reached the sets at Film City at 2 pm sharp but had a long wait till 8pm till we were finally seated, alas in the third row. It was another wait for an hour before the shoot began. Finally at @ 9.00pm he came in a Maroon Suit, seeing him I froze.. There he was some 25 feet away from me. Very interactive with the crowd, very sportive, responding to our comments and jokes. How almost 4 hours past, and it was well after 12am that the photos he has with the audience started and well after 1 am that he left. Look at his dedication reached the sets at 9 am completed 2 episode shoots and left at 1 am. He had just turned 76 then. I had finally seen with my eyes, my hero , my idol, or even if I may say My god.

But better things were ahead, The 2019 edition of KBC started in August 2019.

We had epressed our wish to be a participant again. It was 18th July, at 7.12 pm got a message from Dr Manoj that we could attend the shoot on 6th August as the show restarted on 5th August. This time the procedure was different. There was an online procedure which need to be followed up with the invite.

We did that. But July end, rains started in Mumbai and Pune, everywhere there were spells of flooding, roads closed. Sanjay and Myself were the only two left from Pune and a friend of Sanjay, Kailash Agarwal was to jpin us at Mumbai.

The forecast was rains, we debated till late evening weather to go or quit, but the urge of seeing him was so much that we decided to take the risk.

We reached at 3 pm sharp , but this time there wasnt a long wait. We enrolled ourselves and it was an hour and half later that we were inside. This time being enrolled from the ABEF , we got privileged entry, and were in the first row.

Oh what a feeling it was !! Another hour Later Big B made his majestic entry. Again he was interactive with the crowd, and the shooting ended at 8.30 pm.

Then the photographs moments came. Finally he was in front of me, I had taken a token gift for him, which he accepted. Took his Biography along which he autographed. I was trembling in joy as I shook hands with him, talked to him, it lasted a minute but the emotions were beyond eternity.

Finally at the age of 55 and 45 years later I got to meet him.

Nobody else ever had this deadly combination of unmatched talent and charisma and nobody else will ever have it in future. Then there was style, polish and a great deal of seclusion encouraging rumours and augmenting the aura. Anyway one looked at it, the man radiates power. To recapitulate there has only been one super star in India, and that is Amitabh Bachchan.

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bazypitchandsimonsnow · 5 years

Text

The Black Swan

Chapter 13

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5868

Chapter: 13/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon seeks the truth

Read on AO3

AN: Heyyyy this chapter is weird, be warned. Just remember is that we may know what's going on but no one else does. Hope you like this :D

———————————————

“I’ve started working on wind control,” Baz said. “I think I’m getting better. You were right, elemental magic is good general practice.” He flicked his wrist and created a mini tornado, tiny green leaves dancing through the sky.

“Cool,” Simon replied, voice distant and unfocused, just like his mind. Fuck, his mind was so far away it could be considered in a foreign traveller in a neighbouring kingdom. He was still reeling from what he saw last night.

The portrait was currently in the deepest, darkest corner of his closet after Simon spent hours studying it. And many hours and days later, it was still so clear. That boy looked exactly like Baz. Which would make Baz a prince. The prince. Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch, late Heir of Watford, who supposedly died in a fire. Just like the one Baz was taken from as a child. Like the one that killed his mother. Like the one that killed Queen Natasha.

On the surface, it made perfect sense. All the pieces fell together to paint a perfect picture. But it was so fucking insane. How could it be true? Baz, his wonderful and strange cursed boy, actually the dead prince. More noble than Simon ever was. His brain still couldn’t process it.

“Snow? Simon, are you there?”

Simon’s head snapped up. Baz was standing over him. When had he gotten so close? Had Simon been that lost to the world? “Huh?”

“You alright, love? You seem a bit out of it tonight.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just...thinking.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

Simon rolled his eyes and tapped his ankle in lieu of an actual kick. “Shut up, arsehole.”

Baz chuckled and put a hand on his hip. A few strands of black hair fell in his grinning face. He looked beautiful. He was perfect. He should know that.

“You’re really amazing,” he blurted out.

Baz’s face did a strange thing. His head pulled back and his lips slightly parted. Simon was never good at reading people, but that seemed like shock and awe. Was Baz awestruck by such a simple statement? He had to know that. He had to know Simon thought he was the most infuriatingly perfect man in the world.

His smirk returned, awe washed from his face. “Why thank you, Snow, I appreciate you stating the obvious.”

He was playing it off like a joke, but it wasn’t. Simon needed him to know how important he was. Long lost prince or cursed boy, he was so fucking incredible. Simon grabbed Baz’s wrist and yanked him down to the ground. Baz wobbled but found his balance on his knees, looking down at Simon with confusion. Simon took him by the back of the neck and kissed him firmly. Well, it was more just him shoving his mouth on Baz’s, no finesse or moving his lips the way he’d learned to over the past weeks. He didn’t want finesse. He wanted to somehow push his feelings into Baz, make him understand how much he cared just through their mouths touching. And when Baz pushed back, Simon wondered if Baz wanted Simon to know the same from him.

They separated with a small breath. Simon held his face tightly, thumbs dragging over his sharp cheekbones. The same cheekbones Natasha Grimm-Pitch apparently had. Simon was so conflicted. He of all people knew how terrible it was to be a prince. But...

“You really want to find your family,” he whispered, “right?”

Baz blinked at him. He sat back on his legs, wand placed carefully on the ground.He had that annoyingly attractive smirk again. “Well, it would be nice to know if I just manifested out of the aether or not.”

“Baz,” Simon half groaned, half sighed. “Please, just...actually answer.”

Baz squeezed his lips together. Simon tried to smooth out the worry lines on his forehead, but it was to no avail. Nothing short of a professional healer could probably soothe out that tension. But Simon tried anyway. He wanted Baz to feel better.

“I do,” Baz said, his voice a choked, small whisper. “I...I think I want to know if there’s someone out there that misses me.”

“I miss you,” Simon blurted out, almost defensive in a way. “I always miss you.”

Baz let out a breathy chuckle, hot air caressing Simon’s face. “I know, love. Thank you. I do appreciate it. It’s just, it’s not exactly the same. If I had a family, I must’ve disappeared on them. And I...I think, I want my absence to have been noticed. I want to know if someone...wants me to come home.” His voice broke slightly as he said it, and Simon’s heart crumbled at the sound. He was so vulnerable and open. Simon just wanted to hold him and protect him forever.

“And I need somewhere to go too, I suppose,” he laughed. “That’s just being practical.”

Simon wrapped both his arms around Baz, pushing Baz’s forehead into the crook of his neck. Baz hugged him back, bunching Simon’s shirt in his grip. He stroked Baz’s hair slowly. He wasn’t sure if he needed the intense comfort, but Simon would give it to him anyway.

Eventually, Baz pulled back, a half smile pulling at his mouth. He looked calmer. And that made Simon feel infinitely better.

“Let’s stop being all deep and sad, please,” Baz said with teasing lilt. “I want us to just be happy for once.”

Simon grinned and tucked a piece of hair behind his pointy ear. “Sure. I’m always happy around you though.”

Baz kissed a mole on his cheek. Simon noticed he liked to kiss that mole. It never failed to make his face flush. “I’m happy around you too.” He pulled back, wand pointed up. “And I want to show you this.”

He quickly jumped to his feet and held the wand to the sky. “A cold winter’s night.”

There was a small crack of thunder, then Simon felt something chilly and wet tickle his nose. His face scrunched up. He looked up, and felt more cold touch his skin. Simon’s eyes went wide. He held out his hand, and little flecks of white fell down, decorating his palm. He laughed breathlessly.

“It doesn’t snow here,” he said under his breath. “It never snows here.”

“Never say never, Snow,” Baz teased. “You must know by now nothing is impossible for us.”

Their eyes met between the falling powder. Yes, Simon thought, you’re right, nothing is impossible for you. Because you’re incredible and so strong. And you deserve to know that people miss you, even if it means having to possibly give you a burden like mine.

Simon stood up but immediately fell against Baz, head resting on his shoulder. One of Baz’s strong arms wrapped around his waist. They held each other in the soft snow. Baz was so solid and comforting. Simon stood in the cold shower and hoped that once Baz knew, this wouldn’t end in flames.

———————————————

Simon banged on the door as nicely as he could. He was impatient, but he wanted to stay on Penny’s good side. He especially needed to right now. And soon enough, the door swung open, with Penelope Bunce on the other side.

“This is becoming repetitive, Si,” she said, but she was still smiling.

“What, you don’t want to see me?” he asked

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, arsehole, you know I do.” She waved him inside and closed the door behind them. “But recently, every time you come to my door, you drop some sort of weird question or astounding revelation on me.”

Simon chewed on his lip. Well, he knew this was going to be weird. Now it was just going to be weirder. “Yeah, about that...”

Penny let out a loud sigh and threw herself on the couch. “What is it now, Si? Is Agatha turning into a dragon? Have Baz’s eyes gotten prettier?”

“Uh, no,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Actually...it’s a bit more serious than that. And a bit more real.” He plopped him on the couch next to Penny, rucksack in his lap. “I found something, and I need your help proving I’m not crazy.”

Her brows pulled together. “Okay...”

Simon took a deep calming breath, then opened his rucksack. “I was in the library late at night, researching stuff, trying to find Baz’s family, so he has somewhere to go after the curse is broken. But I didn’t find anything, so I decided to try going further back. And something...weird happened. I found this secret room with lots of expensive stuff in it. I also found this.”

Simon pulled the portrait out of his bag and shoved it at Penny. She jolted back, blinking rapidly. She took it cautiously and adjusted her glasses, examining every detail. “Okay,” she said slowly, “this is definitely noteworthy. I didn’t think that any of portraits of the Queen survived, let alone one of the Prince.”

“Yeah, I know, so did I. But also, the thing is...it took me a second to figure it out, but...” He reached over and tapped Tyrannus’ small, pudgy face. “That kid, looks exactly like Baz.”

Penny’s eyes went incredibly wide. “Wait, you mean...”

“I think Baz is Prince Tyrannus,” he blurted out.

Penny looked at him with a gaping mouth. “You think, that your cursed lover boy, is the dead son of Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch?”

Simon nodded slowly, fiddling with shaking hands quite a bit. “Y-Yeah, I think he is”

“But, Simon, the prince is dead! He died in the fire!”

“Yeah, yeah I know, Pen, but just hear me out.” He turned to Penny and looked her right in the eye. “Baz was kidnapped from a burning building when he was five. Someone took him and killed his mother, probably the same guy who cursed him. Maybe Prince Tyrannus was taken from the burning palace and everyone just thought he was dead. And that’s Baz.”

“But Prince Tyrannus isn’t missing,” Penny grumbled. “He died along with Queen Natasha in the fire. And how do you know all this about Baz and a fire? Does Baz really remember all these details from when he was five?”

Simon rubbed at the back of his neck, shrugging up to his ear. “Uh, Baz doesn’t remember that well. I actually...dreamed about all of it. Psychic visions and all that...”

Penny gave him a very particular look over her glasses. Simon recognised it from school when they were studying and he said something dumb or impulsive. “Simon, dreams aren’t reliab-”

“I know,” he groaned. “But I’ve been having them over and over for months. And they’re super consistent. And in it, a woman calls the boy I see ‘little puff’. That’s what Baz’s old caregiver called him. It’s too unusual to be a coincidence. And Penny, just look,” he pointed insistently at the picture again, “Baz looks exactly like the prince. Same hair, eyes, skin tone. They’re bloody identical!”

“I guess so...”

“You’ve seen Baz, Pen. Can’t you tell?”

“I’ve only seen him once, Si! From behind a mask and a headscarf! I mean, I’ll take your word for it, I trust your judgement.” He ran her thumb over the fancy frame, twisting her lip. “But, from what you’ve said about him, I don’t think this and your dreams will be enough to convince Baz he’s a bloody lost prince.”

“Yeah, I know. Which is why I was hoping I could look through your library. Your parents have stuff from before the castle burned down, right?”

Penelope sighed, then pushed herself to her feet. “Yes, most definitely. For once it’s probably good my parents are literary pack rats.”

She offered her hand, and Simon gladly took it, letting her pull him up. “Thank the Gods for book hoarding teachers.”

They both chuckled as they walked up the stairs together. The Bunce family library sat right next to Mitali and Martin’s bedroom. It wasn’t that big, and certainly wasn’t big enough to hold all their books. There were so many ceiling high shelves that you couldn’t see the walls. Simon had to tiptoe around precarious stacks of volumes and loose papers. Penny was already standing at a shelf, eyes scanning over the books.

