#{/finally; i wrote most of this last night when i was thinking about how magnitude negative}

[blindedguilt]

((from @booksofthelibrary ))

The young girl runs up behind the boy and sprays him playfully with a little bit of water. A harmless prank as she giggles before handing him a brand new net that she made for him. A 'R' carved into its handle.

"happy birthday!"

::RIVERSAL

"Waaah...!!" A sharp squeal erupted from the boy at the feeling of cold water on his back, the momentarily cry of shock quickly turning to a string of bright giggles as he flicked back a few drips from his hair towards Daffy. "Oi, you!! I'll get you for that, you know! You better watch your back, miss..."

He could hardly say he was displeased at her betrayal so much as pleased he had someone to play with! His brothers tried, but could never fully get in on his games, whether it be through confusion or other business they had to attend to.

Admittedly, though he would never say it out loud, he secretly felt rather jealous, perhaps even upset at the news of her getting together with Lukhege when he had initially found out. It was frustrating, in a way - he had finally found himself a friend to play with, and for what? ...Yet, even despite those initial worries, he was glad to be further comforted in the thought that he hadn't been forgotten by her presence with him that day.

The once beaming smile faded with the momentary rush of excitement and into curiosity as he was offered the finely crafted net. "Oh...This is..." A soft red creeped up to his cheeks with a sheepish, somewhat awkward look to his smile as he idly turned it over in his hands. It would have seemed forced in a way that he was trying to smile if not for the faint twinging at the corners of his lips threatening to break out into a wide grin. For someone who was usually so excitable, it seemed Riversal in particular had the most trouble accepting gifts - even compared to his younger brother Laum, who, while sheepish, was always capable of clearly showing his gratitude. Riversal, however...

The boy's long coat swayed as he rocked back and forth once on his heels, unable to fully look the other in the eyes as he spoke in a quiet, awkward little peep. "Thank you, Daffy... This is... Nice. Um...! Thank you. Well..."

Promptly, he spun on his heel, took a few awkwardly shuffled steps, and sat with his back turned and his feet spread to either side of the net he held between his legs. Though she couldn't see it, it wasn't hard to guess how red his face must have been as part of the kind gesture.

"...Come back later," He said suddenly, a flatly dismissive, determined tone to his voice, "I have something to think about." One of his tricks, now involving his new present, most like. "Thanks... Again."

His next words, though meant to be spoken in a tease, came off as nothing but a half-hearted suggestion in all his distraction. They were nothing more than a mouthed, near-inaudible whisper as he stared and plucked idly at the strings of the net with his fingers, too deep in thought to even notice the water dripping from his hair, much less to speak. "...Go chat with your boyfriend..."

Whatever could he be plotting? Whoever could he be plotting against? Riversal didn't speak, and sat there deep, deep in thought for a very long time.

"Hah! Got you!!"

...Ah, poor Leonard. It seemed that he had been chosen the unfortunate victim of his prank that evening. From a distance, the small Riversal could be seen standing triumphantly atop his older brother's back like a proud hunter with his prey. Leonard, conversely, would have been near invisible if not for his large form and the striking beige of his coat against the greenery of the forest. The poor hermit laid cruelly fettered on the ground, all that was visible being the blond of the head that laid face-down and the shoulders of both arms spread on either side. The net that had toppled him should have been relatively easy to remove from the foot tangled within it - his brother that stood on his back, however, was not.

"Please, release me at once!" The muffled plea sounded from the ground. With a dramatically boisterous laugh, Riversal's hands found themselves resting smugly atop his hips.

"No! I've got you, now, brother~!"

"Riversal! Please!!" A bit more insistence in his tone, and enough in a voice as deep as his to make the now 11-year-old almost immediately jump out of his skin and straight to the side of his ailing brother.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry!!" Riversal was the one pleading now, his tone as frantic and shaky as his hands as he removed the trap net from Leonard's back. The eldest looked pale as he sat up on his knees, deathly silent in the face of his younger brother's apologies and concerns as to his wellbeing - his eyes were screwed tightly shut. He seemed shaken, with his shortness of breath, Laum noticed with a tiny frown.

...Maybe he was claustrophobic? Poor brother.

[hybridcodex]

AI-Inspired Nightmare Tale - Part 1

A friend was playing around with Midjourney v5 AI Discord server, in which you enter code and it creates highly accurate images that "grow" over time at the behest of the a.i.. He threw out a couple very simple, wide-open prompts, with impressive results. Prompts (the AI returned a number of variations for each) :

1) /imagine the Tower of Babel in the style of Salvador Dali 2) /imagine the Tower of Babel in the style of artwork associated with layers of hell in Dante's Inferno

I saw the images it produced on his Facebook page recently, and how the five AI-created towers progressively descended into five variations, each image of the tower and it's landscape darker than the last, ultimately turning into a completely chaotic looking scene, with the fifth and final tower image representing the decay of the land and everything within it. What surprised me even more, though, was what last night had in store for me, directly correlated to the tower(s) the AI had produced, the fifth and last iteration of the tower being the one my brain latched on to most strongly. As I laid into bed and fell into a deep sleep, I couldn't have foreseen how this small experiment of his would effect my brain. The nightmare that would follow, seemingly everlasting but in truth only encapsulated within three hours of sleep, was still vividly fresh in my mind when I awoke in terror. With haste, I flung myself out of bed and rushed to the computer to type this at 3 am last night, posting it on the aforementioned friend's page, and written/directed at him, as he was the master of the tower in my nightmare. I will try to describe this AI-initiated and infused dream to you in the following, dark-apocalyptic written reflection of his image's effect on my mind. I didn't need to think deeply when I typed this, strangely; I just wrote, feeling sickly and sleep deprived, the darkness of my life coming out in this dream and in the piece crafted to retain it.

Here is my post/writing/tale:

I just woke up from the most profoundly dark and nightmarish dream I can recall, and it featured none other than you, and your "dark tower of a.i. Babylon.", as I saw it several days ago.. It is still so fresh in my brain, I couldn't leave it there and return to sleep. I had to share it before it left my conscious forever. Here is my experience. The dream began with a dystopian feel, and it felt routine, as if it had been going for ages…a feeling dreams often instill. I was walking throughout the tower, alone, hoping the 'others', whoever they were, wouldn't find me, or judge me in any way, as I lived a secure and guarded life in comparison to them, one they were uninhibitedly curious about. I shared this curiosity for them, and felt ashamed of it. You lived in the tower with me, as both friend and master of the domain. The others glanced inward from the exterior but could not gain access to us, even though moon-colored, possibly fogged over windows riddled the castle with their large, anxiety inducing holes in the tower presenting a clear security risk. They glared inwards still, day and night, almost like starving hyenas crossed with hateful Bolsheviks. I began to feel the ripe tension of the atmosphere created by these others…or was it me creating it? I could not face this possibility at the time. My responsibility was too great, though I still was not entirely sure of it's magnitude, and this bothered me in depth. I took three trips up to you in the entire dream, where you resided seemingly at the steeple of the tower; one the first night, two the second. The first walk up to what surely seemed the top of the tower held your chambers, with you sitting in the 'master chair', as you did, or rather I saw you doing. so many years ago as teens, in your home. You were casually monitoring the tower via the screen before you with spartan looking computer equipment for any and all threats. As I approached you, I could feel your attention turn to me without you moving a muscle. I thought, "Did I pass the test? Whatever it was, is he content to let me stay?" You said a few words, and though lost to me now, they relieved me; I remember that feeling distinctly. I was still a resident in your tower…our tower. I was safe.

[volleychumps]

Ok finally (my last one) a scenario where the Karasuno boys (I will always trade Kenma for Tanaka) are at a Halloween party and their crush comes in wearing the sexiest/hottest costume that boy could ever wet dream of (they’re crush lost a bet and had to wear it). I’d love to see what each boy would want their crush dressed as and to see them flustered when their crush comes over to chat them up. Again you’re an amazing writer and I hope you see these! I’m crossing my fingers.

This request was suuuper fun to write and I chose the costumes off the personalities of these nerds, I hope you enjoy!!!

I wrote for the ones I chose in the mix of our boys considering they’re scenarios, hope that’s okay!!

