So, I love how everyone is getting all into the eldritch horror visibly fae knowingly magical encounters. The descriptions are SO COOL.
But I’ve been thinking about how our understandings of the Fair Folk originated not with people who had these super obvious encounters with this visible magic figure. Instead, they come from people attuned to the ways in which this world as it is, is magical and frightening and overwhelming, and decided that eldritch monsters were the most logical and comforting explanation. So, I’ve been thinking a lot about how so many interactions with the fair folx could happen without the student knowing it….how many of these interactions and deals may have happened already. A few true stories:
My roommate joined ROTC her freshman year. Four years of university for free, for five years of military service. Don’t tell me that there is just flesh and bone under the glamour of a military uniform, under the medals worn by those who watched her sign her contract. The Fair Folk have always loved games, and to gamble your life in the future of uncertain war is certainly worth $60,000 tuition per year for four years, plus a monthly stipend.
I have a friend whose financial aid is paid by a grant from some folks from New York City. In exchange, once a year she dresses up, takes out her piercings, and goes to dinner with them.
Sit with us, tell us the stories of your studies, sing for us. Oh, you don’t sing anymore? But you sing so lovely. Sing.
At these dinners, she does not let her smile drop.
I worked with a senior who would be Successful. They did everything, could not say no, every opportunity bigger than the last and they could Do It All. Directing a musical with a full orchestra in the biggest theater, performing across town themself in a different show each weekend for months on end, five classes and a thesis. One night, drunk and at 2am, a time were the glamour drops and world blurs into honesty, they said “I am so fucking lonely.” That is a powerful trade: love as fair as can be, a beating heart, community. But they wanted to be able To Do It All and they did.
A few years ago, the school was raising money for the endowment (the school is always raising money for the endowment). They were holding a fundraising dinner, with Big Important People who must be Inspired by Students Like You in order to donate. They gathered together the most talented performers of the whole university. Dancers whose bodies defied physics, pianists who seemed to play with extra hands, singer whose voices rang inhuman. Maybe there is a reason we already had those skills, it’s hard to know. We’ve all made so many sacrifices already to end up at a school where we can get not a single credit for our talents. Maybe something is already taking its due. Still. They gathered us, and planted us through the field to mime silent excitement as the Big Important People entered the tent in a procession. They had us perform for them – but never in the way we do best. Bottle up your talent, make it look like this. Dressed us all head to toe in white. Gave clear instructions.
Hand them this book. Collect these cards. They will write a wish. If they speak to you, just smile. Do not speak back.
They had us wait behind the kitchen.
Whatever you do, do not eat the food.
The university knows how to make a deal. They know what a little Talent and a little Dignity is worth. And we already owe them so much…why not this too?
In the morning I went back to where the tent had been, only to find an empty football field.
I feel like I have to add that the last story is literally 100% true. The others I have taken small creative liberties with (mostly the ‘lonely’ one cause I don’t want that person to be identifiable). But this one is hundo percent reality. Nothing I could add about it would make it sound less weird. They set up this crazy huge tent for it and thousands of dollars of lights and projection equipment, and the next morning had taken down the entire thing. They had this whole projection thing that took up a side of the stadium with a video about how great the university is, except I’d never even HEARD OF most of the professors or programs they interviewed or discussed in it (like its a big uni but still). Went to go look them up the next day, but couldn’t remember the names. They had us count a specific number of steps from one section to another. They had us do a weird running pattern on the stadium stairs that was supposed to look cool but I think just opened a portal in to my own personal hell. I still have the white sneakers and sweatshirt they gave us but I legit have not worn them since that night; I’m slightly scared to wear them but somehow can’t throw them out. When the donors walked in to the tent, we literally just stood around the field jumping up and down with excitement (silently) and waving flags (silently) and for the first time I understood Artaudian horror. They had cards at their table that they were supposed to write these messages on, and then we would collect them in these books, and honestly the whole night is pretty hazy but it was weird. The whole thing was directed by Tony Award winner Diane Paulus (I swear to you this is true). Guys I’m low key pretty sure I’ve been to a revel and let me tell you, you are not a participant. You are there, but at best you are quaint entertainment, to be hidden in the corner when you’re not amusing them. You will do what they ask you (tell you). And there will be a part of you sitting on your shoulder saying, are you really doing that? And the answer will be yes, and it won’t be until after you leave that the wave will crash over you, nearly drowning you in the question, as you sputter awake asking, WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK JUST HAPPENED?