“So what should we look for, Si?” Penny asked. Simon shrugged, and his friend glared. “We can’t sort through everything, Simon. We need somewhere to start.”

Simon scratched the top of his head. He asked himself, where would Baz start? “Um, how about stuff about the fire? I never learned any specifics about it.”

“None of us did, Si. King David took it out the history curriculum. He doesn’t want us to remember there was a royal family before you and him.”

Simon made a “humph” noise. King David and his bloody crown, always fucking everything up for him. “So there are no history books on the fire?”

Penelope shook her head. “Probably not.”

He twisted his mouth, rattling off possibilities in his head. So nothing made after the fire would have information it. But, what about something from when it first happened? Before David was in power. “Was there an announcement? Right after the fire happened?”

There was a pause. Simon wondered for a moment if he’d said something wrong. But then he heard a rustling, and when he turned around, Penny was on her knees, looking through a stack of scrolls. Simon stepped over book stacks to stand next to her.

“What are you doing?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Well for one, thanking the Gods that my parents insist on keeping every town wide proclamation in case the royals try to contradict themselves,” she said. “Also, you’re a genius, Simon Snow, bloody genius.”

Simon blushed and shrugged. “Thanks, Pen.”

She kept sorting through the pile. Simon leaned down and helped her. Most of the scrolls had a green wax seal with a sword imprinted on it, the crest of House Owens. He tossed those away immediately. But once they made it through the top layer, the seal was a red flame, the symbol of House Pitch. Simon opened them and scanned the words as fast as he could. Most of them were boring. Tax increase this, district redraw that, blah blah blah. But then he found the words “tragic passing”. He hit Penny rapidly on the shoulder.

“Pen, Pen,” he said, “I think I found it.”

Penny scooted closer to him. Simon slowly unrolled the old paper. Luckily, the ink was still solid enough to read.

ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF WATFORD: TRAGIC PASSING OF THE QUEEN AND CROWN PRINCE

August 2nd, 1102

It is with heavy hearts that the Royal Court of Watford must announce the tragic deaths of Her Majesty, Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch, and His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. Both sadly perished in the disastrous fire that destroyed Watford Castle. The Queen and Prince are survived by His Royal Highness, Prince Consort Malcolm Grimm, and Lady Fiona of House Pitch. The castle shall be rebuilt in due time. The Court shall handle all royal duties until a new ruler is crowned. A vigil shall be held in Watford Town Square in two days time to honour the late Queen and Prince. May they both rest in peace.

“Pretty standard stuff,” Penny grumbled. “Poor Lord Grimm and Lady Pitch, though. They’re stuck up pricks, but they didn’t deserve to lose their whole family.”

Simon’s brow furrowed, contemplative frown pulling at his mouth. “1002,” he said slowly. “We would’ve been five then, right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Baz is the same age as us. He would’ve been five when Watford Castle burned down, the same age he was brought to the lake.”

Penelope’s face scrunched up. Not on confusion though, more in thought. “You know his birthday?”

“Yeah. February 24th, 997.”

An toothy grin spread across her face. It was how she looked whenever she solved a problem. “Si, if there was a royal proclamation of the Prince’s death, there has to be one of his birth.”

Simon grinned as well. He grabbed her face and put a big wet kiss on her forehead. “You’re a genius too, Penelope Bunce.”

“Thank you, thank you. Now let’s look.”

They sorted through the scrolls again. It was harder now that they were in the Grimm-Pitch ones. Simon had to look over each one before tossing it away. It made everything take twice as long. What a weird thing to complain about.

“Got it!” Penny shouted. “I got it.”

Simon leaned over her shoulder as they read the words.

ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE KINGDOM OF WATFORD: BIRTH OF CROWN PRINCE

February 25th, 997

It is with great pride that Her Majesty, Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch and His Royal Highness, Prince Consort Malcolm Grimm announce the birth of their son, His Royal Highness, Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. He was born late last night at a healthy weight with no complications. Her Majesty is perfectly well after the birth. Prince Tyrannus shall be officially declared Heir to the Throne of Watford in one week’s time. Long may he thrive.

“Wait what’s this?” Simon asked, furiously tapping at the bottom of the page. Unlike the other announcement, there were two large symbols stamped on the bottom of the page. One was clearly the flames of House Pitch. But the other was familiar in a different way; it was of three wheat stalks on a field.

“Um.” Penny brought the parchment closer, squinting her eyes. “I think that’s the crest of House Grimm. They’re descended from farmers, it makes sense.”

Simon tapped it even more insistently. “That symbol, Baz, he-he has it, he has it!”

Penny looked at Simon like he was a few tarts short of a banquet. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I-It means, Baz he, he has this necklace, he’s had it his whole life. It’s got his birthday on one side, and on the other is this symbol. And you say it’s the crest of House Grimm. So that means...”

“He might have some connection to House Grimm,” Penny said, voice quiet, completely disbelieving.

“Like it being the house of his father!’ Simon bounced to his feet, nearly knocking over some book stacks with his waving arms. “This is it! It’s the same birthday, his necklace symbol. It’s proof that Baz is the prince!”

Simon felt like he was buzzing with delight. And he wanted Penelope to be jumping for joy like him. But she looked unconvinced. In fact, she looked almost sad. Simon immediately deflated.

“You don’t think so,” he said, voice bordering on a whine.

Penelope sighed and looked at Simon with sympathetic eyes. “I want to, Si, I really do. But, I just can’t get past one thing.”

“What?”

“The prince is dead.” She held up the first scroll towards him. “Look at the proclamation, Si. Tyrannus was uncategorically called deceased, after a horrible fire! Why would he be declared dead if he was just missing? Wouldn’t Lord Grimm, Lady Pitch, and everyone else in the bloody kingdom want to have hope that the son of Queen Natasha and heir to the throne was alive?”

Simon opened his mouth to argue, but unfortunately, Penny had a point. They wouldn’t declare a crown prince dead if there was a chance he was alive. “Maybe they made a mistake?” Simon said nervously.

“About the heir to throne?”

He shrugged. “Well, it’s possible, right?”

Penny fiddled glasses, mouth shifting back and forth. “I guess. The person who examined the bodies might’ve mistaken someone else for the prince.”

“Who examined the people after the fire?”

“The court physician, I guess.” Penny’s eyes went wide. She lifted her eyes to meet Simon’s. “Who’s still Lord Wellbelove.”

Simon grinned once more. His heart was beating so fast he could hear the blood in his ears. Everything felt electrified. Even his skin somehow tingled. Hope was such a strange, wonderful sensation. “We have to go see Agatha.”

———————————————

“Remind me again why we need to get into my father’s office?” Agatha said as she fiddled with the keys. Simon and Penny stood behind her. They were all very lucky Lord Wellbelove was with Lady Wellbelove, both of them stuck in another meeting with King David. They had to hammer out final terms before the winter ball tomorrow. It sounded like hell. Simon hoped to save all of them from that hell very soon.

“It’s a very long story,” Simon said. “And I promise to explain it all to you later when everything calms down.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised. Simon gave her his brightest, kindest smile. And thankfully, Agatha just sighed and shook her head. “Alright. I trust you, and I'll hold you to that full story later.”

Simon pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you, Aggie, you’re the best.”

Agatha made a “yuck” noise and wiped her face. “Yes yes, I know.” The key finally turned, a loud click resonating down the stone hallway. “And I’m the keymaster too.”

She pushed the door open. The hinges squealed like a rat’s who’s tail had been stepped on. Penny used her ring to light the torches along the wall. Lord Wellbelove kept a very organised office, thank the Gods. His oak desk was immaculate, with notepaper, a quill, and ink. Shelves were filled with identical versions of brown leather journals. The cabinets were labelled with initial ranges of what Simon had to assume referred to patient names.

“Your father is a neat freak, I see,” Penelope said, taking a torch to scan over the perfectly alphabetized files.

“Yeah,” Agatha sighed. “Something about ‘tidy room, tidy mind’, I think. Don’t ask me, my room looks like a tornado hit it.”

“C’mon, c’mon, we have to look!” Simon said. He threw open the filing cabinet drawer, flipping through the papers as fast as he could without messing it up.

Agatha stood over him with one hand on her hip. “And what the hell are we looking for, Si?”

“Uh, anything about the big palace fire. The one that killed Queen Natasha and Prince Tyrannus.”

“Oh, alright. You can check those files, but I doubt you’ll find anything about that in there.”

Simon spun around, looking up with her with utter confusion and desperation. “Why not?”

“Because,” she sighed, “he wouldn’t be able to keep a record that sensitive, the Court would take it. But even you wouldn’t be able to get into the Court records. They’re under heavy magical lock and key. Father is always complaining about it when he wants to learn from old cases.”

Simon’s whole body and soul deflated. “Oh. That sucks.”

“But,” Agatha walked towards the shelf of leather bound books, “I bet my father made notes in his journals. He’s obsessive about those things.”

“Yes, yes!” Simon suddenly felt alive again. He scrambled to his feet and followed her. “I remember, he was even writing in it during our graduation ceremony.”

Agatha sighed as she ran a finger over the journal’s spines, each branded with a date range. “Exactly. Mother and I were ready to kill him that day. What date are you looking for?”

“Uh, August 1002.” And like it was sent from the heavens, Simon saw that exact month and year stamped on the journal right in front of him. “Like this one says!”

He plucked it off the shelf and rushed over to the desk. Agatha stood behind him while Penny sat on the desk. Simon furiously flipped through the pages. It was a bit hard to read Lord Wellbelove’s chicken scratch writing (like Simon was one to talk). But soon he saw the word “fire”, and stopped dead.

August 10th, 1002, Final Conclusions from Palace Fire

After a thorough examination of the debris, I can conclude that Queen Natasha and Prince Tyrannus were the only deaths from the fire. Everyone else suffered mild to severe injuries, but are recovering well. Final conclusions:

H.S Queen Natasha O. Grimm-Pitch: Death by asphyxiation, most likely from smoke inhalation, body burnt but recognizable

H.R.H Prince Tyrannus B. Grimm-Pitch: Assumed deceased, body most likely too buried beneath too much debris

Despite the Prince’s body being unfound, Lord Grimm has said there is no hope his son is alive. He is too grief stricken and morose to continue. Agreed with King Presumptive David to cease debris search. Tyrannus will be declared officially deceased. My findings will be put in Court records. Hopefully the prince’s body will be found one day so I can examine it properly.

Simon’s jaw was firmly on the ground. And the ground felt like it had fallen out from underneath him so he hit the centre of the world. He read the words over and over, but it stayed the same. The proof before felt like poor, dirty scraps compared to this.

“Holy shit,” Penny whispered, “his body was never found.”

“Yeah,” Simon said, voice shaky.

“Why is that important?” Agatha asked as she leaned on Simon’s shoulder.

“It’s, uh, part of that long story, Ags.” Simon twisted his head to her. “Think your dad would notice if this journal went missing for a couple days?”

Agatha shook her head. “Definitely not. He’s too busy right now, he hasn’t been in this office in days. And I really do expect a long explanation later, Si.”

“Of course, of course.” He squeezed her hand with a big smile on his face. “Thank you, Agatha.” He looked back at the journal, and something caught his attention. He tapped Penny’s knee. “Pen, look, the Prince’s middle initial.”

He held up the journal to her, tapping his name. She took it and squinted, then chuckled under her breath. “Wow, that’s...quite the coincidence. It’s just an initial though. Agatha, do you know what the Prince’s full middle name is?”

“No, no clue. My father would know, I guess, but he’s still in the meeting with King David”

“Dammit,” Simon grumbled, picking at his nails. He wanted to see Baz tonight, before the Winter Ball. Before this damn engagement was announced before every member of the court.

Simon’s head bolted up. “Aren’t Lady Pitch and Lord Grimm here today? For the ball tomorrow night?”

“Um, they should be,” Agatha said. “No clue where they are though.”

Simon snapped the journal shut, the sharp sound reverberating in the quiet room. “I might know. And I have to talk to one of them.”

“Well, I have to get to work,” Penny said, jumping off the desk. She put a comforting hand on Simon’s arm. “Good luck with all this, Si.”

Simon squeezed her wrist. “Thanks, Pen.” He stood up and immediately pulled Agatha into a tight hug. She hugged him back, though with a bit of hesitation, which Simon understood. She had no idea what was going on, but she was willing to help him anyway. And he really loved her for it. He would tell her absolutely everything later. “Thank you, Aggie. You’ve really helped.”