Karasuno Boys (+Kenma) w/ a Crush in a Sexy Halloween Costume 

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

Daichi (lmao don’t blame me for the choice of costume Dai is a simpleton)

“Consider yourself lucky I even came.” 

“Boo, no fun, Dai!” 

The captain narrows his eyes at his vice-captain as Suga shares a knowing grin with Asahi and Kiyoko as the first and second years run about through Kuroo’s abnormally large house. The shared halloween party hosted by the Nekoma captain himself consisted of the teams of Fukurodani, Nekoma, Aoba Joshai, and Karasuno along with their managers- a party in which Daichi Sawamura was not informed of the magnitude. 

The Karasuno captain was decked out in a pirate costume, chosen to match with Sugawara, a costume Daichi would have never agreed to wearing had he known the party would be consisting of people outside the team he trusts. 

However, there was no purpose in pouting. Before Daichi could scold Hinata and Kageyama for perpetrating a challenging game of Just Dance against Lev and Yamamoto, Yachi tugging on an arm of someone who had yet to emerge into the entrance caught his attention. 

“Y/N~, come out!” 

“I said I would wear it, not that I would show myself in it.” Your voice snaps, and Daichi involuntarily feels heat rise to his cheeks as he realizes: as a manager-in-training for the Karsuno team, the invite also obviously extended to you.

Daichi looks away from his conversation with his fellow third years to gape at the sight. He had definitely wondered what the girl he liked would look like in one- 

he just wasn’t expecting to see it. In person, and not out of his late-night fantasies of seeing you in his jersey with nothing underneath it. 

Yachi, dressed as a simple princess, giggled as you attempted to pull down the volleyball shorts that clung to your legs so tight almost like a second skin, a Karasuno jersey just barely covering your ass with low in behold-

The number one gracing your back. 

Instead of the standard ponytail or braids, your hair fell in delicate waves down your shoulders, your goregous makeup out of place for the volleyball player costume you wore. You glare at Kuroo’s wolf-whistle and manage a small grin to the first-years that rush up to you- 

“Y/N-chan, you look soooo pretty!” 

“Shut up dobe, it’s not like our uniform is anything special-” 

“It’s still a costume. She doesn’t play volleyball.” 

“Thanks for the analysis, Tsukishima.” You laugh a little, moving through them to get to try and get to your seniors as you glare at the one who made the bet with you. 

“Why Dai’s number, Kiyoko?” You whine, leaning on Daichi with totally platonic intentions as the captain feels himself stiffen. In more places than one.

Daichi keeps his lips sealed shut at the wink from Kiyoko as said woman shoves both Asahi and Sugawara along, claiming she needed their help with getting more drinks with the intention of leaving the two of you alone as Daichi bites back a groan. The usually steady captain leans against the wall, looking away nervously. 

“U-Uhm y-you look-” 

“Nice costume, Daichi-senpai.” You wink once they leave, moving to lean against the wall as well while running a hand through your hair. “Guess you could say I’m you, huh? It’s weird being in the uniform, not being a player and all-” 

“Y/N.” 

You arch a brow at the crack in the captain’s voice, surprised at how flushed the captain’s cheeks were before realization dawns on your features. 

“You look really really nice tonight. The jersey suits you.”

“You think?” You fiddle with the hem of the jersey, noting the darkened expression on the captain’s face: either one of restraint or lust, you couldn’t tell. You smile through a bitten lip, finger tracing up his chest as you glance around, making sure no one could see as your breath tickles the captain’s ear in a surge of confidence. 

“I think I’d look better without it, don’t you think?” 

Daichi’s jaw slackens as you giggle, walking off to watch the Just Dance battle emerge with a sway to your hips, feeling the captain’s eyes bore into you from afar. 

Looks like he could consider himself very lucky he had come tonight. 

Sugawara

“Y/N, I will drag you. Don’t doubt I won’t.” 

“Nooo Bokuto, You never said anything about actually coming in to the party.”

 “You’re making a commotion, sweetheart.” 

Suga frowns, raising the rim of his cup to his lips at Bokuto’s choice of names for you as the Fukurodani captain attempts to drag his manager into the party. Although the vice-captain knew damn well you would never make the mistake of going for the playboy known as Bokuto, Sugawara still felt an itch of jealousy at the close bond the two of you shared, hence the slightly tightened plastic cup in his hold. 

Bokuto smirks at the stare from the gray-haired boy, thinking that the vice-captain should actually be thanking him, as a final tug pulls you into the party. 

Suga chokes on his juice. 

“A-Are you a sexy nerd, Y/N?” Akaashi manages out at the sight of his manager, heat flooding his cheeks at your knee-high socks and short school girl skirt, a pair of frames resting on your nose as your white button up only had two of the bottom buttons buttoned. Your hair had been pulled back into a messy braid, complete with a pair of open suspenders as you groan at all the eyes on you. 

Sugawara moved his damn eyepatch just to make sure what he was seeing was the real thing, feeling sensual emotions wash over him at the unexpected sight. 

The vice-captain remains shocked when you move through the herd of your boys to make your way over to him, a pout on your lips that was so unnecessarily attractive Suga had to gulp as you cross your arms over your chest, covering your red exposed bra with both arms. 

“You’re the only sensible one here right now, Suga.” You sigh to your friend, plucking the cup out of Suga’s hand and drinking from it. “Is this capri sun? You know me so well.” 

Snapping out of his trance, Suga clears his throat before chuckling lightly, tugging you out of the common area of the living room and into a more secluded, yet not completely empty room. Karui and Saeko point at the two of you excitedly, before leaving the room quickly as Suga takes even breaths through his nose- amazed he’s able to keep his composure. 

“This-” Suga pulls you forward by the two sides of your exposed button up, fingers buttoning up the rest of the buttons, covering your bra. “Is dangerous in a house full of men.” 

“Oh tell me about it.” You sigh as your close friend finishes closing up your top. “I lost a damn bet to Bokuto and-” 

“You exposed yourself to these boys because of a bet?” 

You blink at the raspiness and irritation now prevalent in Suga’s voice, suddenly at a loss for words as the look in his eyes makes your knees slightly weak. 

“U-Um...yes? Is there a man to show it to only?” Your tone is teasing, but Suga’s burning stare makes your mouth go dry. 

Suga clicks his tongue, eyes tracing over your figure one more time possessively as he suddenly turns, hand on your wrist. 

“I have extra clothes in my car.” 

He doesn’t have to turn around for you to see the redness on his features as a smile tickles the corner of your lips. 

“Only if you want them.” 

“Oh I do!” You chirp, letting him guide you out of the house as all tension drains out of the atmosphere, and Suga smiles to himself-

his hand moving to clasp in yours just a little tighter with his heated skin. 

Nishinoya

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m a ninja. Duh.” 

Nishinoya huffs, wondering why he had to explain it for the third time as Asahi laughs heartily, decked out in a sailor costume that exhibited the definition on his arms vividly. The shorter boy goes to pull his mask back up until the sound of your groaning voice catches within his hearing, the libero’s heartbeat automatically picking up. 

“No! Oikawa, don’t be more of an asshole than you usually are-” 

“Rude. A bet is a bet Y/N-chan~” 

Pulling up his mask can wait. 

Your sexy devil costume was tight in all the right places as your cheeks matched the shade of red your attire adorned as you stepped into the party, a steady silence settling around the room at your entry. Bokuto broke the silence with a sharp whoop from his spot next to Noya, who still had his jaw on the floor as you shyly pull at the leotard that resembled basically a red bikini, your attempt being futile. 

Shoving out of Oikawa’s hold, you rush over to to Kiyoko, pouting all the while as the woman dressed as an angel giggled and adjusted your devil horns as she strokes your hair in a there there motion, making Noya’s heartbeat skyrocket even higher at the sight. 

“N-Noya-san are you alright? You look faint.”

“I can die now. As a happy man.” The libero sniffs, not noticing you come over to the drink table and startling him from his position in front of the coolers. Now suddenly the most timid boy at the party, Noya blinks once to see that Asahi had left with the purpose of leaving him alone with his crush. 

The shorter boy gulps when your finger presses at the bottom of his chin, shutting his dropped jaw as wide brown eyes gape at you, pink dusting over his features. 

“You’ll catch flies.” You say simply, smiling a little through your bright red lipstick as Noya’s cheeks suddenly match your costume. 