“We need to resist, insist, persist and enlist, and make sure that our voices and our votes count. We are going to keep fighting together, side by side, for equal rights, and we’re going to make sure that nobody turns the clock back on what we have achieved as Americans.”
In the same speech she criticsed the Trump Administration for their reaction to the killings and events in Chechnya
-Hillary Rodham Clinton, talking about LGBT rights at a fundraising dinner for The Center on 20th April 2017
@minoux asked: Your writing is fantastic!! Could I request a Tom Wilson Imagine where he tries to steal you from one of his team mates you’ve been (not too seriously) going out with. You can mix it up any way you want. Thank you!
Hi @minoux ! I took your general prompt and changed it up ever so slightly. I hope you enjoy it though. It was fun to write!
After your first month in DC, your co-workers had finally
managed to drag you out to a bar and show you what you had been missing by
staying cooped up on your apartment. It was there that you met Philipp
Grubauer, a goalie for the Washington Capitals. The relationship that formed
from that chance encounter was strictly casual as per a mutual agreement. You
found him attractive sure, but had no desire to pursue a deeper connection.
Aside from the occasional hooking up, you really didn’t see much of Philipp.
That’s why when he texted you asking if you could talk, you weren’t sure what
It was barely a minute after you texted him “sure”, that your phone started ringing
in your hand.
“I need a favor.”
“The team is holding some kind of fundraiser dinner and somehow
I was tricked into agreeing to bring someone.”
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“I know this isn’t what we usually do but -,” Philipp cut himself
off. “You’ll do it?”
“Yeah, it’s no big deal. How can I turn down what will
probably be a very fancy meal?”
“Thank you so much. I’ll text you the details when I find
Latest Chapter in my Heartlines AU. The rest can be found here
As always I’d love to know what you think and am happy to take prompts for future chapters.
He’d dropped Claire at home on Tuesday morning on his way to work. He spent the rest of the week in meetings and then the latter half up at Lallybroch, overseeing some extension work and meeting with the other members of the Lallybroch board. He hadn’t foreseen quite what a behemoth of tourism and industry the sleepy little highland estate was to become when he’d first took the notion to move beyond simple agriculture.
As a result he didn’t see Claire for the rest of the week, though they exchanged at least a dozen text messages a day, ranging from the mundane through the very NSFW. After she’s sent him a fairly explicit picture of her in her underwear that flashed up on his phone in the middle of the shareholders meeting causing his sister, Jenny’s eyebrows vanish into her hairline, he’d taken to keeping his phone in his pocket rather than on the desk in front of him.
He was driving back into Glasgow on Friday afternoon and Claire was off work until Monday night when she started two weeks of night shifts. The plan was that she would come over Friday night and they would base themselves at his house for the weekend. Jamie was torn between not leaving the bedroom for the entire time and the desire to be out living life with this glorious, untamed woman, to get to know her better.
He’d been home about an hour and was frantically dusting his bookshelf when he heard a car door slam followed by the sound of his gate opening. Peeking out of the window he admired her as she came up the path. She was wearing shiny brown ankle boots and a cotton breton striped dress with big pockets in the skirt. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy bun at her nape. The thought of unpinning the mass of curls and watching it cascade around her face distracted him so much that he didn’t see her approach the window until she knocked on it. He jumped slightly and she laughed. She then leant forward and left a pink kiss on the window. His heart clenched at the casual intimacy of the act as he went to let her in.
He opened the door and stepped back to grant her access and as she walked in he couldn’t help but think about how she belonged here, here in his space. She fit into it as if she had always existed in it.
He looked at her as she bent and looked under the side table, before opening the coat closet door, peering in. She shut it again and popped her head around the living room door.
“Whatever are ye doin’, Sassenach?” he asked her as she slowly opened the door to the kitchen and looked in.
“Oh just checking that you haven’t gotten any ex wives stashed around the place ready to leap out on us” She laughed as she said this her eyes sparkling with mischief and humour. Jamie tried and failed to look affronted and laughed instead.