“Welcome, Si,” she said. “Whatever this is, I hope you solve it.”

He chuckled as he pulled back. “Me too. I gotta run. I’ll see you later, alright?”

She nodded and delicately patted his shoulder. “You certainly will.”

Simon nodded back, then dashed out through the door. He had a vague idea where he wanted to go. And weirdly enough, his vague ideas were usually helpful. Hopefully this one was too.

———————————————

Simon was damn tired. He’d been wandering the guest wing for almost half an hour now and still no sign of Lord Grimm or Lady Pitch. Lord Grimm was probably holed up somewhere. He was notoriously anti-social at these sort of events, only coming out of obligation, and Lady Pitch wasn’t much better. Simon barely knew what Lady Pitch looked like, anyway. She made a point of coming to the castle as little as possible, and was probably only here after begging from Lord Grimm to be there for support during the Winter Ball. Simon guessed she looked like Queen Natasha and Baz. But even if that was true, this castle was so huge.

He turned a corner and slumped against the wall. This felt hopeless. It seemed only fair that after so many victories he’d get one defeat. It was just sad that he had come to a screeching halt this close to the end. This close to what he hoped was the final confirmation, the last clue that Baz was Prince Tyrannus, that he had a family. All he needed was to talk to one of the Grimm-Pitches. If only they weren’t so dark and mysterious and hard to find. Cook Pritchard was a Pitch cousin or something right? Maybe that would be easier. Maybe his feet would hurt less.

“This place is disgusting,” a woman’s voice grumbled. “Malcolm owes me big time.”

The voice’s owner turned the corner Simon was hiding in. She was a bit shorter than Simon, with reddish-gold skin and black hair, save for a single stark blonde streak. Simon caught a glimpse of her deep sea grey eye.

“Lady Pitch!” he shouted, rushing towards her.

Lady Pitch jumped and spun around, eyes wide and hands in a defensive position. Her mouth morphed into a scowl she fully took in who Simon was. She put a hand on the hip of her black trousers. (She was also known for openly flouting social conventions, especially when it came to clothes.)

“Well,” she growled, “if it isn’t Davy’s little exploding orphan princeling.”

Simon instinctively pulled in on himself. “Y-Yeah, it’s me. It’s an honour to meet you Lady Pitch, we’ve...never met me before, I think.”

“No. Because I didn’t want to.” Simon flinched slightly. She took a step forward, looming over him even with her lesser height. “Why are you bothering me, princeling? Don’t you have another family’s dignity to steal?”

“Um, I, uh, I, have a question actually, that I think you could answer, maybe.”

“Oh? I thought the Pitches had nothing to offer except taxes and a ready made kingdom for your father to snatch.”

Simon rubbed his burning neck. “Uh, he’s not technically my father...”

“Whatever,” she spat. “Your adopted father. Doesn’t change that you’re his heir and lackey.”

“Y-Yeah, I guess...”

She took another menacing step forward, both hands on her hips now. “So, what in the gods’ names would you want from me? Or do you get off on wasting my damn time?”

Simon gulped. And he thought Baz could be intimidating. He clutched the journal to his chest, the closest thing he had to a security blanket right now. “I wanted to ask you something about your nephew. Prince Tyrannus, I mean.”

“I only hav- had one nephew, princeling,” Fiona growled, arms crossing over her chest as she shoved her face forward. “Why the Hell do want to know about him? Your King has made it his mission to erase my sister and nephew from history. Looking for some way to resurrect their memory so you can desecrate it?”

Simon violently shook his head. “No! No, of course not, I-”

“Then what? Think my dead family is a fun little curiosity for you to play with?!”

“No! Just...” He took a deep breath. He was this close to blurting out the truth, but that would probably make Lady Pitch even more angry. She would accuse Simon of lying, and that was obviously incredibly counter productive. He took another breath and kept his eyes shut, focusing on his words. “I’m...I’m not like King David. I don’t want to forget the past. I-I want to learn about it. And from what I know about Queen Natasha, she’s someone I could learn from. I could learn from her ideas. And Prince Tyrannus was only five when he...died. He doesn’t deserve to be forgotten, I-I think.”

Simon looked at the ground as the silence stretched between them. It filled the space with an invisible weight the crushed Simon’s lungs and dried out his throat. Eventually, with a lot of built up courage, Simon lifted his head. Surprisingly, Lady Pitch didn’t look angry. Her eyes were narrowed, mouth a thin line. It was critical, but not in a malicious way. Just a curious way, trying to figure Simon out. Simon was familiar with that look. From Penny, from Baz, from lots of people trying to understand him. Few people did. He hoped Lady Pitch would be one of them.

“What do you want to know?” She asked, voice biting. But she still asked.

Simon let out a small sigh of relief. His grip on the journal loosened. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me before you ask, I may not have the answer. Now ask me your question before I change my mind.”

Simon nodded vigorously. “Right, right, sorry.” He rubbed at his neck, gulping before mustering up the words. “Uh, I was looking at old stuff about Prince Tyrannus, and I noticed that he was sometimes called ‘Tyrannus B. Grimm-Pitch’. So I was wondering what the B stood for...?”

The silence resumed. Lady Pitch didn’t look critical though. Instead, she looked very, very confused. “That’s what you want to know about? What my dead nephew’s middle name was? Really?”

Simon’s cheeks heated up. He went back to clutching the book. “Y-Yeah, I was just...curious. I can’t find his full name. He...he seemed like a nice kid. I was wondering what his full middle name was...” Lady Pitch was still looking at him like he was insane. Simon’s entire face was flushed. “N-Nevermind, I’ll just go now. Thank you for your time, Lady Pitch.”

Simon spun on his feels and started speed walking away. This was a dumb idea. He had enough proof anyway. This was just some sort of stupid desperate act for one more confirmation, he supposed. He didn’t need to know. He-

“Basilton.”

Simon stopped in his tracks and slowly turned around. Lady Pitch was still standing there with arms over her chest. But she didn’t look angry, or sad, or anything really. Just neutral. Which was honestly better than the other options.

“What?” Simon said stupidly. He was still processing.

“Prince Tyrannus’ middle name,” she said with a hint of bite. “It was Basilton, or Basil for short. That’s what we in the castle usually called him. Does that answer your question?”

Simon stayed frozen for a moment, but once his brain came back to life, he nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, thank you, very much.”

She didn’t say you’re welcome. Simon didn’t expect her to. But she did nod once, and that was the closest Simon knew he’d get to those actual words. “Hope you end up being better than Davy, princeling.”

“Uh, I’ll try.”

“Good.” She turned on her heels and walked away. And that was that.

Simon let out a long breath, resisting the urge to collapse to the floor. He was both filled with relief and buzzing with excitement. That was it. That had to be it. There was absolutely no denying it; Prince Tyrannus was not dead. He was very much breathing, cursed but otherwise well. And he damn well wouldn’t be cursed for much longer.

———————————————

AN: Fiona would've probably fought Simon right there if she could lol. Hope you liked that! I know this is a weird chapter. I'm nervous about publishing it. It was originally linked with chapter 14 but then it would've been like 27 pages long so I had to split them. I might publish chapter 14 a bit early, depending on how much of my essay I get done. Either way, see you guys next time :)

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #agatha wellbelove #fluff #angst #fantasy au #The Black Swan #mysnowbazfic

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lilacmoon83 · 5 years

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Dreaming Out Loud

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Chapter 93: Skies Are Blue

The Enchanted Forest

27 Years Before the Dark Curse

Cora looked out over her Kingdom from the balcony in the palace chambers of the Queen. Two years ago, she had married Prince Leopold and their coronation as King and Queen had happened quickly after that. Their daughter, Princess Zelena had been born not long after that.

Almost from the beginning though, their marriage had settled into indifference. For the most part, Cora was fine with that. She had what she wanted. She was Queen and her daughter would be Queen someday. The Kingdom was none the wiser that Zelena was not biologically Leopold's daughter and that secret had died with Princess Eva, which she took great satisfaction in.

But with Leopold being away and their marriage quickly becoming stale, Cora had briefly sought comfort in the arms of someone else. Another Prince actually by the name of Henry. And the dalliance resulted in another daughter. Henry had agreed with Cora that it could not come out that their daughter Regina was not Leopold's. They had agreed that not even Leopold could know, but Henry still yearned to be a part of his daughter's life. So Cora hired him as caregiver for her daughters. It was not very common for a man to hold a position as a caregiver or nanny for noble children, but it wasn't unheard of. Leopold didn't protest, because the girls seemed to take to Henry very well and he remained none the wiser.

Regina was born two years after Zelena and now, her girls were twelve and ten. Zelena was a natural when it came to magic and she had developed a wicked streak, one which Cora encouraged. If she had learned one thing from her mentor, only ruthlessness in this world would get you what you wanted. And that was certainly true for her. She planned to make sure Zelena knew that and did what she had to in order to stay on top. Regina was much kinder and gentler and she often thought that Henry's tenderness with her would only result in making her soft. But as much as she had considered getting rid of him, she knew how much Regina loved him, even if she didn't know the truth. She knew eventually she would need to send him away so she could mold her daughter in her image and ready her to seek her own Throne. Zelena would ascend to her Throne one day and Regina would have to marry into a Kingdom somewhere. And Cora was going to see to it that she ensured both.

"My my...you've certainly done well for yourself, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin trilled. Cora turned and smirked at him.

"Hello Rumple," she purred in response, as he observed Zelena's practice with magic below. Regina was having a riding lesson and showed little interest in magic.

"She had a natural talent," he mentioned. Cora smiled proudly.

"That's why I want you to take her on as your student," Cora replied. He giggled.

"And what, pray tell, would I get out of an arraignment like that?" he questioned. She smirked.

"I know what you need, Rumple...and Zelena can do it for you," Cora responded.

"She can cast your curse," she added, as he looked down into the courtyard again, where the redheaded princess vicious zapped a poor bird with her green magic.

"A bit savage that one," he commented distastefully. A curse under Zelena...what a nightmare that would be. On the other hand...if it got him what he wanted and back to Bae...he could hardly refuse.

"She lacks finesse and discipline," he remarked.

"So did I...but you taught me so well," she purred.

"Fine...bring her to my castle, twice a week, and we'll see if she has what I need," he decided, as he grabbed her arm roughly.

"But if she crosses me the way you did...there will be no mercy for her, dearie. If you think I cannot find another to cast my curse, you are quite mistaken," he warned. She smirked.

"Duly noted," she responded, as if she was hardly worried. Rumple disappeared at that point, but continued to watch Zelena.

Truthfully, she was the best option, but he wasn't about to admit that to Cora. He had briefly considered King Eli's new Queen, Ravenna, but he quickly determined that her psychotic rage toward her now two-year-old step daughter wouldn't bode well at all. Teaching her magic would lead to catastrophe and most certainly Snow White's death. And he knew from his visions that little Snow White was extremely important to his entire plan. Without her...there would be no Savior one day and then his curse would be moot. But as he watched Zelena, he wondered if this one would be much better. Still...it was something to work with...for now. And if it turned out that she was too dangerous, then he'd take care of her if she threatened his plans...

~*~

The Enchanted Forest

19 Years Before the Dark Curse

Ten-year-old David peered inside the tavern and spotted his father at the bar, drinking again. Disappointment rooted inside him, as he faced the reality of all the broken promises his father had made to him. Four years ago, when he was six, Robert had been going for supplies and promised David that when he returned things would be better. That he would be better. But when he returned, Robert seemed like an even more broken man, reeking of alcohol and returned with no supplies. He knew his mother had been livid and as he got older, he knew more had happened on that trip than he was told.

What he couldn't know was that his father had journeyed to Pleasure Island to try and retrieve the son they had given up to the King. A brother that David knew nothing of. But the King had taken him back and Robert barely escaped that island with his life. First the King had ordered he be killed, but then pirates had killed the guards in order to steal anything of value from them. The Captain had almost killed him so as to not leave any witnesses, but a magical puppet of all things, had pleaded with the Captain to spare him, imploring that a young boy would be fatherless without him. Though Robert had told him the same thing, the puppet boy had managed to strike a chord somewhere within the cold-hearted pirate Captain and Robert was spared that night.

Unfortunately, he had not been able to keep his promise to David. He had been so depressed by everything and failing James that he lost himself in a bottle again. He even had the presence of mind to realize that ultimately he was failing David too by breaking his promise of sobriety to Ruth and David. When he had returned, he came back broke, drunk, and with no supplies. Putting David to bed that night hungry had been the last straw for Ruth. When Robert awoke from his stupor the next morning, she was gone and had taken David with her. He searched the nearby town, but no one could tell him where they had gotten off to. He didn't find them and knew he only had himself to blame.