“HahAHAH flies. Right.” 

You arch a brow, pulling at your stockings- oh god you were wearing stockings- as Noya tries to find steady ground, thinking that if any deity was ever giving him a sign- this was it. 

As you throw back a drink, Noya does as well, the sound of the shot glass hitting the table. 

“You look extremely sexy tonight, Y/N. I’m saying that in the least pervy way possible.” The words come out rushed as an amused tilt to your lips makes the libero calm a little, hand over his heart as if he was swearing something. 

Your devilish attire had sent a rush of confidence through you as you find yourself playing coy. 

“Well,” you take another step forward, Noya gulping when your fingers find the cloth of his mask. “I suppose this costume did make the guy I wanted to see it most find it that way.” 

Noya remains frozen in shock as you pull down his dark ninja mask to place your lips over his cheek sweetly, winking once before escaping back to Kiyoko right as the adrenaline could rush down-

Noya soon following in your escape path soon after, your scent filling his nose as he wonders if he would be sinning tonight. 

Kenma

“Your parties are lame.”

“Says the guy who didn’t even wear a costume.”

Kenma rolls his eyes as he relaxes more into his seat on the couch, the console in his hand sounding with beeps and the like as he mildly points a finger to the top of his head to an annoyed Kuroo through the heavy music and beer pong. 

“This is a costume.” 

“A pair of dollar-store cat ears is not a costume, Kenma!” 

Kenma blinks at the foreign voice, looking up once to not only see a smirking Kuroo, but you-

your sensual cat costume hugging your figure amazingly along with drawn whiskers, a pair of more appropriate cat ears resting on your head than his as your sheer tights seemed to show even more skin than without them. 

Subconciously, Kenma turned off his console right away, wondering just when the team manager of Nekoma he just so happened to have the biggest crush on walked into the party, much less up to him.

“Great party, Kuroo!” You beam innocently as Kuroo shrugs with an I-told-you-so expression to his childhood friend, Kenma glaring at him with flushed cheeks as the setter tries to find the right place to look. Anywhere else to look, please. 

“What are you drinking, Y/N?” 

“Juice. For Kenma too- and you better not be drinking alcohol Mr. Underage-” 

“You’re not a manager tonight, remember?” Kuroo grins cheekily as you take a seat next to Kenma, ignoring all the pairs of eyes on you. “That was apart of the bet~” 

“I’ll shove your bet right up your ass if you keep it up~” You respond in kind as Kuroo barks out a laugh before taking his leave, leaving you with the brain of Nekoma in the middle of a Halloween costume party. 

Kenma clears his throat, setting his console down before looking off to the side shyly, a hand on the back of his neck. 

“W-What bet did you make with Kuroo?” 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know- I came here in this cat costume and that’s that.” You giggle, crossing your leg over the other as Kenma’s eyes slowly trail towards the movement, looking quickly away again before shyly looking down at his lap.

“Can I take a turn?” You nod over to the shy boy’s console as Kenma mumbles a barely coherent yes, before handing it over, giving him an opportunity to calm his racing heartbeat as he watches you take it excitedly. 

“Parties really aren’t my thing.” 

“...Same.” 

Kenma feels a quirk to one side of his lips as he watches you- something out of a wet dream- excitedly fight against a computer in his game as he suddenly becomes glad he came to this lame-ass party.

“Are you gonna watch all night or play with me?” 

“I suppose beating you once or twice won’t bite.” 

“Did the Kenma Kozume just give me sass?” You raise your brows at the challenge as Kenma brushes some of his hair back, shrugging confidently as the man of the hour breaks your little moment. 

“How are my two favorite kittens doing?” 

“Go to hell, Kuroo.” 

You and Kenma look at eachother before laughing at the simutaneous reply, the Nekoma captain biting back a comment at the fact that they were bonding over insulting him-

honestly glad that his plan had worked. 

Tsukishima

“I really let Saeko help Y/N get ready for this halloween party.” 

“...and why are you telling me this?” 

“Oh you’ll see.” 

Tsukishima spares Tanaka’s shiteating grin another moment of wonder before shrugging and going back to watching Hinata and Kageyama try to outdo each other in a (furious?) game of Cards Against Humanity, finding it wonderfully hilarious that neither of them seemed to be very funny at all as Bokuto won every round. 

“And so she arrives.” 

“Tanaka-san, why are you telling me like I care?” 

“Cut the shit, Tsukishima! The whole team knows you’re a big softie for her.” 

Before the cynical blonde could absolutely deny that claim, the loud cheer of Saeko grabs his attention before doing so. Tanaka’s older sister pulls you into the party with a knowing grin on her face as you embarassedly comply, stepping into Daichi’s house party timidly. 

The nurse costume your body adorned was unreasonably tight, highlighting your upper and lower body parts amazingly, matched well with a nurse hat atop your head innocenly along with knee-high socks that seemed to make your already short skirt even shorter. You wave with a shy grin to the players from Karasuno as Tanaka has to hit Tsukishima to get his attention. 

“I-I’m sorry-what?” 

“I knew it, you softie.” Tanaka snickers, eyes widening when he sees Hinata and Kageyama making it a race towards you to compliment your costume, shoving Tsukishima before he can think about it. 

“Go! Before those two can!” 

Tsukishima goes to deliver a snarky rejection to the wing spiker only to find himself bumping into you, crude words falling on silent lips as your chest presses up against his frame in the process. 

“Oh crap, Tsukishima-Kun, I’m sorry!” 

The blonde moves to speak, but no words come out- only a blush coming instead to involuntarily spread across his cheeks.

“D-Did I hurt you?” You squeak out, and Tsukishima finds it extremely hard to meet your eyes when literally every aspect of your body he had admired from afar before-

was simply magnified with your costume. 

“No.” The blonde rasps, taking his glasses off to wipe them at the bottom of his shirt. “I’m fine.” 

“Are you really? Do you need a check-up?” You joke, doing a little jazz hands pose that the blonde couldn’t help but think was absolutely adorable. 

“Sure.” Tsukishima finds himself saying before he can stop himself. “Give me one. You’re supposed to be a nurse, right?” 

You blink, surprised, as Tsukishima glares at the crowd of Karasuno players looking on from behind you, suddenly wishing he could whisk you away somewhere private as a majority of them giggle like little schoolboys. 

You timidly take out a prop stethoscope, looking down at it and fiddling with it. “I don’t really know where your heart exactly is, much less if this thing works at all-” 

Tsukishima takes the device gently from your hands, moving to put it into both his ears and the circular part over your chest, trying his best to be as gentlemanly as possible. 

“Here.” The blonde arches a brow. “Your heart’s beating out of control.” 

“R-Really? Oh crap, you can tell?” Your eyes widen as Tsukishima continues to pretend to listen, a smirk overtaking his features as you had fallen for his trick.

“Nope. But I now know that it is.”

You squeak when Tsukishima returns the stethoscope to your nurse pocket, leaning down to mumble in your ear, 

“It’s just a prop, but you’re cute for trying.” 

So, as you stood there with a dazed look in your eye and reddened features to match the red cross on your hat, Tsukishima shoved his hands in his pockets before turning and walking off, looking pleased with himself as Tanaka and his sister high five from a distance. 

[nadiasatrinava]

🥺 May I please have some headcannons about how Nadia shows her love for the mc

I’m back! Thank you for all the well wishes regarding my brother. I’m a little rusty but I’ll try my best for you, my dear anon. This turned out longer than expected but can you blame me?

Requests are open again🥰 

Nadia’s love language hcs

We all know Nadia loves to spoil MC with the finest clothing and jewellery, everything and anything that reflects their value in her eyes. It is as much as her showing off MC to the whole world as hers/how dear she holds them as it is about spoiling them

But let’s focus in the ways she shows her love without shelling out a small fortune (or was it closer to GDP of a sizable country?).

She was stuck in a 6-year long loveless marriage but now… now she had MC. The love she feels for MC is bursting at the seams. It scares and thrills her in equal measure.

At the beginning of the relationship, she can’t quite put the love she holds for MC in an eloquent manner as she’d like.

So she turns to music to express what words could not. It starts as a short bright melody she mindlessly plays on her harpsichord when thoughts of MC cross her mind. Then it becomes a full-blown composition with notes resonating of hope, love, adoration and her newly found light-heartedness.