“You’ll no doubt be pleased to hear that my first job when I arrived at work on Tuesday was getting a locksmith in.”
“Does this also mean that the gnome is out of a job?” She arched her brow.
“Aye” he responded. “Wee Angus has been found unfit for duty. His role from here is merely decorative”
“Glad to hear it, as erm, exhilarating, as the our last encounter was, I’m in rush to bump into Geneva Fraser any time soon”
“Dunsany” He said.
“Her name is no’ Fraser. Its Dunsany. She never was a Fraser. Dinna be calling her that” He spoke with something more than simple irritation or the desire to correct her.
“I’m sorry, Jamie” she spoke softly. “I didn’t mean anything, I… I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to upset you.”
He let out a long sigh.
“Dinna fash, Claire. Its me that’s sorry. I shouldna be getting all cranky with you. It’s just Geneva and I were over so long ago. In fact we were never anything much to begin with, and now here she is getting in between me and you.”
He looked so distraught that Claire reached out and stroked his face.
“We don’t have to talk about her anymore if that’s what you want. She isn’t important.”
“She held me prisoner wi’ guilt for so long, Claire, “ he took Claire’s hand and looked at her imploringly, his blue eyes dark with emotion. “I felt guilty that I couldna make it work with her, I felt guilty that I was such a disappointment, I felt guilty that I’d married her when I knew deep down I didna really love her. I never really moved on myself because I didn’t feel I deserved to. And then I met you…”
He kissed her gently. “And then I met you and it was like someone had smashed the cage that held me. The moment I laid eyes on you. I wanted you, I wanted you in a way I’ve never wanted anyone else. In a way that I thought was just made up for books and songs.” He flushed slightly at the weight of his admission.
“But it’s real” Claire said softly.
“Aye,” he said. “Aye, it’s realer than I ever knew.”
They spent Saturday in the city. Claire took him to her favourite cafe for breakfast. “When you work the night shift as often as I do, you learn the best places.” They chatted over eggs and hot coffee. Jamie told Claire all about the work going on at Lallybroch.
“It sounds amazing.” She said, taking a gulp of her long black. “You know, all the years I’ve been living in Scotland, I’ve not made it to the Highlands at all. Frank used to go all the time, but it was always on some fact finding mission, so I always stayed behind.
Jamie looked appalled at this admission. ‘Well, that’s just no good, Sassenach. Next time you’ve more than a couple of days off together, I’ll take ye. We’ll have a few days in Inverness and then I’ll take ye to Lallybroch.” He paused. “That’s if you’d like to go. To see it, I mean. If you no feel like it would be too much pressure. We can just go to Inverness, if you prefer…” He trailed off. Claire reached over and put her hand on his. I would love to see Lallybroch, Jamie. It’s such a big part of who you are. How could I not want to see that for myself?” They sat in silence for a moment, fingers weaving together, Jamie massaging her palm slightly with his thumb.
“I might have a small favour to ask in return though” she said slowly.
“Oh, aye? And what would that be then?” He raised his eyebrow at her.
“Weeeel,” she said, “My hospital is having a huge fundraising dinner and I’ve been basically ordered to attend. Would you come with me? As my date? It will probably be a dreadful stuffy affair, but it would certainly be a lot more enjoyable with a dashing highlander on my arm.” She winked at him playfully.
“If ye keep saying that part about the ‘dashing highlander’ I don’t doubt I can be persuaded. I’ll need to wear my kilt though, aye?
“Oh believe me, Jamie, I absolutely insist.”
On Sunday he took her to his favourite pub for Sunday lunch and beers. With more beer drunk than food consumed, they staggered back to Jamie’s around 6pm, collapsing onto the sofa.
Watching Netflix on a rainy Sunday evening with Claire snuggled up against him, Jamie wished he could stop time. Everything about the weekend had been perfect. Better than perfect. He had never dreamed that passion and friendship could be so inextricably entwined. He wanted her, her couldn’t look at her without wanting to take her to his bed and pleasure her. But he also liked and respected her. He found her hilarious. She had an offbeat sense of humour and an acute sense of the ridiculous and a tendency to dissolve into giggles in inappropriate situations. She made him feel protective, like he could slay dragons or rescue her from tall towers, but at the same time she was one of the strongest and most capable people he’d ever met. She made him feel safe.