Meanwhile, Ruth had taken David and made her way into town, looking for work. She surprisingly found it when a woman overheard her begging for work in the marketplace. The woman had taken an immediate interest her and her little boy. She told Ruth that she lived alone on a modest estate in the countryside and needed someone to help with the upkeep. She offered room and board, as well as meals for her and her son. At this point, Ruth was leery of something that sounded too good to be true, but accepted and they went with the woman, who told them that her name was Serafina. That stunned Ruth to her core.

"You can't be...Serafina. Queen Serafina?" Ruth questioned, as she almost felt the need to kneel.

"Not anymore," the kind woman replied. She was beautiful, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and she wore a nice, but modest dress. Kindness radiated from her, making Ruth almost sure that any kind of marriage she had to King George had to have been arraigned.

"Queen Serafina...I heard she died four years ago," Ruth said in confusion.

"When I failed to produce an heir, we adopted a baby boy," she said, as her eyes watered, especially when she looked at David.

"He was my world and I was so thankful that he had come to me. But my husband is a monster that intended to raise my sweet little boy in his image. I protested and planned to run away with my son. But I was caught," she revealed.

"Word spread through the Kingdom that I was ill and the King would soon be a widower. But in reality, the King's men ripped me away from my son that night and I was to be taken to a secluded place where they would commence with my execution," she continued.

"Then you escaped?" Ruth asked. She nodded.

"One of the Knights had always fancied me and was very kind. He told the others that he would carry out the sentence alone. He somehow convinced the other Knights that I deserved to die with dignity. Once we were alone, he told me that my family's house, though abandoned, still stood. He gave me an allotment he had managed to stipend from treasury and told me to go," she replied, as a few tears fell.

"I almost refused, for I thought life without my son was no life that I wanted. But he told me that I had to live for James...that perhaps we could be reunited someday. So I have been living in exile, hoping that someday, I may be reunited with him," she stated. Ruth put her hands on David's shoulders.

"Then you know who I am?" Ruth questioned. She nodded.

"You're the woman that gave me my son," Serafina replied. She nodded sadly.

"And now you want my David," Ruth realized, jumping to conclusions.

"No Ruth...I promise I would never try to take David from you. But I know that you and your son deserve better than the lives you have. I believe that your husband loves you, unlike mine, but he is a broken man that cannot take care of you," she said.

"But I can," she added.

"What do you want in return?" Ruth questioned.

"Company...a friend. Even family someday if it happens. I just don't want to be alone anymore and I know that you don't want that either. I also know that you cannot take one more night of your son suffering from hunger pangs and I can't stand that either," she pleaded. Ruth softened and saw the sorrow and sincerity in this woman's eyes.

"And we won't keep Robert from David if he wants to see his father," she added.

"If Robert can manage to stay sober...he can see David then," Ruth replied, with bitterness. She smiled kindly.

"Perhaps you can help me make dinner then. I am afraid I am not so good in the kitchen," Serafina said.

"Mama...I'm hungry," David said, as he rubbed his eyes. He was also tired, as they had been walking for a long time. Serafina smiled.

"Well...we cannot have that. Come...my home is your home now," she offered, as they followed her inside.

That had been four years ago and David had only seen Robert a handful of times. He had lost the farm and went to work on a neighboring farm, when he managed to be sober. Ruth was getting tired of Robert disappointing their son by failing to stay sober and missing visits. And so was David, for he had sneaked away that very day to find his father, if for no other reason as to see why he kept missing his visits.

"Boy...what the hell do you think you're doing in here?" the bartender bellowed, as he grabbed the boy's arm.

"Easy Hal...he's my boy," Robert drawled, as he stumbled toward them.

"This ain't no place for brats...get him out of here," Hal scolded, as Robert took him outside.

"David...what are you doing here?" he asked, as he squinted. The sun was like a thousand knives piercing his head.

"I wanted to see you...you were supposed to come visit today," David replied. Robert sighed.

"I'm sorry David...but does your mother and that woman know where you are?" he asked, saying the last part with bitterness. He blamed Serafina for his broken family, though he knew deep down that it was him that drove Ruth away. David looked away.

"No...I sneaked away while mama was tending to the chickens and mama Sera went to the market," he confessed.

"Mama Sera…" Robert muttered bitterly.

"David…" a voice said.

"Speak of the devil," Robert murmured, as Serafina stood there with her hands on her hips.

"Uh oh…" the boy said.

"Uh oh is right...your mother is probably frantic right about now," she scolded.

"I'm sorry Mama Sera," he said. She sighed and gave him a piece of silver.

"Go to the bakery stand and buy the bread. Then we'll go home," she said. He nodded and hurried off, as she stayed behind to speak to Robert.

"Guess my visit is canceled," he drawled.

"It wouldn't be if you were sober…" she scolded.

"I don't need a lecture, especially not from the woman that stole my family," he retorted.

"I did not steal them from you," she protested.

"Oh, so you're not sleeping with my wife?" he questioned.

"Ex-wife...and Ruth and I fell in love. We did not plan it, but it happened. This is not about us though. It's about David," she responded sternly.

"I love my son," he insisted.

"Then get sober," she responded.

"Don't you think I want to?" he asked.

"Of course...but you can't seem to shake your demons. You don't think I miss and am just as worried about James as you are?" she asked in return.

"Don't bring up James to me," he growled.

"We both love James and wish we could take him away from George. But at the same time, we cannot neglect David. All your son wants is your love. It's not too late, but it soon will be...David is growing up and right now, he doesn't resent you. But he will...especially if he finds out he's not enough for you," she admonished. As much as he hated, he knew she was right.

"If you can refrain from a drink the rest of the day...you may come for supper tonight. It would make his day," she said, as she went to find him. Robert watched her go and saw David take the hand she offered him. He wanted to be better...he had to be better.

~*~

Zeus looked on with disdain from his Throne upon Mount Olympus. If there was one thing that Zeus had never counted on when he allowed Hades to abduct Persephone centuries ago was her actually falling in love with him. That had led to her restarting his heart and allowing him to occasionally leave the Underworld. And he believed it was all because of the little demi-spawn between them. They had brought the little half mortal spawn to see Demeter and the other Goddesses that just simply loved to dote on Persephone's fair daughter. It was pathetic. Not only had his brother forgiven Persephone for cheating on him in the first place, he actually loved the little waif.

"It's sickening…" Deimos mentioned, as he stood dutifully beside Zeus' Throne.

"Yes...quite," Zeus agreed.

"Word has it that Queen Ravenna loathes the little retch too," Deimos mentioned.

"Which is irrelevant. Persephone is powerful...and has the backing of almost all the Gods. They prefer her over me. If I were to even arrange for something terrible to befall her precious little Snow, it would lead to a revolt," Zeus warned.

"Then we find a way to get rid of Persephone and seal Hades back where he belongs. Then no one else would dare to challenge you," Deimos responded.

"And you have a way to do this?" Zeus questioned. Deimos smirked evilly.

"I have some thoughts," he responded.

~*~

"Oh Snow...every time I see you, you've grown so much," Demeter gushed.

"I've missed you, Nana," Snow said, as Demeter hugged her and then she saw Artemis.

"Aunt Arty!" she called, as she hugged the other woman.

"There's our snowdrop...I have something for you," Artemis said. Persephone smiled and looked on.

"So...I suppose you won't be staying long," Demeter mentioned.

"You know we're pushing it by coming here at all. Zeus looks ready to toss lightning bolts at us," Persephone replied.

"It's mostly me. He hates that I can leave my station now," Hades interjected.

"We'll be nearby at our cottage, mother. It's more comfortable and secluded, with a lot of room for Snow to play," Persephone replied.

"As long as it's safe...please let me put more protection spells up," Demeter pleaded. Persephone sighed.

"We'll be fine, Mother," she insisted.

"I don't like the disdain that Queen Ravenna has for my granddaughter. That horrid woman would hurt her if she thought she could get away with it," Demeter warned.

"We don't agree on much, but I'm with her," Hades agreed. Persephone sighed.

"Believe me...I don't like that woman either or the treatment Snow receives. I've already talked with Eli and believe me, I'll be having my own talk with his sanctimonious wife when I return Snow in six months," she said.

"That's my point, darling...I don't think Snow should go back there," Demeter pleaded.

"Mother...I can't take her away from Eli. He loves her very much too," Persephone responded.

"And I'm not saying you should. But please...go the edge of realms. It would be a wonderful place to raise her and you could give Eli access to it any time he wanted to see her. It would be a safe place and only people you allow access could come there," Demeter reasoned. Persephone looked thoughtful for a moment, as she watched her daughter.

"You know the ominous warnings I have received from the Oracle," Hades reminded.

"The Oracle is never clear...she only speaks in riddles," Persephone argued.

"Perhaps, my love...but Snow's future is clouded in what could be an exorbitant amount of danger, simply based on who she is," he reminded, as he took her hands.

"Before she was born...I could have gone down a very dark path, but it was the Oracle that showed me a clear vision of the life I could have if I let go of my thirst for revenge. I saw happiness and that happiness was you...and our little Snow," he continued.

"I love her as my own and I cannot bare it if anything were to happen to her," he pleaded. Persephone still looked torn. She promised Eli that she wouldn't take Snow away...and she knew he would see this as exactly that. But at the same time, she had to protect her little one.

"Mama...Papa Hades...look what Aunt Arty gave me!" Snow said with excitement, as she showed them the bow and quiver of arrows.

"Ah...the perfect weapon for a Princess such as you, sweet pea," he praised.

"Aunt Arty is going to teach me to use it, right Aunt Arty?" Snow asked.

"Of course, sweet pea," Artemis answered, as she looked at her sister.

"We'll retire to the cottage for now...then I'll summon Eli that we need to meet," she decided. Demeter hugged her daughter.

"I know it's hard that this is the reality...but this will be for the best. She must be protected, sweetheart," Demeter implored.

"What have you seen, Mother?" Persephone asked.

"Athena will only say that Snow has a grand destiny that's written in the stars. She will find a love so incredibly true that it will create light magic in this dark world. And that light may be the only thing that can keep darkness from ruling. She must be protected," Demeter revealed. Hades and Persephone exchanged a glance and he put his arms around her.

"She will be...no harm will come to her as long as we draw breath," he assured, unaware of the menacing stare of Deimos in the near distance.

~*~

"Mama!" David called, as they arrived home.

"Oh David...do you have any idea how worried I've been?" she scolded.

"I'm sorry Mama," he said apologetically. Ruth sighed. It was very hard to stay angry at David.

"Go inside and wash up for supper," she ordered, sending him on his way, as Serafina approached and kissed her.

"He went to the tavern, didn't he?" Ruth questioned.

"I'm afraid so. Robert was there," Serafina replied.

"Drunk I suppose," Ruth said bitterly. She nodded.

"I implored him to get sober for David. I told him it wasn't too late and we both know it soon will be," she replied.

"You mean if our son finds out he has a twin we gave up and he's never been enough for his father," Ruth said bitterly. Serafina put her hands on Ruth's shoulders.

"Robert realizes that this is how David will see it...but there is still hope for him to be better," she urged. Ruth shook her head.

"I want to believe that...for David's sake," she said.

"Then believe it…" Robert said, as they saw him standing there in the near distance.

"I can't let you break our son's heart again...not with another one of your empty promises," Ruth said bitterly.

"And I won't...not another drop and this time, I'll make it stick," he pleaded.

"And what makes this time different from all the others?" Ruth demanded to know.

"Because I know what a terrible father I've been and I realized that I'd rather have one son doesn't hate me than one that does and another that may never know me. Please...I hated my father and I've become him now. I don't want my son to hate me," he pleaded. Serafina looked at her and nodded, as Ruth sighed.

"Wash up for dinner," she told him. He let out a breath in relief.

"One drop...and you're out," she warned. He nodded.

"Fair enough...and I won't let him down this time," Robert promised.

"We'll see," Ruth responded, as they went inside the house. And for David's sake, she sincerely hoped that he was sincere about his promise this time.

~*~

"Wow…" Emma uttered, as her head was spinning from all she had seen already.

"So Regina was born after all," she mentioned. Athena nodded.

"Zelena may have turned back time, but messing with time like this is having some very unique effects," the Goddess answered.