The first time she plays it for MC, she’s positively nervous. She has never been one for vulnerability and yet here she was, her heart bursting with love. For now, this is the only way she knows she can adequately convey all those feelings she’s yet to find the words for. Her skilled fingers elucidate her feelings of love, enchantment, and gratefulness for the MC.

Bathed in the soft embers of the dying sunset, Nadia looks beautiful and divine. Her eyes hopeful and reverent, hoping this is enough to get the message across.

Give her a little more and she’ll write a symphony. She takes MC unaware during one of their date nights in the community theatre when they’re the only ones in attendance when Nadia dropped hints that this show was highly anticipated. The curtains are pulled back as the stage lights come on when Nadia softly whispers, she wrote this just for you. MC can barely see the red tint of her cheeks when the first chord is struck.

The symphony tells the story of their journey, tells Nadia’s feelings and perspective. The beginning is in low dark tones that chronicles the feeling of hopelessness and the sense of impending doom then the build-up slowly shifts into lighter notes that makes MC nostalgic of the night they met and the night on the bridge. 

During the climax, notes the fills the room with the sense of rising hope, excitement, a tint of fear, conflict and then… victory. MC supposes this was inspired when they fought against the Devil. Then the grand finale makes MC feel the sheer magnitude of Nadia’s love, passion, and adoration for them. Then the last notes ring out and all MC can think of is this what happily ever after sounds like.

Nadia never lets her eyes stray away from MC’s face even when the curtains fall and the room is flushed with light.

Nadia doesn’t know when it exactly started but she started to write little anecdotes and lines from the books she reads that reminds her of MC in her bookmark (heaven knows she’s won’t write them in the book margins. She’s not barbaric).

MC happens across the bookmarks when they pick up a book that Nadia is reading. The neat cursive of Nadia’s handwriting piques their attention enough and asks her about it. There’s a creeping blush in her neck and cheeks when she confesses what they were as most of them were depicting romantic notions of love.

This stems her habit of sending each book she’s finished along with the scribbled bookmark to MC just so they could see each line that reminded Nadia of her beloved. If MC returns the gesture, Nadia chokes down her reflex to squeal like a schoolgirl receiving a love note (she’s a Countess, she has an image to uphold) and tenderly clutches the bookmark to her chest. Though she’ll walk around the whole week with a lovesick grin.    

She’ll write letters, poems and the rare postcard when MC is unable to travel with her. MC is constantly in her mind and no distance will ever change that or hinder her from telling them she loves them.

She likes to use Chandra as her messenger when she’s stuck in a meeting to give MC little love notes asking if they’re having a good day and that she can’t wait till they’re in her arms again. She also uses the notes to gossip about the officials and that particular courtier she loathes. (medieval texting in its finest).

Nadia loves to craft handmade gifts for MC. It has that truly personal touch, a labour of love and these are the ones MC treasures most.

She lavishes MC in kisses and hugs before they part ways for the day or when they see each other walking down the hallways, it keeps her calm and recharges her for whatever duty has to carry out next.

Last but certainly not the least, footsies under and handholding across the dinner table as she asks MC about their day. She has that intense gaze going as she intently listens to MC. (MC is a blushy mess👀)

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

here, i wrote a smutty, angsty oneshot about the most recent episode. it incorporates spoilers we have for next week’s episode too, jsyk

title: how big you can love

words: 3500

rating: m

It’s only when you’re close to death do you realize just how big you’re able to love. The magnitude of it all; the absolute infinite capabilities of your heart. They say that everyone who’s ever jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge and survived regretted it the moment their feet left solid ground. There’s always love inside—of family, of yourself, of life—but darkness likes to disguise it as pain and grief and hatred. It’s only during the fall that its true face reemerges. You can only really know yourself and your ability to love when you’re about to die.

And it’s not that Daryl ever forgot that he loved her. Quite the contrary, in fact. His whole life lately has revolved around a continuous push-and-pull game, where she tugs herself one way, and he tugs her right on back. But that’s the thing—he’s been so preoccupied with keeping her grounded that he’s put aside the reason he’s doing it in the first place. 

Now that he’s dying, though? Now he remembers. 

Face beaten to a pulp, his leg gushing out more blood than he can stem with the pressure of his hand, Daryl lies on the floor of some rundown dusty shop that has been cleaned out for years, and feels the vastness of his love for her. 

When he closes his swollen eyelids he sees her face, smiling the way she used to in the beginning, with an unwavering kindness that he hadn’t been used to and didn’t know how to comprehend. On his bruised and battered shoulder he feels the phantom weight of her head resting on it, and the squeeze of her fingers around his bicep.

On the other side of the wall, Alpha—the monster who broke Carol’s final tether and made him lose his grip on her—is droning on about the meaning of it all. She’s nearly dead, too, and remembering just how much she loves power. But Daryl isn’t listening. He isn’t here, not really. His heart is still beating, but he’s transcended his body, existing only where his memories of her lie. 

They’re right when they say that your life flashes before your eyes, because she is his whole world.

He should have told her that. 

Should have chanted it like a mantra to her every day.

It was never the right time, and now there’s no time left. Funny thing, time. Always keeps you guessing.

At least he’s not afraid. Carol was the first to teach him that letting people in can be safe, and she’s keeping him safe now, in his final moments. 

Daryl thinks someone is saying his name; thinks there may be footsteps circling around his dilapidated form. He can’t be bothered to make heads or tails of it, though.

He’s too busy remembering how big he’s able to love.

*

Lydia’s tourniquet saved his life, the clever girl. He’s proud of her. Not because she helped him. He’s certainly grateful, but he’s proud because she has developed a love of others instead a love of control like her mother, and he knows exactly how difficult that is when someone is trying to literally beat the compassion out of you.

He’s home in Alexandria, holed up in the infirmary that has yet to recover from the giant hole Siddiq left in his wake. Trainees fuss over him with unskilled hands—people who had observed the late doctor’s handiwork, or came into the community with rusty medical knowledge from CNA jobs in their 20s, or what have you. It’s a testament to how worn down he is that he doesn’t care that he’s confined to a bed and at the whim of other people’s touch. He spends most of his time sleeping, trying to heal his battered body that is unfortunately much too familiar with this song and dance.

In his moments of lucidity, however, in between the aches and pains, he remembers how big he loves her, and he wants to ask everyone who walks by if they’ve seen her, but he’s afraid of the answer. With how they left things, and with her tendency for running, he doesn’t want to know where she ended up after he left her at the collapsed entrance of that godforsaken cave.

At night, though, he thinks he feels her thin fingers lacing between his thick ones, entwining them with a gentle squeeze. He thinks he feels his hair being brushed back, and maybe even lips pressing against his forehead. He thinks he hears soft reassurances whispered in his ear.

But then he wakes up, and no one is ever there.

*

It takes a full week for them to let him go home. A week. Seven days. And truth be told, they probably would have kept him longer, except he finally loses his patience, and gets right up on both feet, ignoring the throb in his injured leg, and walks right out the door.

He gets it. There’s a war on the horizon, and Michonne is out at sea somewhere, Hilltop has two of their members lost underground, not to mention he still hasn’t asked about Carol, and at the end of the day, no matter how well-meaning everyone is, or how concerned they are about his well-being, he knows that, first and foremost, at least right now, he’s an asset they can’t afford to lose.

He’s not gonna take it personal.

But he’s also not staying in that fucking infirmary a second longer. 

When he gets home the house is quiet, and usually quiet doesn’t bother him, but today it feels exceptionally lonely. He’s grown accustomed to the sound of RJ running around playing, with Lil’ Asskicker at his heels, but they’re with a neighbor right now. Lydia is no longer confining herself to the brig, but she’s still not feeling welcome, and comes and goes, checking on him before disappearing back out into the forest, and Daryl, who has done the exact same thing on more than one occasion, would be a hypocrite to ask her to say in one place. But even his dog isn’t here. He’s with a neighbor too. Daryl’s all alone in this big empty house.

Or at least he assumes he is. 

Leaning against the front door, shifting his weight off of his bad leg, his eyes wander up the stairs, and it takes him a good five minutes to decide if it’s time to answer the question he’s been dreading asking since the moment he got through the Alexandrian gates. 

