the early novembers

7

My town, Faerydae, finally has a dream address!

Faerydae is a whimsical forest town currently set in early November. Come explore this little village full of colorful animal friends and enjoy everything the forest has to offer. ~please tag your visits with #helloxcutiee I’d love to see them! Remember, every day holds new magic. DA: 5F00-0011-59C4

Straight White Boy Problem #972

Got really self-conscious yesterday because Grandpa looked at my patchy beard that I’ve been growing for No Shave November and then he joked with one of my 6 cousins that I looked like I was homeless and then he took a sip of Red Wine and started talking about how Donald Trump would make a great President. I got really sad about it so I ended No Shave November early and shaved it all off :’( I’m really pissed at my grandpa rn but he always gets me good gifts like a Nike shirt or Apple Headphones for Christmas so idk if I’ll stay mad at him….

skin & bones

pairing: draco malfoy x hermione granger

setting: modern, non-magical, post-break up au

word count: 697 

written for: @silvermaze [happy birthday, lovely! xoxo]


It’s a crisp, clear day in early November when it happens.

Hell freezes over.

Hermione Granger—all five and a half feet of her, smooth brown skin and chapped pink lips and a thick cloud of hair pushed back off her face with a red cotton headband—she steps through the jingling side door of the midtown Starbucks Draco does most of his writing at.

It’s been…years, technically, since he’d last seen her. Years. Years since he’d sold his first play, and years since her blog had gone viral, and years since he’d stopped instinctively searching for her at industry parties, in hole-in-the-wall Brooklyn diners, on crowded fluorescent-lit trains hurtling around like pinballs beneath the city streets.

She looks almost eerily identical to how she’d looked when he’d ended things. Black tights. Knee-length sweater dress. Raggedy thrift store Burberry scarf. She’s got a scuffed leather jacket on, and shiny brown Oxfords, and the antique seed-pearl locket he’d given her for their very first Christmas together.

Draco can’t help himself.

He stares.

She hasn’t noticed him yet.

He continues staring.

And he feels a swift spike of adrenaline, electric and fierce, pummel him in solar plexus—an urge to do something, say something, act and react, because—

His second play had been a tragicomic exploration of classism at an elite, all-boys Connecticut prep school. Hermione hadn’t reviewed it on her blog—hadn’t reviewed anything Draco had written, ever—but she had, at the time, shared without comment a snippet from a New Yorker article about “pretentious Ivy League dropouts with Tempurpedic trust funds polluting the Broadway shadows with their fourth-generation WASP guilt”; and Draco had always known, somewhere deep deep deep in his gut, that Hermione had been the one to give him a chance, back when they’d been dating. It had never been the other way around. He wonders if he should’ve told her that. Before. During. After.

Now.

“Hermione?” he blurts out, unable to completely mask his astonishment.

It takes her less than a second to recognize his voice—and then she’s stiffening, posture going ramrod straight and jaw visibly clenching, and when she finally turns to look at him, there’s a wary spark of irritation in her eyes. They hadn’t parted on good terms. It’s harder for him to remember that than it should be.

“Draco Malfoy,” she says, and it’s not—it’s not quite a greeting. An invitation for further conversation. She states his name like she’s making an observation. Like he’s furniture. Decoration. Unnecessary. It stings, frankly, and he guesses that was her intention. “This is a little…down-market for you, isn’t it?”

“It’s good for inspiration,” he immediately answers. He doesn’t blink. He’s afraid to. “The people here. They’re—normal.”

She lifts an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the line beginning to form at the register. “The people at the Times Square Starbucks are normal to you,” she replies, in that same vaguely incredulous tone she used to reserve for biweekly dinners with his parents. “Really.”

Draco doesn’t blush. He’s twenty-eight fucking years old. Pretty girls with judgmental smiles and intimidation in their veins didn’t get to him like this. Nott anymore. “You know what I mean.”

“No,” she says, somewhat dryly; somewhat bitterly, if he’s being honest with himself. “I don’t think I do.”