"But...it's not all bad. I mean, my Mom is so happy. Hades...loves her and Persephone. And my dad...I know what he went through. I mean Grandma Ruth did her best...but his childhood was no picnic before," Emma mentioned. The Goddess nodded.

"That's all very true. Robert lives, despite still being a drunk. But David has two mothers now and lives comfortably. Even I did not foresee Queen Serafina escaping King George's death sentence," she mentioned.

"Yeah...that was pretty wild," Emma commented.

"Looks like Deimos is still scheming though," she mentioned.

"Yes...that did not change and he will always be a danger," Athena responded.

"Much can still happen though and there is no telling what other changes may occur," she added. Emma nodded.

"So what you're saying is I need to keep watching?" Emma asked. Athena smiled and nodded.

"Much can still happen and the moment for you to change everything back is not yet upon us," she replied, as they continued to watch events unfold in this new reality.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #Emma Swan #AU #Greek Mythology meets fairy tales #HadesxPersephone #Charming family #romance #adventure #family #dreaming out loud

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benbarnesescape · 6 years

Text

You Do Something To Me

Billy Russo x Curvy Reader

A Billy Russo AU

Summary: You own a bakery in Brooklyn. He’s a private investigator that comes in to enjoy your baked goods. What happens when the stars shift and your paths intertwine? Will love be enough to handle the dangerous world that Billy’s life is?

Warnings: M for Mature (Language, Sexual Themes)

This story is created in celebration of Ben’s Birthday

Chapter 1 – Mad About the Boy

Private Investigator Russo was the kind of trouble your mother warned you about. He was all parts that 50’s black and white films stirred in you – dark and brooding and mysterious. Enigmatically charismatic but always kept that part of his personality hidden for the rest of the world, glimmers of it rising to the surface when he was around close friends and colleagues that he trusted. The sort of man that knew what he wanted and knew how to get it, that suppressed his intelligence under quick wit humor and was the kind of handsome that made you believe you were in a 1950’s Noir film. Perhaps that was the biggest tragedy of all of this.

He was so wretchedly handsome that he should be illegal. Hickory eyes that felt predatory always twinkled with intellect and amusement. A shadowed beard that he always kept maintained, his stylish haircut that would look like a hipster on anyone else made him distinguished, his thick dark mane and buzz cut sides balancing his look in all the right ways. He had the kind of lips that you just wanted a taste – just a small one – and a lean muscular frame that you knew when he moved revealed his sculpted muscles, the strength contained by the seams of the button ups he wore. He reminded you of a panther. A dangerous, dark panther that you wanted to be hunted by.

But that was the fantasy. Because desire or not, that wasn’t your luck.

So you lied to yourself. It was a lot simpler to tell yourself that you didn’t care about Billy then to say it out loud. And it seemed to work. Your natural pride winning over the fact of your heart; that when Billy entered a room you felt like your tongue went twisted and your legs turned into melted butter. But better that then admitting out loud to yourself that you were so love struck after a man and not just any man, the handsome popular detective that most women this side of the island lusted after. Forget about it.

“I don’t know Y/N,” your best friend and co-owner of the restaurant you owned Valerie would say anytime the topic arose. “I think he might have a crush on you.” Oh the fanciful thoughts that spread through your mind after she would tell you that.

A Forbidden Taste was the name of the restaurant you both owned. In the mornings, it was a busy bakery, attracting a clientele of different New Yorkers that were either already living or willing to venture to Brooklyn for, and you were quoting a review from a magazine ‘The best chocolate croissants and coffee this side of the Hudson’. That was how you killed time between the hours of 6 a.m. to 1 p.m. Then it closed for five hours, before it was opened at 6 for dinner and any late night caps to amuse the people. Where they could sip wine and enjoy tapas or the pleasure of a full meal. When you and Valerie had saved up for the restaurant fresh out of college, promising each other that you would make it happen, you had thought it would become a lofty dream. That you would be lucky enough to work in a prominent restaurant anywhere in America that would make you happy.

But now you were thirty and though you slept less hours than you did even in college, had flour constantly in your hair and spent more time worrying over paying the mortgage versus your own rent, you had somehow done it. You owned a restaurant that fused both good evening dining with delicious breakfast tapestries and all it cost you was…your personal life. Sacrifice worth it.

Which was why the deep crush you had on one Billy Russo had taken you off guard.

It wasn’t that you didn’t date. You had, plenty of times throughout the years especially through the luxury of apps making it even simpler. It was nothing ever too serious – the men in your life didn’t like that you were so involved with your business, that you earned more than them and was more ambitious and, did they never forget to mention, how somehow a middle class thirty year old was able to own their company. It was fine, you could take affection where you could. Except Billy made you think more on the possibility.

It had been eight months ago. Frank Castle, his partner, had heard of your place through Curtis. Curtis, who had sold you insurance for your property and become one of your favorite people, had been the best marketing team you and Valerie could have ever wanted, and all it cost was an occasional box of his favorite peanut butter cookies or croissant or dinner on the house. Curtis was the kind of man this country had been founded on – a vet who knew the sacrifice of being a good man. He had told his best friend Frank, had been mentioning it to him for months and it had resulted in Castle and Russo coming in on a cool, autumn morning.

Valerie had noticed them easily, too handsome gentleman who walked with confidence and grace. They wore suits, the kind of suits that you saw on shows like Madmen and fedora hats to match, their hands stuffed in their pockets as they surveyed the menu. They had settled on something savory, you remembered because you had come out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of whatever it was and had looked into his eyes.

Deep, dark hickory pools that barreled into your soul and made you trip, barely dropping the fresh batch of whatever as you caught your breath as you mumbled your apologies to Valerie who had thrown you a side eye.

That had been the beginning.

At first, they would drop by every other day for coffee and the same sort of savory pastry – Monday through Friday. You spent most of your time in the kitchen, in the back supervising and baking so Valerie always had the delight of seeing them.

And then they changed their schedule.

For the days they wouldn’t come in the morning they would come in at night, typically around 9:30 or 10 and always for tapas and drinks. American Whiskey straight and the variety sampler of tapas. Sometimes Curtis would come with them. Other times Frank’s wife, Maria.

Billy always came alone.

You knew because in the evenings you were at the register, helping to wait tables and manage the front end and bartend, if needed. You always, somehow, ended up making small talk with Billy. Typically while refilling the tables glass with water or when he would check out or was too impatient to wait for a waitress to replenish his glass of whiskey.

The talks were always brief, insightful and made you pant for more.

This is what you’re thinking about Saturday night, the late night rush slowly dwindling down as you sit in a corner, a glass of chardonnay beside you as you looked over the menu for the upcoming week. Really you were glossing over the paper, sketching small designs delicately on the side of the ivory paper, your mind a million miles away.

The balcony was open and diners were enjoying the late evening breeze, how the humid wind mingled with the air conditioned restaurant as they spoke lowly, whispering to each other that it almost felt like secrets once the words hit your ears. You’re too focused on your writing, too enraptured by the couple you were sketching out that you almost don’t hear the clearing of his throat. It nearly makes you jump out of your skin as you move your hand from resting on your chin, startled eyes snapping up to meet the dark lobes that was watching you with mild interest.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” his voice is like the expensive whiskey he always orders, smooth and husky as he clears his throat. “I just wanted to ask if you wanted company?”

He’s not wearing his normal attire, at least not completely. He still has on the suit pants, midnight black today, that is kept up with suspenders that stand out against his startling white shirt though the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. . He’s holding his jacket, thrown over his shoulder that reveals his gun holster though currently it’s empty. His hair is still smoothed back in that stylish coif that makes you want to run your hands through it but somehow he looks less business like, more casual. There’s a glass of what you know to be whiskey in his other hand and his eyes look hopeful as they look down at you.

You find your breath and nod, motioning to the seat on the other side of your booth and he scoots in with finesse as he lays his jacket on the cool leather beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not working. You’re always moving around when I come in.” his voice is amused and curious as he takes a sip and you chuckle as you fall back into your seat, hands still doodling at your drawing.

“I should be working,” you give a sigh and shrug. “But it’s been a long week. Valerie was out for most of the week, back to see her family so I’ve been working unforgiving doubles. Which had been fine but I guess it’s just caught up with me.”

He gives a small grin and nods before gesturing to the menu,

“You re-designing the menu? Didn’t knew you drew.”

You laugh, shaking your head.

“No, nothing like that. Just doodling. I’m not good or anything – it’s a hobby. But it’s fun to doodle, to spark my creativity in way that’s not intuitive for me.”

You motion toward his suit, grabbing your wine and asking,

“I’ve never seen you here on a weekend. What has been so important that you’re still working on a Saturday evening?”

He laughs, relaxing into his seat before shrugging.

“Observant are we,” he take a sip of his drink, “I was working a case and got what I needed a lot quicker than I thought. I was so close and….never really had the courage to drop by on a weekend I figured why not. A night cap would be refreshing.”

You nod as you take another sip, looking over him cautiously over the rim of your glass. You want to ask him more, want to ask why he never had the courage and what new case could he reveal some details to, like Valerie was always trying to pull out of him but that insecure part of you that always closed down the conversation stops you. It’s not the insecurity that you’re not good enough – you know that you’re beautiful and intelligent and smart. It’s that small piece of you that always stops you when you like someone more than you are willing to let on and you instead give him a small smile as you flicker your eyes beyond him.

You both fall into an easy silence, drinking in the sounds of the late evening before he clears his throat again, causing you to look back over at him.

“Soooo,” he asks, trying to break the silence. “Do you like music?”

You lift a curious eye brow. Of course you did. He knew that. One of your first conversations had been around the kind of music you liked, what you would play in the restaurant even if Valerie wasn’t a fan of it.

“Yea. Doesn’t everybody?” he chuckles again, nervously as he lifts a hand, rubbing it behind his neck.

“Ah yes, I guess they do. The thing is, I got these tickets to a ummm…..Herbie Hancock at the Concert Hall for next Saturday. And I know how much you like jazz and Herbie in particular so I figured if you wanted….I know you work a lot, you work hard but I figured I’d ask if you wanted to go. With me?”

It takes you a minute to comprehend what he’s asking, to fight the urge to look behind you and not ask, “Who – do you mean me?” You play it cool instead, opting to instead taking another long sip, slightly tilting your head to the side as you drink him in. You’d never seen Billy so nervous – he was the kind of man that flirted with any women who gave him a second look or didn’t, the kind of man that spoke with confidence and surety. Now, he looked at you like any other man who was asking someone new out on a date and wasn’t sure what they were going to say. You knew the look – saw it every day in New York.

And he was being this vulnerable for you.

“You asking me out on a date Russo?”

His face heats up, tomato red and your stomach lunges as he smiles wider, his eyes avoiding you, his right hand rubbing the back of his neck even more furiously.

“Ahhhhh I guess I am. I mean, I am. I…would you want to? I’d treat you to dinner and everything.”

He has that New York accent that just drips with a confident SWAG, the kind of voice that always makes your heart lunge. His eyes flicker back to you cautiously and you smile as you get up, gathering your paper and throwing back your chardonnay. You walk a few meters before you stop, bending down and whispering,

“I’d love to. I’ll leave my cell with Kelly at the register. Shoot me a text and we can work out details, I need to start prepping for closure.”

And then you walk as quickly and coolly as you can back to your office because you’d be damned if you don’t text Valerie what just happened.

Tag List: @binbonsadoration @la-fille-en-aiguilles @delos-mio @just-nikkii, @ladyblablabla, @drinix, @youveseen–thebutcher, @marauderskeeper, @thesandbeneathmytoes, @cutie-bug, @banditthewriter @presstocontinue @benbxrnes @hxbbit @padfootagain @fortisfiliae @benbarnesfanforever @lafemmedemon @giggleberts @barnes-ben @iheartbinbons @goblackhatwithme @geminimoonbeamx @that-bwitch

#ben barnes #billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo au #ben barnes birthday

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nebris · 6 years

Text

Rereading Albert Speer’s “Inside the Third Reich”

The book was a worn, thick burgundy paperback, spine splintered in three parts, tiny print crammed on its pages. I read it in the bedroom downstairs, our family dumping ground of books and newspapers, old clothes, forgotten things. I must have been about ten. On the University of Nigeria campus, where I grew up, books (and videocassettes) drifted in and out of homes, borrowed and returned, creased and torn, passed around. I read everything—thrillers, history, romance, classics—some in a cursory way, with passages skipped. But this book absorbed me. I remember certain lines, as words will sometimes float in memory long after a book is forgotten. A theory of ruins. I remember a mute dog named Blondi. I remember the photographs. Grainy, black-and-white images that spoke of European mysteriousness.