He starts up the stairs, slowly, still sore, and they creak under his weight. He gets to the top and comes face to face with the entrance to her room and finds the door cracked open. Swallowing, he takes those last few steps and nudges it the rest of the way open with the palm of his hand. 

There’s a duffel bag. 

It’s lying open on the bed, and he can see some clothes thrown in haphazardly, and the hilt of a knife. Around the room, dresser drawers are pulled out, and belongings are scattered on the ground. She’s getting ready to run, and his stomach twists.

Entering the room, he surveys the chaos around him. He doesn’t know where she went, but assumes she’ll be back soon to finish her packing job and hit the road. Was she even going to say goodbye? 

A white-hot rage washes over him, because why the fuck does it always have to go this way? It’s always something; always him running to be by himself, or her running from herself. The two of them never learned how to sit still, but he’s sick of it. He loves her too big to lose her again.

He starts putting her things back where they belong; takes out each item of clothing from the duffel bag one-by-one, folding them neatly and laying them in the dresser drawers. Unsteady on his feet, he fights through his pain to reach down and clean up the floor. A lot of it is junk—a pair of socks with holes in the heels and toe, a lighter with no juice left, a pocket mirror with a jagged crack down the middle—but some of it is the exact opposite. Some of the stuff on the ground are treasured items thrown around in anger, like a birthday card from Henry, a drawing of Sophia made by Jadis, and several letters Daryl wrote her during her time out at sea that he didn’t realize she had kept.

He treats these items with care—uncrumpling the corners of aged paper and blowing dust off—before setting them gingerly down in a neat pile on her table. Then, when the room is no longer in disarray, Daryl takes a seat on the edge of her bed and waits.

It’s about fifteen minutes later, give or take, when she returns. She steps into her room and then stills like a statue at the sight of him, not unlike she had the day he came to confront her in that little house on the border of the Kingdom. She takes stock of her tidied up space. With a weak groan, she presses the base of her palms to her eyes.

“Don’t do this,” she says. “Just go.”

“No,” Daryl says simply, and she lets her arms fall, hanging limp at her sides. There are tears sliding down her cheeks but her face is stoic.

“I only stayed to make sure you were okay,” she says. “Clearly you are, so now you can let me go.”

“No,” Daryl says again, not unkindly or harshly, but with an air of finality that she chooses to ignore.

“Look at what I’ve done, Daryl,” she yells then. He doesn’t flinch. “I trapped two of our own. I’ve essentially brought the Whisperers to our front doorstep. I almost got you killed, for Christ’s sake, you almost died, and it would have been my fault, and I have a lot of blood on my hands, Daryl, but if I had yours? I’d rather die and go straight to hell.”

“I’m alive,” Daryl says. 

“But you almost weren’t.”

“But I am.”

“But not everyone is. Not everyone will be, once this war is underway. Anyone around me has the risk of becoming collateral damage.”

“Then you have to get yourself under control.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes you can.”

“How?”

“By talking to me, Carol, like I’ve said all along.”

Carol laughs bitterly, blinking up at the ceiling and shaking her head. 

“The fuck do you want me to say, Daryl?” she asks, eyes trained above her at nothing. “Do you want me to say it hurts that my son’s head was put on a pike? That the woman who did it is still walking around on this Earth without any consequences? Yeah, it fucking hurts.” She looks at him then, with a leveled glare. “Do you want me to say that the only good thing that came out of two decades of abuse was my baby that I ended up not being able to protect? Who died all alone without her mother there to hold her?”

She starts pacing, breathing heavily.

“Do you want me to tell you how I once told a scared little boy I’d tie him to a tree and let the walkers eat him just so he would leave me alone and not be around the fucking curse that I am, and yet he got ripped to shreds anyway?” 

She approaches the bed, standing right before him, wetting her bottom lip. 

“Should I tell you,” she says in a harsh whisper. “About how Lizzie killed her little sister with a knife I taught her to use, and how I took her into the yard and told her to look at the flowers while I shot her point blank in the head?” Daryl’s surprise must be evident, because she smiles humorlessly and says, “Yeah, you didn’t know that one, did you? You didn’t know that when Lizzie died she didn’t have any bites. No wounds. She was in peak physical health. But I killed her anyway, Daryl. Lord knows Tyrese wouldn’t do it. He just gave me the go-ahead and stayed in the house with Judith while I blew a child’s brains out onto the grass.” 

“Carol—”

“No, you wanted me to talk, so I’m talking.” Her whole body is shaking. “Every child that has ever been mine is dead. I am the common denominator. I am lethal, and it doesn’t matter if they’re the good guys or the bad guys—when people are around me they die. And I’m not letting you die, Daryl. I’m not.” 

"You ain't a curse," Daryl says. 

"Then why are they all gone?" Carol breathes, tears coming faster now, and all Daryl wants is to brush them away. He reaches out to her, but she takes a step back. "No," she says.

"I still wanna be here for you."

"You already tried, and look how that went. I took her from you. I didn't mean to, but I did, and you don't get to forgive me just because you think you should out of some sense of loyalty. Tear into me. Get angry. Tell me to fuck off so I can get my stuff and go."

Daryl has to resist rolling his eyes. 'I took her from you.' There she goes with that junior high playground bullshit again, like any of this has to do with if he like likes Connie. As if this has nothing to do with how deeply she's hurting and how deeply he wants to help her, because she's right, he almost died, and now he remembers how big he loves her and isn't soon to forget.

He says, "I ain't tellin' you to fuck off. And I ain't lettin' you leave."

"It's not up to you where I go."

"Then it ain't up to you where I follow."

They hover at this impasse, shooting daggers at each other. Carol wipes her face and takes a deep breath. He can see her preparing her next big polemic in order to push him far enough away that she has time to escape.

"Daryl—" she starts, but she doesn't finish her sentence, because in one swift movement Daryl gets up off the bed and into her space. He cups her face, and before she can protest he's pressing his lips to hers. 

They stand that way for a beat. Then another.

Her eyes are wide when he leans back to look at her; scared and devastated and wanting all concurrently. She opens her mouth to speak.

"Shut up," Daryl says, and kisses her again.

It takes a moment for her to respond, and when she does it feels reluctant. But then, slowly, her arms snake up the length of his torso and drape around his neck, and that's when he feels her give in. She tilts her head for him to get a better angle, and parts her lips for him. He slides his tongue against hers lazily, running his hands down her back until resting them on her hips. He tugs her forward, eradicating completely the distance she tried to put between them as they come flush together.

Breaking the kiss, Daryl rests his forehead against hers as he walks her to the bed. He lays her down tenderly, and she rests on a pillow, watching him. He climbs into bed too and hovers over her, brushing his knuckles down her cheek.

"You're hurt," she reminds him softly, noticing how he's favoring one knee. 

"I'll be okay," he says, because he really couldn't care less, but she shakes her head.

"Lie down," she says, shifting to make room. "Let me."

Daryl hesitates only a moment before settling down on his back, hoping she won't run. 

She doesn't. Instead, she leans down and kisses him sweetly, taking hold of his hand and placing it on her navel. Daryl bunches the fabric between his fingers, and then uses both hands to work the buttons undone. He makes each one come open with such delicacy that he feels like one of those people who open gifts by carefully peeling every piece of tape off and then folding the wrapping paper neatly once it's removed, because the unveiling is just as important as the prize underneath.

He helps her shrug off the shirt entirely, and she reaches around to undo the clasp of her bra. Slipping it off, suddenly she's before him, nude from the waist up. Parts of her skin are marred by years upon years of violence, but there is no inch of her flesh that he doesn't worship. He feels her up, taking time to get to know every texture of her torso, from the smoothness of her belly, to the roughness of her scars, to the tautness of her nipples as he brushes his thumbs over them, making her sigh.

"I love you," he says. She shuts her eyes and more tears dribble down the bridge of her nose.

"You shouldn't," she says. "I wish you didn't."

"Hey," he says gently. "Look at me."

With what seems like tremendous effort, she opens her eyes and meets his gaze.

"I want you to love her," she says. "Or anyone. Anyone else. Don't love me. Please."

"Not up to me, sweetheart," Daryl says, running his fingers through her hair. She leans into the touch. "I love you, and that's why I need you to stay."

"And I love you. That's why I need you to let me go."

Daryl sits up and kisses Carol long and hard.