Silence descends, awkward and heavy. “How’ve you…been?” he tries, before wincing. “I just—I read your critique. About Shakespeare and, and feminism. Last month. In the Post.”

Surprise colors her features. “You did?” she murmurs, gaze flicking from the Adam Ant sticker on his laptop, to the doubtless idiotic expression on his face, to the slightly dry blueberry scone sitting on a napkin by his elbow.

“Yeah,” he sighs, because of course he did. He’s read everything she’s ever published. “Yes.”

She pauses, opening her mouth like she wants to speak again—but ultimately, she doesn’t, just studies him with a quizzical tilt of her head, the moment stretching on and on and on, for so long that it doesn’t end so much as it…fades.

“You…write here, then?” she eventually asks, clearing her throat. “Often?”

He relaxes.


Three days later, she comes back.


Single Mama Poindexter

Everyone knew The Poindexters. Tara and Broderick Poindexter were so in love and their kids were all so cute. 

Kathleen was born first. She got Tara’s freckles and Broderick’s blue eyes, and red hair. 

Rory and Ryan are born three years exactly after Kath and she is not the happiest to share her birthday. Technically it was Rory and Sara but they don’t use that name anymore. 

When she finally sees them she stops sulking enough to pose for pictures with them. They both have Tara’s amber eyes and her auburn hair, but only Rory got her freckles. 

Reagan comes a little over two years later and looks more like Broderick than any of them. Red hair, blue eyes, no freckles. He was almost like a carbon copy of Broderick. 

Then the ‘Irish Twins’ came along four years later. Maeve was born in early November and William was born that next October. Because of Maeve’s too-late and Will’s late-but-not-too-late birthdays they were in the same grade, Maeve one of the oldest and Will one of the youngest. 

Will was barely a year old when Broderick died. Tara was left a single mom to six children, from a twelve year old down to a not-yet-one year old, and mourning his husband. 

She raised her children to be strong and independent. The teachers and principles from their schools hated to see a Poindexter in trouble because it meant dealing with Tara. 

Kath liked to fight bullies and never believed in hiding her ‘swear words’. Rory never met a teacher he didn’t talk back to, and Ryan didn’t respect anyone who didn’t give him enough decency to call him by his name. Reagan might have looked liked Broderick but he took after Tara, and that includes her temper. 

Maeve and Will were the worse because they never did like being talked down to and that’s what they got, a lot. Between Maeve’s ADHD and Will always asking questions that his classmates and teachers deemed ‘unimportant’, they weren’t taken very seriously at school. 

When Will, and Maeve, started high school they had the best teacher ever. Miss Jacob, the art teacher who had degrees in art history, computer science, and education. In short, the kids loved her. Tara did too. 

Will and Maeve were juniors when their mom got remarried, to Miss Jacob. 

No longer Single Mama Poindexter, but now two Mrs. Jacob-Poindexter’s. 

What do Donald Trump and a Pumpkin have in common?

They’re orange on the outside, hollow on the inside, and responsible people will throw them away in early November.

4

Kevin Frayer’s photographs of illegal Chinese steel factories look like postcards from the dawn of the Industrial Revolution. Thick smoke spews out of tall stacks, steam rises from vast pits, and molten steel flows across the ground like lava. All around, men toil without even basic protective gear.  “It was like stepping back in time,” says Frayer, who spent four days at two steel factories in Inner Mongolia in early November. “The way of working seemed unchanged and unaffected by technology.”

SEE MORE: Step inside China’s hellish, illicit steel factories.

archiveofourown.org
Bridging the Distance - ThereBeWhalesHere - Star Trek [Archive of Our Own]
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek)
Additional Tags: Old Married Spirk Challenge, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Amnesia, Getting Back Together, Fluff and Angst, Whales, old married spirk, Established Relationship
Summary:

Jim misses Spock, even when they’re together, and he doesn’t know if Spock remembers why. Or if he ever will. Set immediately after the events of The Voyage Home.


Here’s my first submission to the OMS Challenge, and of course it’s Voyage Home-themed. Everything about me is Voyage Home-themed. <3 Thanks for reading, everyone!