Almost thirty years later, I have just reread Albert Speer’s “Inside the Third Reich.” To return to the books of my childhood is to yield to the strain of nostalgia that is curious about the self I once was. What could I, at the age of ten, have found so engaging in the memoir of a Nazi, Adolf Hitler’s de-facto No. 2 man?

Perhaps it was the book’s narrative energy, its lucid tone and textured scenes, which create a kind of fluency. Speer’s affluent but unappealing childhood would have interested me—his sickliness, his distant parents, who employ maids in white aprons and fret about their social standing. So, too, the palace intrigues of Hitler’s petty court, unctuous men tiptoeing around him, swallowing words that might offend him, jostling for his praise. The characters are compelling, and might have seemed all the more piquant by being “real” people. They are flatly sketched from anecdote, but the unencumbered clarity of their portrayal has a peculiar appeal: the fat, self-indulgent Hermann Göring, drinking champagne and hoarding stolen art; the small-eyed soullessness of Heinrich Himmler. The uncomplicatedness of these sketches functions, too, as emotional directive: we are to feel disgust for Hitler’s private secretary, Martin Bormann, a gentle pity for Hitler’s partner, Eva Braun.

And then there is the character of Hitler himself. It might have amused me that a man whose “magic” Speer often refers to did not seem at all magical. In Speer’s telling, Hitler is duplicitous and vacuous, so intimidated by accomplished people that he surrounds himself with shallow hangers-on; he is humorless and only laughs at the expense of others; he tiresomely repeats himself and is delusional, even before the war, with what Speer describes as “fantastic misreadings” of reality. Yet Speer was devoted to him. Awed by him, loyal to him.

In this litany of Hitler’s flaws, Speer demonstrates a slick honesty whose goal is to disarm. If it disarmed me as a child, it repels me as an adult. His rueful acknowledgment of his dedication to Hitler, and his philosophical puzzlement at his own complicity, seeks to cast a glaze of innocence over him. Margo Jefferson, in her memoir of African-American life, “Negroland,” writes that, when recounting unhappy memories, “You arrange your angers at their most becoming angles.” She resists this, finding it dishonest. Not Speer; he, with calm canniness, assembles his follies in flattering light. His self-criticism has a too-smooth edge; it is as though he has considered all possible criticisms he might face and taken them on himself, and there is an egotistical undertone to this that is perverse.

He belittles the architectural work he did for Hitler, mocking the designs as “pretentious,” but what remains astonishingly true is that he believed in Hitler’s architectural jingoism. Hitler tells Speer that Berlin, compared with Paris and Vienna, is “nothing but an unregulated accumulation of buildings,” and here Speer’s nationalist insecurity aligns with his architectural ambition. He, too, wanted to assuage Germany’s wounded pride, to wipe off the humiliation of losing the First World War by erecting edifices. He toiled to make a reality of Hitler’s imperial megalomania—buildings that would last a thousand years, structures that reflected a Germany to which the rest of the world would bow—so much so that his disapproving architect father, on seeing his models, told him, “You’ve all gone completely crazy.”

As a child, I could not have seen this book as the silver-tongued project of exculpation that it is. Nor would I have recognized how much Speer’s class privilege makes this possible. Speer’s class sneer is always present, always subtle, in his references—to Hitler’s petit-bourgeois background, to the unrefined tastes of Hitler’s other henchmen. He detests Bormann, whom he calls “a peasant” with “no culture,” a feeling rooted more in class than in morality. He objects not so much to what Bormann does as to the crude nature with which he does it, as though Bormann’s murderousness would not be so offensive had he exhibited some finesse. The burning of the Berlin synagogues and the “smashed panes of shop windows” offend his “sense of middle-class order.” He asks the slave laborers in his armaments factory if they are satisfied with their treatment. Evil is tolerable if purged of coarseness.

In my graduate class at Yale, a classmate once said, while studying the war in Sierra Leone, “African violence is different.” In that word, “different,” was a repressed shudder. He meant that hacking people to death with machetes lacked something that might have made it more bearable. A cold-blooded elegance, an efficiency, a remove. I will always remember that student because he illuminated for me the Western idea that turpitude, when committed by a certain kind of person and in a certain kind of way, is worthy of being engaged with. Speer, with the cultured, reasonable, modest manner that is the easy inheritance of the privileged classes, represented a kind of Teutonic ideal. It made possible his memoir, a well-written act of image-making. It made possible his designation as the “good Nazi,” somehow better than the others, a man whose ruthlessly steady hand kept the German war machine churning, who denied that he knew of millions of Jews being murdered, who burst into tears on seeing a photo of Hitler after his death.

Did I sense the insecurity that pervades this memoir, and, by extension, the Third Reich itself? A collection of men-children with infantile fantasies. Dreams of victory parades. Great halls built to impress. Bigger as better. The ringing echo, in Hitler’s refrain of “We are not inferior,” of a man desperate to believe himself.

How do books read early in life shape us? Would I have an abiding interest in Nazi horrors if I had not read Speer at ten? Would I be so fascinated by European tribalism? It is interesting now, as Europe tries to find a sense of self, to read of Speer’s fleeting dream of an economically united Europe, with Germany as its leader. Or of Hitler’s belief that Islam was more compatible with Germans than Christianity. Or Speer’s suggestion that democracy is inherently not German and the Weimar Republic an aberration of Germanness because “tight public order was in our blood.” Right-wing populism is rising again around the world, and it is hard not to look for lessons here. Hitler rose to power because he exploited in Germans that sense of what Speer called “personal unhappiness caused by the breakdown of the economy,” which “was replaced by a frenzy that demanded victims.” He turned history into a reservoir of resentments. And he spoke simply. Speaking simply, in this case, meant discarding complexity and disregarding truth.

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie has published three novels, including “Americanah,” which is being made into a ﬁlm.

https://www.newyorker.com/books/second-read/rereading-albert-speers-inside-the-third-reich

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cynthiadshaw · 4 years

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What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey?

Every twist in our story, challenge we face, and obstacle we overcome is an important part of our story. These difficulties make us stronger and wiser and prepare us for what’s ahead. As we grow and succeed we may imagine that soon the challenges will fade away, but in our conversations with business owners, artists, creatives, academics, and others we have learned that the most common experience is that challenges never go away – instead they get more complex as we grow and succeed. Our ability to to thrive therefore depends heavily on our ability to learn from our experiences and so we are asking some of the city’s best and brightest: What’s the most important lesson you’ve learned along your journey?

Aamina Masood | Pastry Chef Entrepreneur

The most important thing I’ve learned on my journey from Computer Engineer to Pastry Chef is that hard work and consistency pay off. Trends come and go but treating someone well never goes out of fashion. I treat all my clients with respect and the quality never falters.

brilliantcakes.com

Johnathan Thrall | Director of operations and Michelle Thrall | Director of Business Development and Marketing

Never stop sowing. God will not bless you with the harvest, but he will provide the seed.

thethrallgroup.com @thethrallgroup @thethrallgroup

Anfeernee Munoz | Designer & Creative Director

Dalia Arriaga

I’ve learned to remain humble, patient, and never try to dampen someone’s success. That is not what Most Hated Clo is about. I’ve learned to stop complaining “why them and not me?” And changed my mentality to “how can I get myself to be that successful like he/she?”

Mosthatedmunoz.com @mosthatedmunoz @mosthatedclo

Alexis Flores | Freelance Videographer/Photographer

Models: @lunarkris @Sheridanlemon

One of the most important lessons I’ve learned so far is that without initiative nothing will happen, you have to be willing to try it even if you know it wont turn out the way you want it to be.

@alexflrs19

Intelligent Comedian | Local Photographer and Video Creator

The most important thing I’ve learned is to not stress about the negativity because it all comes from one’s thought, instead see the beauty to life because at the end of the day photography and film making is all an art, and art can be literally anything. There’s no point in competition but rather admire other people’s creativity.

@intelligent_comedian youtube.com/intelligentcomedian?uid=vtN_59JnxYYGNdT9GSJbkw

Matthew Gatson | Photographer

Patience is key. Everything can’t be rushed so be patient. I have a lot of friends who I see as inspiration and I used to think to myself, “I have to catch up to them somehow”. Doing whatever I can to be as successful as them in such a short time. Nowadays I see them as rivals, my competition, because I know that eventually I’d become as great as them and I know that my time will come when the spotlights on me and when everything that I’ve worked for will come to reality. Once I learned that, it made my life easier and also made me more dedicated to my dreams, Times when I used to think I was falling behind into an entirely different route, I was going down the same as most as slowly catching up without even knowing it. I waited for my turn to become better than I was before and it helped me much more than what I expected.

@shotbymthw

Steve Niedringhaus | Owner | Operator of AB & E Logistics | biker and family man

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey so far is to ensure that you communicate! It is something that you need to do very well and very often. Developing relationships on a personal and business level is how you survive and flourish in both realms of your life – period. A great relationship is something you have to work for. It’s not an automatic gift given to you. Trust me – My wife and I have had to work very hard on our relationship through our 25 years of marriage. It’s not easy work but the gifts a great relationship provide keep you in the game. It keeps you coming back for more and forever working to make it even better. The key to this is communication. To me, It’s no different in business. I provide a service and like most industries it’s highly competitive. You have to set yourself apart and the best way I’ve found to do that is to build relationships based on great communication. I basically complete the same tasks others do in my industry but I take it a step further. I talk to all levels of personnel at the customer any chance I get. I try to build those relationships from the person loading my trailer to the CEO of the company who happens to walk out while I’m loading. I want to ensure they know my name, my companies name and the service I provide and try to get to know them on a personal level. It’s not always price that brings in clients. It’s how they remember you when the next time for them to call on your industry comes up… You want to be that face and personality they remember!

@stevienied @ab_and_e_logistics @abandelogistics

Harlan Bowling | Designer | developer | photographer and full-time traveler

I think the most important lesson I’ve learned (and am still learning!) in my journey is to be authentic and to open your heart and mind to the experiences of others. No one gains anything by keeping everything to themselves, and the willingness to share experiences, creativity and vulnerability with others offers both of you the chance to learn and grow. Sometimes I can wear my heart on my sleeve a bit too much, but I wouldn’t trade those deep moments I’ve had with people because of it for anything.

@grymttrs @grymttrs grymtt.rs

Alissa Fletcher | model/cosplayer

To go with the flow. Work hard but also remember everything happens for a reason.

bunniecupcakes.com @bunniecupcakes

Sydney Kurtz | Data Analyst | Rise Nation Instructor, & Dallas Fitness Ambassador

Perseverance is absolute key. If you set your mind to it and don’t give up, whatever goal you want can be achieved. There are no great successes without failures.

@sydney.kurtz @dallasfitnessambassadors @texasspiceonlamar @omnidallas

Kerry L. Gipson Jr. | Comedian KG or “Komedian KG™

Addison Improv, Arlington Improv, Hyenas Comedy Clubs, Joke Joint, Gulley’s Comedy Event Center, Dayton Funnybone, Cleveland Improv, Backdoor Comedy Club, The Comedy Theater(Little Rock, AR), HaHa Café, LA Comedy Club, and more… During the start of his career, Komedian KG has networked with many great names of entertainment as well from; Robert Powell III, Talent Da’ Comedian, Finess Mitchell, Ronney Jordan, Jason Russell, Blame The Comic, Lil Duval, Carl Payne From “Martin Lawrence TV show, Christopher “Kid” Reid, Flo Hernandez, Shaun Larkins, Shun Jones, Flex Alexander, Dameon “Mr. Entertainment” Ellis, Kool Bubba Ice, Rodney Perry, Kenny Howell, Quinn Hudson (BET), HA HA Davis, Sydney Castillo, Clint Coley, Dean Lewis (Last Comic Standing), Ryan Davis, Roy Lee Pete(R.I.P), Comedian Michael Shawn (K104 Radio), IBF Boxing Champion Errol Spence Jr. and Dallas Rapper Yella Beezy

During the start of my career on this journey, I’ve learned that standup comedy is a small group of entertainers that has been growing rapidly due to internet and social media. Every day a new stand out talent is discovered. I’ve learned that social media has changed the way standup comedy and how comedy is portrayed to it’s audiences and viewers. As this rapid approach to spotlighting talent via social media is occurring, you must be adaptable with keeping up this change, creative and innovative with your ideas that will allow you to go the distance in your career. Stand-up comedy isn’t like any other career in entertainment, the level of difficulty to rely a story, message, and/or joke from your personal point of view will always cast judgement and opinion from others. Being able to expand your routine will help overcome these challenges as a standup comic. Change is inevitable in the career of entertainment and performing arts and you have to remain humble, stay focus on your goals, learn the business and soak up and filter all advice as you go. Never be afraid to learn and innovate new ideas!. Dallas, Texas is growing with new talent in every genre of entertainment and performing arts, and will someday be one of the world’s premiere go to places for pursuing entertainment as a career in the near future.