"No," he says when he pulls away, and Carol gives a helpless sad little laugh.

"I don't know how to be better," she says. "And I can't risk you getting hurt any worse on my account."

"You don't have to fix everything overnight. Just let me help you. Please? Let's get through this together."

"I'm so angry all the time, Daryl. I'm angry and I hurt."

"I know, but lemme tell you somethin'. You don't feel that way 'cause you're a bad person. You feel that way 'cause you love so big you can't hardly handle the pain that comes with it. That's what it's all about. It's about how big you can love."

"If love hurts this bad then it's cruel to let you love me."

"Nah. 'Cause the only thing that hurts worse is not bein' able to love at all." Daryl nuzzles his head against her belly and places a kiss in between her breasts. "C'mere," he says softly, and pulls her down.

They undress each other with the same care Daryl showed with her shirt. She sheds tears all over again at all his new bruises from this latest fight, and he kisses them away, telling her not to cry. That he's okay. That he's grateful for the clarity his brush with death has given him.

He says this all without words. Instead he inscribes the messages with his lips along her collarbone and breasts, with his hand slipping down between her legs and sliding along her wet folds until he finds her entrance and presses two fingers inside her. She pants softly, running her own hands over his bare flesh aimlessly, caught up in the sensations he's provoking in her body. He encircles her clitoris with the pad of his thumb; a featherlight, rhythmic motion, while his fingers still pulse against her walls.

She cums with a shudder, crying even though he told her not to. She kisses him so tenderly, even as she expands and contracts wildly around his hand. And god is it satisfying to finally be able to give her something good.

Once she's recovered, she straddles his hips like she belongs there, and Daryl holds her gaze as she lowers herself down, making small noises as she stretches to fit all of him inside her. 

At the first roll of her hips, Daryl feels that same feeling he did on the floor of the shop; that overwhelming understanding of how big he loves her, and maybe that means it's not only death that reveals such truths. Maybe there are moments like this littered all throughout a lifetime. Not that it matters. He doesn't need revelations, he just needs her, and while she rides him like she's reminding herself of all the good parts of love, he knows that he has her. Finally, she's his.

He lets go with her name on his lips, and she swallows it with a long, languid kiss. They stay that way as long as they can, until he can no longer stay inside her. They lay side-by-side then, legs intertwined and hands lazily exploring parts of each other's bodies they may have missed.

"Go to sleep," Carol tells him when he yawns. He brushes his thumb over her lips and she kisses it.

"Will you still be here when I wake up?" he asks, and she nods. And she means it. He knows when she's bullshitting him.

"I'm scared, though," she admits a few minutes later, after he thought the conversation was over.

"That's okay," Daryl says, burrowing in closer to her, as if trying to become one. "Just as long as you stay. All the rest we can figure out together."

"Are you sure you want to love me?" she asks.

"Yes. And even if I didn't I wouldn't have a choice."

"It's hard to love this big, Daryl."

"I know, sweetheart," he says, pressing his lips to her pulse point. "But it's worth it."

[roc-thoughtblog]

Sense and Sensibility Readthrough Part 13

Chapter 16, Pages 72-78

Previously, Marianne is a mess because Willoughby has been exiled to London for a year. They're basically broken up right now... Elinor's still nonspecifically suspicious. I dunno what else to say really.

My mind’s been so occupied I somehow almost forgot to post this today even though I wrote it up hours ago. Also, I want a hand muff, big and fuzzy.

Readthrough below.

Chapter 16

She was awake the whole night, and wept the greatest part of it.

I have neither known nor witnessed heartbreak of this magnitude, but I will assume this to be relatively normal.

indulging in the recollection of past enjoyment and crying over the present reverse

That's another nice line. She's really investing herself into everything that reminds her of Willoughby. Poor lass. Stays like that at least a couple of days before it starts to stabilise a little bit.

There is no contact from Willoughby. Yeah, pretty sure they're entirely broken up. Mama Dashwood still thinks he'll return though? Elinor asks Mama to ask Marianne the true state of her relationship with Willoughby. Mama declines to, for fear of the possibility of it being the most hurtful question should it be that they were actually not engaged.

So even Mama has some doubts. A curiosity as it is though, I can't see what anyone could do with that information right now anyway. Willoughby is gone, and it seems the onus is on him to make contact. Onus, what a strange word. Comes from latin for "load or burden". Makes sense.

Haha, oh dear. Elinor does derive a little pleasure from the one time Mama accidentally prompts an outburst from Marianne. She wants data! It's the only way she'll get it!

Elinor finally gets Marianne to rejoin their walks; on their way they spot a man on a horse riding towards them. Marianne thinks it's Willoughby! I guess she was confident he'd return after all, so maybe they weren't broken up. Unfortunately, Marianne is wrong, isn't she.

Marianne looked again; her heart sunk within her;

... yeah.

and she turned around in surprise to see and welcome Edward Ferrars.

OH. EDDIE! Wow it has been many chapters. Out with the new, in with the old? What's brought him here? Either way, it's such a fortunate meeting Marianne has temporarily had the sad surprised out of her, for her sister's happiness. D'awwww. It's nice that we are as happy to see not-Willoughby. Marianne also resumes her observations of Elinor's strangely dry courtship rituals.

Also there's a cute little illustration here where they're holding funny little fuzzy round cyclinders, I wonder what those are? Hand warmers? Oh my gosh they are! Muffs! Back in highschool I used to stick my hands in my alternate sleeves all the time like some kind of monk. I hate the cold and I want one of these. I didn’t know they existed!

I want all their hats too but that’s beside the point because I always want their hats. Also, based on earlier illustrations I do believe that’s Marianne leftmost and Elinor in the middle, so that must be Margaret on the far right. Aww, she looks adorably excited to see Eddie!

there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say [...] seemed scarcely sensible of pleasure seeing them, looked neither rapturous nor gay, said little but what was forced from him by questions, and distinguished Elinor by no mark of affection.

Apparently one of my old friends has a relationship mutually similar to this, and it was working well last I heard. If it works, it works. Haha, Marianne is still peeved by it though. Oh, Eddie's been in the region for two weeks and is only coming to see Elinor now. Yeah, I understand. Marianne doesn't, she seems upset enough to distress Eddie himself haha. Though I think his baseline is always a little distressed.

Marianne: poetic passion about the leaves of autumn, "driven in showers about me by the wind!" :D Elinor: oh boy dead leaves -__-

Sisters. :'D

Marianne: excitedly gushing to Eddie of the beautiful surrounds :D Edward: the valley snow is going to be muddy :)

ah yes, Edward and Elinor, made for each other. The successive contrast with Marianne is very successful at establishing similarity of character in a way that it would be hard just by comparing Edward and Elinor to each other directly. More notes to take. I guess difference is easier to see than similarity.

"How can you think of dirt, with such objects before you?" "Because," replied he, smiling, "among the rest of the objects before me, I see a very dirty lane."

Very practically minded, Edward. Haha, Marianne is slightly incensed. :'D She has a very exclusionary way of looking at things; she misses the poor qualities of the surrounds, but misses the good qualities of the Middletons. Perhaps black-and-white might be more apt, things are either good or bad. Elinor is, naturally, kinder on the Middletons when asked to describe them.

[beautifulletdownfics]

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part One

Hello!  Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here!  Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

+++

I wrote a symphony.

I had written a symphony and tonight I was conducting the London Symphony Orchestra in what would be my professional debut as a composer and conductor. London’s Royal Albert Hall was sold out, a fact I sincerely wished the Director of Music kept to himself. I tried not to think about the magnitude of the opportunity I had tonight to disappoint, to not live up to what was expected of me.

The conductor’s suite was cold and quiet around me, and with no instrument to tune to keep my hands busy, I was flipping through a five-year-old edition of Hello Magazine. My eyes stared at the clock on the wall, not taking in any of the dated royal gossip or reality star news, it was an odd juxtaposition really—London’s premier music venue housing a copy of the gossip rag from the pits of hell.

Months of tension and trying to sleep through the noise of dozens of melodies simultaneously rolling through my thoughts at once had finally dissipated into an unsettling silence. The notes weren’t fluid anymore, they were set, and a seventy piece orchestra knew the movements backwards and forwards.