He brushed her hair away from her face and leant down to kiss her gently.
“Hmmm” she responded slightly sleepily. He kissed her again and she turned to fully face him. She held his face in her hands for a moment before moving to straddle him. He ran his hands up her back and felt her shiver. They kissed for a long time, arms wrapped tight around the other, no space between them. She pressed down her hips, seeking friction between them. He let out a low groan and pulled her down by her hips. She bit him gently on his bottom lip, before moving down, kissing his jaw and neck, pausing here and there to worry the skin with her teeth. He made a guttural sound in his throat as she moved back up biting at his earlobe.
He stood abruptly, his arms tight around her keeping her in place. She wrapped her legs around his hips and he moved to his knees and slowly lowered her to the floor. His thick red hair fell forward and she reached up and pushed it back, meeting his eyes with hers. She kissed him gently on his forehead, his nose, his chin, before meeting his lips. The kiss was soft and chaste, but infinitely tender. Jamie felt himself shudder as he attempted to hold himself in check. Not from his physical desire, but his desire, in that moment to tell her everything. Everything he thought and felt, every tender feeling held in check, every word of love he could not, should not, yet proclaim out loud. This woman was his soul. He knew this and he abdicated entirely. He lifted her gently in his arms at carried her to bed.
tfw when you’re trying to write and the real world won’t leave you alone
“Tell me more,” Grantaire is saying, in the exact tone that can persuade crowds to follow his lead. “Tell me about you.”
With this Enjolras struggles. As he tries to formulate a response he realizes how much of his personality is shaped by outside influences, by whatever he’s reading, watching, listening to, working on, working for. Who is he? Impossibly easy, and impossible, to summarize.
“I’m twenty-six,” he hears himself say. “I was born in Pennsylvania. You know about my schooling. Boarding school before that. I have two best friends who are married to each other, which is fun but sometimes – sometimes I’m on the outside of what they are. My favorite color is red. I’ve worked for Fantine’s office since the internship at the ACLU recommended me. My favorite book is–”
“All good,” says Grantaire, not interrupting so much as inserting himself into the flow of aimless narrative. “But tell me who you are. What makes you tick.” Grantaire’s stroking hand does not falter. “What made you.”
Enjolras swallows, tasting bitterness like bile. Those are two questions in a sort of extraordinary opposition. He thinks about saying nothing, of tightening his lips and changing the subject, of turning it into sex, of distraction. But Grantaire is asking. And it’s not like Grantaire won’t fuck him if he says it. Will he? Grantaire is asking. None of this will matter past today.
When he picks at it in his head it comes off like a scab and Enjolras says, the blood gushing out underneath, “What made me. My parents are bastards. I’m sure they voted for Trump. Held fundraising dinners for the GOP, so why wouldn’t they? They’re just his sort. I was at odds with them, even as a child. They sent me away soon as they could. Maybe they should have kept me with them; I learned too much from Exeter’s libraries. My mother is the CEO of a multinational corporation that I’m sure you know. They do a great job of depriving their full-time workers of a living wage and health care. I think I first challenged her on that in fourth grade and lost book privileges for a month. It was worth it. I’ve always been a disappointment to them, their only child, their heir, some kind of depraved left-wing monster sent to curse them. A challenge from God, they might say. I hate them.”
Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, blood and gore, violence, mentions of physical abuse, kidnapping
A/n: If any of the mentioned might be triggering please do not read my story or know that you are reading at own risk. It is my story but I cannot control how my audience receives it.
Summary: Namjoon remembers Y/n as a seven year old girl that hid behind her father’s leg and didn’t dare say hi to the older boy. He remembers her when she was fourteen caught in the awkward stages of puberty, the poor girl even wore braces. After that he doesn’t remember more, she stopped coming to the fundraiser and important dinners with her parents when she entered the rebellious teenage stage. He hadn’t seen her for years, but one day her face was all over the news. At nineteen, the girl had been kidnapped while out with a friend celebrating her birthday. No one had been able to find her. Namjoon didn’t pay much attention to the case only hearing about it from his detective friend. His father had died some weeks prior to the kidnapping and he was busy taking over his father’s law firm at the age of twenty three. His father’s lawyers daughter’s kidnapping had nothing to do with him. Except it does now, two years later. Namjoon’s firm is thriving and he’s getting richer by the hour when Mr. Lee himself visits Namjoon and tells him Y/n is alive. Namjoon doesn’t know why that has anything to do with him but he’ll find out sooner or later won’t he?