@komediankg @komediankg @komediankg @komediankg reverbnation.com/artist/video/15554643 soundcloud.com/komediankg youtube.com/channel/UCrgolqahdIyUYRyP5Ea5NPw komediankg.webs.com

Gigi Davison | Hair Stylist, Makeup Artist & Aerialist

The most important lesson I’ve learned on my journey so far is that I am the creator of my own path; and take advantage of opportunities… they always lead to more.

@gigioligy @beauty_bygigi @mrs.gigid

Wayward Coffee Co. | Mobile Craft Coffee & Community

Jason Arreola

We’d say the most important thing we’ve learned so far, even though this is all new to us and we have a whole lot of work to do ahead, is that you have to just go for it. Each of us has had a dream at some point to start their own coffee business and we had to just take that passion and drive and finally do it. It has all come together in such a cool way and we’re real thankful for it. We’re so stoked about this and we want to make it the most unique, meaningful, genuine thing ever and bring so many other people along for the ride with us.

@waywardcoffeeco

Neil Kenner | Coach of Movement, Mindset, and Holistic Lifestyle

I resigned from my job as the SMU Women’s Assistant Tennis Coach in May of 2018 to embark on what I defined as a “Learning Journey,” so the lessons have been coming in literally nonstop. If I had to pick just one lesson, I would say that the ability to have patience and maintain self-belief throughout the journey has been the biggest. To expand on that, there are a lot of people out there who urgently strive to fill their schedules as quickly as possible. That may be the perfect protocol under certain circumstances or at a particular stage in life, but doing just the opposite has been my recent approach.

When I first started coaching, I said an emphatic YES to everything. My schedule was completely packed with private lessons, groups, tournament coaching, event planning, and anything else a tennis club could offer. I prided myself in taking no days off. After all, I was making pretty good money for a young single guy, developing a solid reputation as a coach, and gaining a crazy amount of experience in very little time. In my five years coaching at T Bar M Racquet Club, I must have experienced the equivalent of 15 years when compared to most. It was nonstop, and everything I did lead to growth.

A decade later, I find myself in a much different position. Rather than viewing a full schedule of lessons as a symbol of success, I now consider it a growth-stunting trap. Time is the ultimate item of value to me now, specifically having control over my own time. Sure, there are compromises that sometimes need to be made, but leaving enough open time and space in my schedule is what has allowed me to make this dream journey a reality. For much of the past year and a half, I chose to use that time to LEARN as much as I could from the resources that I felt were most applicable. Later on, I began shifting my focus more into digesting and then organizing all the new information into a form that made sense to me. Then more time went into applying this stuff into my own practice and combining it with what I’ve learned throughout my career. Just now am I at the point where I am ready to CREATE – which is what I love to do. One of the few things that I love more than creating is being able to SHARE my creations with others as a means to help improve lives, so the ability to begin doing so has been incredibly fulfilling.

Spending lots of my current time in creation mode and now getting a taste of sharing is only the beginning, and none of it would have been possible without PATIENCE. Had I panicked and begun filling my schedule with lessons again, I would most-likely not have had the time and energy required to achieve my bigger goals. So yes, PATIENCE has been my most important takeaway – and unwavering SELF-BELIEF has gone hand in hand with it.

@neilkenner

Chris Mendez | Realtor®️ & Dog lover

@annmariemendezphotography

In my journey, I have been able to learn that everything is possible if you set your mind to it. It may sound like a cliche, however, we are capable to achieve great things in life if we develop our mindset and put it to work. You are the one that can make it happen. Your mind is a dream and goal achieving machine. YOUR DESTINY is dependent on your DECISIONS.

@chrismendez_realtor @chrismendezrealtor LinkedIn: chris-mendez chrismendez.brayreg.com

Chidimma LaQueen Nwosu | Blogger/Influencer

For as long as I can remember I have always been the chubby girl who was shy and lacked confidence. I let people’s opinions of me tell me who I was. I never really knew who I was and this persisted into my adult years. After college a couple years ago, I decided to take on a healthier lifestyle and with that I lost weight. A lot of people think this would be the end all be all and you’re automatically happy, but more often than not, this is not the case. I still struggled a bit with my identity. Sure, my self-esteem went up, but I still was not internally happy and still lacked self-confidence. A little over a year ago, I moved to Dallas from Maryland to attend chiropractic school. Usually when you move to a new area, it is a chance to start over and meet new people. This was very hard for me and immediately felt out of my comfort zone. I retreated to myself and for the first time in my life I felt homesick. After the holidays and a few life changing moments, I decided that I need to get to know myself and really portray how I want the world to see me. Thus, began my selflove / body positive journey. I was terrified in the beginning, but in order to achieve the goal I set out I had realized that with uncomfortability comes strength. After a while I noticed that my vulnerability allowed me to own and embrace everything that makes me, me. Not only that, I also received messages from women saying that I have encouraged them to do the same. Knowing I have helped at least one person, is by far one of the best feelings ever! Society loves to tell women what we should be doing, from an outfit you shouldn’t wear because of your size to what lipstick you shouldn’t use because of your complexion. But when we come together to support and empower one another the sky is the limit. We can be any shape, size, or color and still run the world. In my 26 years of living, I have never felt so empowered and confident. This is not a one and done journey, life is ever changing. I look forward to the changes to come and will continue to share. If I can do it, you can do it too. Accept yourself for who you are first and everything will fall into place. There is so much more beauty in life when you change the narrative into something positive. Lessons I’ve learned along the way is that regardless of what I do, I won’t be everyone’s cup of tea and that’s okay. Whoever or whatever is meant for me will always be for me and no one person can take that away from me. I also learned that the tongue has power. Speak to yourself with kind and positive words because what you speak is what you create.

@ChidimmaLaQueen

BRYSON PRICE | Music Producer & Artist

Balance in life is KEY. You see a lot of musicians rise to the top, then fall off the map a couple years later. Life is a marathon, not a sprint. I’m still a long way from achieving my goals, but I’m taking my time and doing things right. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all in! I’m putting forth my BEST effort and giving it all I’ve got, but it’s possible that I’ll never “make it.” Music is my passion, but I feel that the most important thing is my spiritual health, physical health and my family. Slow growth is much more sustainable than overnight success and I’m working hard towards my goals every single day. There’s no shortcuts..I’m making the best use of my time, grinding day in and day out, while making sure that my life is balanced.

BrysonPrice.com youtube.com/channel/UCImrrfbrWlax3REURMR7twQ @bryson.price.35 @BrysonPrice

Bryan Valadez | Visual Artist and Determined Individual

The most important lesson I have learned in my journey so far can be best described with the word perseverance. Throughout my years of painting I have come across personal challenges such as critical self reflection of my abilities, wondering if audiences will react well to my work, or even questioning the probability of being able to make it as a visual artist.

Although in these instances it has always been the act of striving to move forward despite any difficult situation, which has allowed me to grow. If there were doubts about my skills as an artist, I would push myself to become better with practice. If I wondered how people would react to my work, I would suggest to myself to keep working because I am making art to express myself. If fear of not being able to achieve success as visual artist were to arise, I remind myself that I’m devoted to achieve my goals and in fact I am hungry for success. With that in mind could I come to a conclusion and maintain constant progression. A vital lesson not only evident in my journey’s past but also applied to whatever I approach now.

@vala_alla_b @bvaladezart

Cameron Taylor | Visual Leader & Photographer

That it is okay to not be in the same place as everyone else. With access to social media we tend to compare ourselves to our peers and even people we have never met. With things such as age barriers, financial differences and overall different circumstances it’s not fair for anyone no matter your social stature to put yourself against someone else or to bring yourself down cause you may not “be where someone else is in life”. It’s honestly a huge self love thing that I had to learn the hard way when for so long I thought I did love myself and was happy where I wasn’t and to find out I wasn’t in my mid twenties was a huge and rattling wake up call. I have expanded my time to utilizing social media to not just post about my life, granted I do that haha, but to also have conversations with people, make friends online and to unplug every once and awhile. The self love you have for yourself is so huge and I’m still learning each day on this journey called life how to get better and better at it.

@okcamcam longleglifestyle.com

Dr. Ragan Brown | Educator | Author | Self Care Influencer | Travel Specialist, and Academic Coach

Life as a Self Care Influencer began by me posting various positive quotes on my Instagram and Facebook page. Soon it developed in a career that affords me the opportunity to help others go from chaos to calm. Early in life I knew my gift was encouragement relatability and relief. However it took a while to come to the realization that being a light when others see darkness is truly part of my assignment. Many days there are battles and struggles with the idea of am I truly cut out for this journey. There are days when leads and sales opportunities happen and then there are days when you are pulling your hair out. Honestly, I question myself almost everyday. However every no, detour, and under construction. One of the most important lessons of this journey is that it multifaceted, which is a beauty all by itself. As an entrepreneur, you develop strength, that you didn’t know you possessed. Another important lesson on my journey is that it simply is a journey. It’s not a race or a destination. Although we feel that we should go with the crowd, on the entrepreneurship journey you must take “the road less traveled.” roadblock has some sort of lesson attached. Overall faith keeps me focused. Traveling through life as an entrepreneur is multifaceted. There are several layers to maneuvering your business. I wouldn’t say you completely master it, because you are always learning and growing from various situations. This journey has also led to multiple collaborations. From book anthologies to lifestyle photo shoots to commercial advertising and speaking gigs to help empower young women. These past few years I have realized how multifaceted and This entrepreneur journey has helped me to be a risk taker. Often times, I have to take a risk on investments that don’t yield monetary returns. Because of this, I have gained business buddies, and people who are just as passionate about my success as I am about their success. As a risk taker I have also invested in various projects and businesses in an effort to have multiple streams of income aside from that I recently embark on a new journey as a travel agent to further stress all things self-care. Almost every other day, I just want to give up as I continue to hone in on my niche. In the beginning, things were simple because I remained in the academic coaching box. As life became a whirlwind, opportunities were presented which required me to have a business growth spurt. My support system of family and friends remain a fixture for me as they keep me centered and grounded. The Lord has also connected me divinely to like minded individuals to propel me, push my buttons, and hold me accountable. As a business owner, I’m most proud of my growth, versatility and willingness to learn more. Sometimes it appears as the stars aren’t aligning, but when I revisit the core of why I chose an entrepreneur journey. I thank God over and over for choosing me to complete these assignments and bless others.

@drbrownconnection FB: Ragan Brown

Christopher Jenkins |Personal Trainer and Nutritionist at Grizzly Fitness and Herbalife nutrition

I use my journey to get through everything in life. The most important lessons I’ve learned in my journey is to first have faith and trust God; Even when I couldn’t see or understand. Proverbs 3: 5-6 states, “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” I’ve learned that it takes motivation and dedication to achieve your goals. Philippians 4:13 states, “I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.” This is my motto because without God giving me the strength, this weight loss would of been impossible. It took much encouragement from my Pastor Calvin Wortham, Patrick Jefferson, my entire family and church family, and my brother and coach Alsce Crocker.

@gohustlapeewee

@GoHustlapeewee Facebook: Christopher Alonzo Jenkins Snapchat: peewizzle24

Myda Chapa | DFW realtor with Coldwell Banker Apex

One thing I have learned is to always keep an open mind and just go for it!

@mydachapa

Makya Love | Computer Science Engineer & Aspiring Model

@drivenimage

The most important lesson I have learned as a young model is that my journey is unique and far different from other aspiring models. It’s so easy to get distracted by others’ journey and their success. In the beginning of my modeling journey I used to dwell on the progress of other models around me, instead of focusing on my own progress. Later down the line, I learned quickly that the more I compared my journey to others, the more distracted I was from fulfilling my own journey 100%. So, keeping my eyes steady and ahead on my individual career path has been the most important lesson learned thus far.