It was anti-climatic in the sense that the worry and stress didn’t end, they just became centred in a different place. Instead of biting my nails over crescendos and harmonies, I was in the middle of an even more terrifying process of considering how it all might sound to the thousands of people above me, being ushered to their seats.

I picked at the sequinned hem of my dress and wondered what the heck I was supposed to do tomorrow.

Tomorrow—when I wasn’t writing and rewriting the movements anymore—when what felt like my life’s work was out there, and I couldn’t hide it way anymore. Did I just wake up as usual, walk to the cafe down the street and order a latte? Sit at a window seat, and one by one delete all the notes and voice memos on my phone from the last twelve months of writing? Did I immediately start work on a follow-up? Would anybody want a follow up from me?

I suddenly wished more than anything that I was in the green room with my peers warming up my horn for any typical performance. Knowing I was going to walk out on stage after they did made my stomach hollow out.

My phone started vibrating from its spot on the vanity in the corner, and when I got to it, I stood over it for a little while, looking at Harry’s name flash up on the screen with a call. After three years my instinct was to reach out to Harry whenever I felt like this; like I wasn’t in control of how time was moving, and I wasn’t sure how to reach back into my life and be present. My fingers itched to answer his call, to hear his voice and be comforted by whatever lovely and motivating things he would say.

But I couldn’t. I’d fall apart if I heard Harry's voice tonight because he wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, and that something I was completely unprepared for.

It wasn’t anybody’s fault, not really.

If anything the fact Harry couldn’t be here was because of me. Harry planned his Asian touring dates around when my debut was supposed to take place, a few weeks from now. A month ago I played tonight’s suites in full to the orchestra board and directors, and they decided they wanted to move everything forward, opening the season with my debut instead of having it in the middle of the season.

It was a promotion for my work, and it was a huge show of faith and support from my community. But it meant Harry had shows with tickets already sold and there was no good way of telling fans in four cities they were going to be refunded or offered tickets for alternate dates. Particularly when Harry’s picture was sure to show up in London somewhere, and it would be plainly obvious he cancelled shows to see his girlfriend.

A text flashed up on my phone.

Harry: I love you. You’re going to be fantastic. Remember to breathe. x

It was sweet of him to text, he would know more than anyone how I was feeling. I didn’t have it in me to do the time conversion to where he was at the moment. He was right in the middle of the Asian leg. I tried my best to swallow my sadness down—I knew Harry wasn’t choosing to miss this.

After finding out tonight’s performance was going to be so much earlier than I had expected the time flew by quickly as I went through all the rigours of finalising the score and then rehearsing it with the orchestra. It had been four weeks of early mornings and late nights, fielding questions from players and getting it up to performance standard. Harry was a saint for dealing will all my teary FaceTime calls and the almost daily texts about giving up.

I tried not to overthink how wrong it felt knowing Harry wouldn’t be there afterwards to celebrate with my family and friends. All the late nights I spent with Harry pouring over my compositions trying to find the notes that were out of place and to then not have him sitting in the audience the first time it was played—and my first time conducting a professional orchestra … It felt like I was being robbed of something.

He was the perfect helper over the twelve months the symphony took to write. Some parts happened quickly, and others were hard-won, with dozens of edits and reprises. Harry was the best second set of ears I could have asked for. He learned over the years how music was put together, and when I was pathetic and frustrated in the middle of the night, he spoke my language in calm, loving perfection.

I had my dad to be my critical, technical sounding board, and my boyfriend to be the ever encouraging, soft set of hands I needed when it all felt hopeless. Harry knew when to push me to keep going, and when to pull me from the room and distract my mind with something else.

I missed him.

Harry and I hadn’t spent more than 72 hours together in four months. There were a handful of weekend visits—most notably my twenty-fourth birthday we spent in Copenhagen—and three days quite recently spending Christmas with our families ... But beyond that, Harry and I were doing long distance, the end in sight but too far away to be a real comfort yet.

In some ways, the four months apart seemed to had passed exceptionally quickly, but in others—mainly the ones that seemed to carry the most weight—it was as if time had slowed to twice it’s speed and filling the extra space was all the time I spent missing him.

I spent half my days hating technology—hating talking through a phone with typed or faceless words, and hating early mornings on Skype where a 2D depiction of Harry could only soothe so far—and the rest of the days clutching my phone like a lifeline, praising the 21st century for its ability to connect to people on opposite sides of the planet.

We made it work, which was a line I’d stolen from Harry in interviews over the years. But it was true, nonetheless. Sometimes it felt overly simplistic, but there was a simple truth to it that I liked.

Today though, I had vowed to be happy even in his absence.

“Ten-minute call,” My eyes snapped to the PA system in the corner, and I let out a long stream of breath.

It was time.

+++

I held my baton tightly in front of me, shaking from the adrenalin.

I deliberately avoided looking to where I knew my family and friends were sitting when the house lights were turned on.

The applause was almost deafening and completely overwhelming. I held up my arm to the orchestra, diverting the praise of the audience to the players behind me. They had done spectacularly, and once my heart was done exploding from my chest, and I came down off all my nerves, I would be able to adequately comprehend it all.

The applause started quietening down as the Director of Music, Ian, walked out to join me on stage, a handheld microphone in his hand. He kissed my cheek and gave me a warm hug, calling for another round of applause for me that I awkwardly stood through. I recalled our conversation eighteen months ago, where he encouraged me to do this, to challenge myself.

There was a loud whoop from behind me, and I laughed when the horns section was on their feet cheering me from their positions. They were my closest allies in the orchestra and they’d more than earned their stripes tonight. I gave them a little bow and turned back to the front.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our very own Maestro Nina Lawrence,” Ian said into the microphone, smiling through the distinguished term that I definitely hadn't earned yet, “I am sure this is only the beginning of what we will see from you,” He smiled at me.

There were a few more moments on stage before he led me off, the orchestra following close behind me. I sat on the first seat I found in the wings, tilting my feet back onto my heels and dragging my hands through my hair.

“Ni-na!” My name was called out as the players spilled into the green room, a body pressed up next to me, and someone grabbed my arm, “You’re fucking brilliant!”

I smiled up at one of the trumpet players, “Thank you. I feel like I’m about to combust.”

Somebody shouted for a toast, and I watched, completely surprised, by the arrival of trays of flutes of champagne. By the time all the officials and board members had given their own motivational, encouraging addresses, congratulating me and everyone for all their hard work, nearly all my family had snuck in. Friends too were now making faces at me from across the room where they all stood near the door.

When everyone broke apart, I made a beeline for them, asking one of the venue wait staff to follow me with a  tray of drinks. My shoulders hurt by the time I was finished getting hugs from everyone, some tearier than others, my dad the teariest of all. My cousins and my childhood best friends mingling with friends from the orchestra and my life with Harry in a way that overwhelmed me with a sense of belonging to a powerful group of people. Finally, I tucked myself under Rodger’s arm for a touch of respite from the limelight, my back almost touching the wall behind us as he chatted to Laykn and Max.

“None of those sad eyes today, alright?” Rodger turned his head down to the side of my face and spoke under his breath.

“Shhh,” I squeezed his fingers near my shoulder as I took a deep breath and tried to swallow against the tight feeling pressing against my throat, “I’m not sad.”

“Nina,” He chuckled, “You’re inches off looking like you’re attending a funeral.”

“That’s not true!” I argued feebly, chancing a look at him and giving him wide eyes like that might convince him. As Rodger didn’t know me better than almost anybody else.

“It is,” Rodger bit back, smiling at my mother who turned around when my old flatmate failed to whisper quietly enough, she gave us a concerned look but went back to chatting to a friend of our father’s, “And Harry would be so upset if he knew he was ruining this for you,” Rodger’s voice was softer now, “I know this is worse for him. Everyone you love is celebrating with you today, and he’s literally one of the furthest places on earth from you that he could possibly be.”

“It’s not his fault,” I said quietly, looking at my nails and picking at a loose bit of skin I’d been biting all week.

“No, it’s not,” Rodger agreed, resting his head on the crown of my head slowly in warm affection, “But he’s watched you work so hard for this for years, Nina … I know he’d be distraught if he thought you were going to be sad all day because he can’t be here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You know it, do you?”

Rodger halted for half a second and then I felt him shrug against me, “He might’ve sent me one of his perfectly punctuated text messages last night instructing me to kick you up the arse if you started looking weepy.”