A/n: The main character’s family name is: “Lee”, this is because it simply makes my writing process easier. It is still written as a reader x Namjoon story though, so don’t worry yourselves. <3.
noun vam·pire \ˈvam-ˌpī(-ə)r\
(in Eastern European folklore) a corpse, animated by an undeparted soul or demon, that periodically leaves the grave and sucks the blood of the living, until it is exhumed and impaled or burned.
I really didn’t think it would have affected me in any way, but having Harry stay over that night had been quietly comforting. His presence was something I always found to be kind of reassuring in a way, like he’d always be near you for a reason. Even though I would have been fine on my own for the night, just the sense of someone familiar kept me feeling settled. I felt bad that he was stuck on the grotty old sofa though, but not so bad that it had stopped me from sleeping soundly.
The little streams of light that were coming through the blinds that I’d obviously forgotten to close last night were warming up my bed sheets, making it harder than it already was to get up. A growling sensation in my stomach though was what finally pulled me away from my bed, and I reached for my phone to text Harry before I ventured to the kitchen.
Good because I want breakfast. I’m coming through. If you’re naked when I walk through that door I’ll be upset.
No you won’t ;)
How very dare you!?!?
Shuffling down the hallway to the kitchen I could hear that Harry was up, the bangs and clattering of cupboards doors and drawers being opened and slammed shut made me thankful I was the only other person in the house, as I was sure he was waking up the neighbours with the racket he was making.
“Good morning, Sweets.” he greeted me with a smile, when I pushed open the door. But a smile wasn’t all I was greeted with.
Thinking a bit more about @bittitilate‘s post about Bitty and church, and even as a not-actually-Christian raised in the South, here are some ways church ended up in my life anyway, in a non-negative, that’s just life kind of way:
(Context: My grandparents on both sides were devout Methodists, even though very few of their children were as adults.)
My grandfather was the one who headed up the Christmas tree sale as the primary fundraiser for the men’s group at his church, which they used for service projects throughout the year. As a result, we bought our Christmas tree there every year, even though we weren’t members.
Also related to the Christmas tree sale, their sales office was my grandparents’ old camping trailer, which I was fascinated with as a kid because it was like a little house!!! so there were… a few times I strategically “got sick” in the middle of the day at school and knew my parents wouldn’t be able to leave work to come get me, but it was fine because I could just call Grandma! And she could drop me off with Granddaddy at the Christmas tree lot for the afternoon, because it was her garden club meeting, oh darn.
I attended preschool for a little while at my other grandparents’
church, where they invited the Easter bunny to visit all the classes,
and when the giant 8′ tall monster came in on roller skates, I screamed
and wouldn’t stop crying until the teacher took me into another room. I
wouldn’t come out until he left. (I mean, I guess this is a negative
church impact on my life, but it’s funny as an adult.)
My brother went to preschool at a totally different Methodist church, and thus forever after we got the annual invitation to their giant fundraising barbecue dinner at the fairgrounds. It was such a well-known local event that my dad would just ask how many members of our extended family wanted plates so he could pick them up all at once and bring them back to the house, because the line was atrocious and there was never enough seating.
(Idk if this is common in other parts of the country, but so many preschools around here are in churches, even when they’re entirely secular, because churches have so many unused classroom spaces available during the week.)
Constant people trying to recruit you to come work on their Habitat for Humanity project.
That one guy in my high school carpool who insisted we had to get to school early on certain days so he could pray around the flag pole. (I take it back, this was a totally negative impact of church on my youth; nothing is worth getting up that early.)
Pretty much all my grandparents’ friends being identified as “so-and-so from church.”
Having to schedule things around choir practices and Bible study groups.
There are probably more, but they happened so often, they don’t really stand out, but maybe this gives an idea.