@especiallymakya @especiallymakya youtube.com/channel/UCvgzPmiqKygMMyigT_wLv5g

Jacky Alberto | Hairstylist & Online Boutique Owner

Alex Gonzalez

The biggest lesson I’ve learned this year is to stop fearing and overthinking, just do it. For the longest time I’ve had several ideas, goals, and dreams but I found myself fearing the “what if it doesn’t work out” and being very self critical with my own work and ideas that I allowed that to become paralyzing in my journey which just kept me stagnant. This year I’ve learned to just take a leap of faith and trust God. I believe he places these thoughts, ideas, dreams, and passions in our hearts for a reason. If we don’t go for it then the years will just pass us by and we are left with regret of things we wished we would’ve went for. I’ve gotten a taste of what “shooting your shot” feels like with some of my goals and dreams and I’ve built momentum from that, it’s definitely been one of the best decisions ever!

fash-cultureboutique.com @fash.culture

Madeline Reid | Wedding and Lifestyle Photographer

The most important lesson I’ve learned in my journey of capturing life moments, is that every single person has a different story and a different way of expressing their story! The best way to capture people’s individual moments in the way that highlights their story best is to actually get to know your clients. Ask them about their life, what they do, where they work, what are their interests? what keeps them going? When you know someone for who they are rather than “just another client”, you are able to capture their story in a whole new way, and the photos end up being so much better!

Madelineanikkaphotography.com @madelineanikkaphotography

Ashton Danora | Capturing Purpose Through Lens

This year has been really challenging. Throughout this week, I really had to sit down and think about what I learned about myself through the journey of 2019. What stood out the most is learning how to be present. I am always planning for the future and I tend to forget about, for the lack of a better word, the “now”. I used to be so focused on tomorrow’s agenda, or a week from now…and I would miss out on the blessings and opportunities of the present. As this year has flown by, the last three months of 2019 will be dedicated to seizing the moments that come to me.

@_ashton.danora

Cynthea Thomas | Entrepreneur & Jewelry Designer

Olivia Friesen with Copper Curls Photography

A lesson I have learned is to never compare myself to others. By doing this I don’t progress to where I want to be and it’s not a great place to be in. I am unique in my own way and I want to spread joy and love through what I create during my journey.

royalmadnessdesign.com @royalmadnessdesign @royalmadnessdesign @Cyntheyeahh

RJ Monae | Fitness Coach

The most important lesson I’ve learned so far is, “”You have to change to grow and to grow you have to change”. I think we all expect change throughout our lives. The mistake many make is that we don’t change personally. We hope to be the same in every area of our lives and not realizing that a different version of “”YOU”” is required. The key to change is “”YOU””. I learned that about seven years ago and begin to put pieces of my life back together.

I had to learn things don’t always happen the way we want them to. We tend to give up then accept things as they are. The action of not accepting leads to depression, weight gain, health issues, and stress levels. Don’t be hard on yourself; embrace every mistake, failure, disappointment, and heartache. I have been in health and fitness for about seven years. I officially started fitness coaching about four years ago to coach people through the process of change and becoming the best version of themselves. Many already know what to do; they need someone to guide and educate them to make the best choices for their lifestyle needs.

I have been a mentor and coach for 14 years. I have dedicated my life to help others become the person they’ve always wanted to be. My health, fitness, and lifestyle have taught me no matter what area or stage you are in your life, change is required. In the past seven years, I have worked to claim my independence back. Now, I want to help others to reclaim theirs through health and fitness because it’s never too late. “Don’t be afraid to change, be afraid to STAY the same”.

@rjmonae @rj.monae @rjmonae RJMONAE.COM

The post What’s the Most Important Lesson You’ve Learned Along Your Journey? appeared first on Voyage Dallas Magazine | Dallas City Guide.

source http://voyagedallas.com/2019/12/19/whats-important-lesson-youve-learned-along-journey/

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apexart-journal · 6 years

Text

Radha Gomaty in NYC Day 16

Enroute Washington

Had a particularly rough morning as my India phone suddenly dithered into deep coma just as i was readying to leave to catch the 9 am Bus to Washington .

Quite distraught I sat bent over the phone compulsively pressing the three buttons that i could see in various permutations and combinations and with varying finger pressures till time on the clock approached danger mark and i had to run from the room .

I find my way through the subways carrying a heavy shoulder bag besides my usual awfully ethnic glittery (and now rather dirty)cloth tote with its stitches coming undone that somehow gells well with this crazy city .

Of course, then there is my friend’s handy little leather multi pocket cross sling that carries everything from my proof of identity , all my various complimentary entry cards and metro /subway cards .In fact she hung it on my shoulder with emphasis genuinely afraid that I might lose my papers otherwise and end up in prison or something !

A gift notepad from my god daughter that i had cherished on my table without finding fit reason for using it fits in perfectly and had scrawled in its first page with a waterproof marker all important numbers of immediate near & dear that proves really useful now that my phoned conked out!

I thanked the stroke of intuition that had me do that just a coulee of ours before i left home for Kochi Airport.

Yet another friend lent me her veteran leather jacket advising me that i should wear this as soon as i disembark from the flight at JFK so that I look like a true blue New Yorker and not like some babe in the woods.

In short I had made my trip on some old clothes donated to me (category:Something OLD;status-check!)

Some new clothes , shoes and socks (first purchase since I passed school say , some 35 odd years ago and a pair of brand new spectacles (category :something NEW-check!)

Mostly borrowed stuff right from money for my food to all of my woolens and even two pieces of luggage of the three I had.(category: something BORROWED-Check!)

And something blue?Well ,Besides a pair of rather horrendous blue jeans hurriedly brought and in memory of an older body size that i once inhabited .It was now so large that I have to find ingenious ways every moment to keeping it from slipping down to the ground.

But then there were some events too just as I leaving home that for a few moments dyed Time to the deepest ultramarine possible.But thankfully only for a few moments ,as off late like a practiced boxer I duck on raw instinct rather than from rather deadly blows. designed to kill my sustaining spirit .

(category:Something BLUE-Check!)

BTW for readers rom my part of the Globe this business of having something OLD /NEW /BORROWED /BLUE is what a Bride is supposed to ensure she has on her person at the ceremony to ensure some things as follows:

Something old represents continuity; something new offers optimism for the future; something borrowed symbolizes borrowed happiness; something blue stands for purity, love, and fidelity.

A 1940’s song from my childhood that was part of dad’s vinyl record collection .the one i heard was by Vera Lynn but i can’t find it anywhere now trawling the net.

So please listen to this version by the Velours.

Yup.

I’ve deliberately chosen the one with the excessively frothy pulp romance visuals to rub it in and have people of understated refined tastes to run for cover.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc0G7y1gfEU

Well !Me , a bride ,huh?

That’s a good one !

I’m sure reading this will have many folks i know in sniggers to downright splits at the prospect of a hat trick (Me too actually …!!! :D :D) , a grossly anomalous event for a woman ,at least in the cultural context I happen to be in !

But jokes aside ,in a way that is true about all trips like this, you know.

It is like one’s self (spelt with small case )and one Self (spelt with upper case)that ,ejected by some hidden cosmic plan across a huge distance from familiar physical coordinates and the habits of time zones ,embark upon on a unique honeymoon together within one …

Like in this lovely Hindi movie back home called ‘QUEEN’ after the mild mannered typically middle class protagonist called Rani (meaning Queen in English &played with finesse by Kangna Raut) who is stood up at the altar ,so to speak ,by her recently ‘settled abroad’ NRI fiancé because suddenly she is not smart & trendy enough to be part of his new life style abroad.

Though utterly shattered she embarks upon a radical decision encouraged by her feisty paternal grandmother -To use her honeymoon ticket and go to Paris & Amsterdam on a honeymoon all by herself as planned like commemorating a wedding that never happened .

The results are unexpected and totally exhilarating for Rani after some initial shocks which completely jolts her out of the narrow confines of her comfort zones that were based on role based conformity and not centred on the realities of her feeling-self.

The film traces how Rani , the average middle class Indian girl,begins to find herself finally in new locales through new & diverse friendships and challenging experiences restoring her to an unassailable fresh new sense of wholeness.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_(2014_film)

Distance has a way of conferring perspective as little else can as also the cosmopolitan multi cultural bustle that, throwing off-gear one’s sense of context ,challenges one to reexamine , feel ,assimilate and eventually generate anew every moment a new and enlivening context for being.

Just this evening on a watsapp call , my brother was telling me of a new book he was reading on the realities of a Dalit Life called ‘Ants amongst Elephants’ noted for its freshness by Sujata Gudia , based on the locales of her own life written only after she migrated to the US and became a subway conductor.

Even the cold , the wind , the need to layer over skin for a person from more hospitable or warmer climes where one may as well comfortably walk next to naked with just one multipurpose piece of cloth that works interchangeably as garment , mat or drape by night changes things in a way that is not easy to describe.But change it does ,from the fundamental level of the nebulous cusp of Body & Being.

The same reasons ,also dictated by a different culture of valuing Tme ,may necessitate similar changes in dressing -from wearing flowing clothes to closely fitted ones that facilitate free movement of limbs while keeping the cold out.

Simply put ,just the simple act of wearing pants , say even for a woman like me, changes things and facilitates entry from languid self containment to dynamism & extroverted action .

The giddying verticality of Metropolises also has a similar effect upon those who like me from not such a heavy metropolitanised( a new word I suspect but let it be!) living backdrop.

In short the stage is set for a strange wilderness to sudden burgeon forth almost overnight overrunning the complacence of Familiarity altogether . From within this wilderness strange new animals ,whose presence was only gleaned hitherto from an occasional track mark of sensation or from the sharp smell of droppings begin to show themselves better with a new found fearlessness.

Weird flowers blossom of strange hues and heady scents that disorient the head as in open eyed dreams .Voices unheard hitherto begin to make themselves audible .

I am convinced now that Traveling far makes one more amenable to accept the fact that perhaps the very nature of Life is a virtual reality .I stumbled on that secret long ago but frankly speaking ,its the darned diciest thing to get used to though with the years and the abrasions of experience ,I think I’ve made much better peace with it .

“…so why did i come so far,my love ? to catch a glimpse of an Amerindian lifetime that still courses through our blood ?The time when the horses brought in by the Spaniards escaped and came in first from Peru through Mexico through the Oklahoma plains to multiply and run beautifully wild and you were part of those who lassoed and made peace with them to become our steadfast friends ?”

Amerindians??

Did i actually doze off for a split second in the Metro Bus headed to Washington DC that everyone seemed to called by its euphemism ,’the Blue Bus’?

My fellow passenger , a man from Honduras who has worked in the US for 16years now and longs to return home is happy to let me have his window seat .

He gladly accepts a piece of Kappalandi Mittai or Peanut Candy from back home as agonizing over my phone left me no time to prep or eat anything for breakfast. i make do with gnawing at an apple afterwards thinking I shall eat in Washington.

Washington !

Can two cities be so totally different?

The Metro station has this glam front of cafes et al and suddenly with one turn the whole atmosphere changes into a grey drab one.i have trouble with topping my Metro Card and a family from Kerala reach there just in time as if to help me.The gate won’t open and I enter through an emergency door.

Everything is strange ,bleak,dark and interminably gray even the lifeless mechanical announcements .I feel it takes an eternity to find my way walking too to the Beacon hotel .

The young lady at the desk checks out ‘Margaret Ewing’ under whose name my room has been booked .While she is examining my passport for a second time with apologies for the inconvenience caused ,Trump is delivering voice mime thunderbolts on illegal immigrants on a silenced TV Set in the tastefully decorated lobby.

Standing there i find myself worrying about one of James’ students, I think one who is on our show at Apex, whose dad is on the receiving end of this with the aftershocks landing on the prospects of the entire family.

James ,whom I met at Apex is a wonderful teacher of Art at a Public or city funded school in the Bronx where the poorest people live ,many of them precariously.

i get my room keys finally and enter a business class room with two huge single beds ,a TV set , a coffee maker and something that I think is a microwave oven .

For the first time since i came ,I'm feeling a bit lost.

I miss my home@1Irving street, the cute white Mac on the table by the window that helps me type my thoughts, the narrow crowded streets outside full of really interesting looking people , the crazy subways abuzz with chaos &music...

Yeah, my phone from India on which I refused to change the time in India to keep in touch withy beloved ones there abruptly dying with all my contacts in it and remembering that it's my father's birthday and my younger son not realizing perhaps that I haven't called not because I don't care but I can't, adds to it.

My packed lunch of Rice and Mung sprouts suddenly turns tasteless in my mouth.

I hurriedly get up.

Schedule beckons …. (to be contd.)

#Radha Gomaty #Inbound from South Eroor

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