Something pinched at my heart at Harry’s pro-active concern, “I can’t believe he’d describe me as ‘weepy’,” I huffed, knowing that was precisely the word my boyfriend would use.

“This isn’t about him, this is your night.”

The thing was that my friend was so right about what Harry’s reaction would be to my outwardly missing him today. Harry had lectured me numerous times this week.

When my family and friends followed me back to the conductor’s suite for one more champagne before the celebratory dinner my parents had insisted on organising, I was unable to not still feel disconnected somehow. There was relief though, and an astronomical sense of achievement and satisfaction, and for the first time all day, I felt caught up in the happiness of it all.

The room felt far bigger when I was in here alone before the performance, it was much nicer crammed with my loved ones, all lightly teasing and bullying me. It was loving, and I could read the pride on their faces. I got extra hugs from both my parents and from aunt Anne and my uncle Ted. The cousins and my brother were out in full force—Martin refused to stop filming me and asking mock, documentary-style questions, Josh and Ben didn’t stop trying to make me re-enact walking across the stage. And Oliver was doing impressions of me, waving my baton around and tugging on the lapels of the new suit he got for his tenth birthday.

My dad was holding his phone up taking photos the whole time, managing to wrangle us all together into the groups he wanted. I felt like I’d had an individual photo with everyone a hundred times over.

“It’s the middle of the night in Tokyo,” Laykn draped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his side, letting me take a sip of his warm champagne. He knew me well enough to know I had checked my phone a few too many times.

I just wanted to hear from Harry.

“I know,” I sighed, “Sorry.”

“Nah,” My younger brother dismissed, “It’s alright. You miss him, that’s okay. Maybe it means you’ll be nice and let me eat your fries at dinner.”

“Ha, fat chance,” I told him. “And I’m not sure this is a fries kind of place.”

Laykn looked at me playfully down his nose, his fingers darting about pocking his tie back through the gaps in his shirt,  “It’s a rich people’s place, Nina. They’ll make you whatever you want as long as the booking name is under Harry Styles.”

I punched Laykn in the arm, and he laughed loudly, “You’re a jerk. Mum and dad organised dinner.”

“I think Harry pulled some strings,” Laykn teased, “And don’t kid yourself, I’m your favourite jerk,” He amended quickly.

“Yeah, whatever,” I agreed, “I’m going to go find the bathroom,” I whispered right into his ear, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room.

I waited until I was in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet with the lid down before I unlocked my phone again. I checked any of the places communication from Harry might’ve come from, but then when all my email and messaging apps were coming up blank, I had to fight off the disappointment without tearing up.

I knew that it was still essentially nighttime in Japan where he was, but that didn't stop my heart breaking a little at the fact I’d just lived out one of the biggest days in my life while Harry slept. It had been a big day for me, and although I handled days like this a lot better than I might’ve when we were first dating, knowing that Harry was at least awake at the same time was more comforting than I’d care to admit.

After taking a few moments to actually use the facilities, I gave myself one final pep talk in the vast, softly lit mirror before readjusting my dress and mentally preparing myself for what I knew would be a boisterous dinner.

I walked out of the restrooms, flipping my phone over in my hands and concentrating on taking a few deep, filling breaths. The bare concrete walls of the backstage tunnels were marked up with dozens of scrapes and a patchwork of different staging tape. It was chilly too, and I told myself to put my coat on when I got back to everyone, we needed to leave for dinner soon.

“Hey pretty lady," I heard just behind me, my peripheral catching just the slightest movement of someone off the wall.

He smiled when I turned back to face him.

The light glistening in his eyes was the first thing I noticed. But my heart started racing, and my legs were moving before I could really think what was happening, all I knew was that the string connecting my heart to my tear ducts was tugging wildly.

Harry.

He was standing wearing a beautifully tailored pair of high waisted black suit pants, a soft white tee and double-breasted black blazer. I was sure my mouth was hanging open as wide as it felt my heart was busting open in my chest, “Harry!”

"Surprise," He giggled out, bending his neck down slightly when I opened up my arms and reached towards him on my tippy toes, folding my arms up over his shoulders. His arms crossed at the small of my back, and all the air left my lungs when he pulled me against him tightly. “Kept me waiting out here long enough, I didn’t want to make you cry in front of everyone.”

"I hate you," I whined through the shock, but my throat was clogged up with the tears that had already started escaping my eyes. “You’ve been here the whole time? When did you arrive?”

“A few hours beforehand … Tried calling you when we got here though,” He mumbled into my neck, “I was regretting not telling you I was coming because I knew your nerves would be killing you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I knew I’d cry if I spoke to you, I just wanted you here.” “Well, I was here,” He laughed, “And you were fucking phenomenal. I cried like a baby.”

“You’re here!”

Harry's grip on me tightened, and he stood up a little, pulling me with his body, “I am. You look beautiful."

“You haven't seen me in four months," I sniffed, turning my head to press my nose into his neck.

"God, don't I know it," Harry moved his hands up my back and settled them on my shoulders, "Fuck, why do I do this to myself? You're an angel," He pulled back and leaned down to kiss me.

Our lips were hopeless at staying together, even though we hadn’t kissed in months and months. The emotions were catching up with me, and I struggled to settle anywhere between laughing and sniffing back my tears. Harry’s lips turned up into a smile and he pulled my forehead against his, watching through amused, wetted eyes as I tried to keep myself from bawling.

“You’re useless,” He laughed, sniffing away his own emotions when I traced my fingers under his eyes to catch the tears.

“What are you doing here,” I asked, squeezing my eyes shut and moving up again to press my cheek against Harry’s in a desperate attempt to feel closer. “You’re in Japan.”

“I’m not in Japan,” He said softly, “I’m here for you. No one’s as proud of you as I am, Nina, you’ve worked so hard for this.”

“Stop,” I groaned, embarrassed.

“It’s true,” He defended seriously, “You’ve got more talent than anyone I know, and you work harder than everyone else as well. The performance was astounding, you had the whole room captivated. Your work is beautiful and you should be so proud. I’m so proud.”

“Stop,” I interjected.

“It’s true,” Harry swallowed thickly, “You’re always working towards getting better and being better, and you’re constantly creating something completely brilliant that half the time I don’t understand until you stop and baby it down for me … You’re incredible, and I’m so proud of you, my Maestro.”

I felt myself blush, having heard Harry sprout out that affectionate declaration many times before.

“Did everyone know?” I asked, still holding him tight.

“That I was coming?” His chest moved against mine in a few small chuckles after I nodded against him, “Yeah.”

“All of them?” I thought of my whole family and all my friends sitting waiting for me to return from the bathroom.

“Every last, stinking one,” Harry said in what he thought was an endearing Dennis the Menace impression. I pulled back and smiled as I looked up and watched him continue, “There was no way on earth I wasn’t going to be here for this. No fucking way.”

“Seriously,” I shook my head and swallowed back another lot of tears, “You can’t be here right now, you’re in the middle of tour, and you’ve got shows every—“

“Shhh,” Harry took my lips between his again for a few seconds, “Don’t worry about any of that, you think I wouldn’t move mountains to be here? I’m here.”

I smiled and let the tears escape this time, “I love you.”

Harry took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “I love you, too.”

I settled back down into my heels and shook my head, "I can't believe it. This morning I woke up thinking there was still three weeks before I'd see you ... And now ..."

He grinned, "I pulled off the perfect surprise then. C'mon, your brother has been texting me for the last twenty minutes about how hungry he is. Impatient little git, isn't he?"

I rolled my eyes and let Harry arrange our fingers together in a tight hold, ”He's famished apparently.”

Harry’s lips pressed into the hair just above my ear before he stood up straighter and slowly took a step forward. I let him lead me along for a few steps before overwhelming happiness overcame me, and I skipped ahead to tuck myself under his arm snugly.

"I love you, Harry Styles,” I told him quietly, ducking my head when we came to a junction where the greenrooms met the holding room, “Thank you so much for coming.”

There was a small tug on my hand and then Harry stopped walking, looking down at me curiously he tilted his head to one side, “You’re welcome, but I hope you realise coming was less than altruistic of me … I’ve been pretty desperate to see you as well, Neens.”

“‘Cause I’m your favourite person?” I said, grinning when Harry’s thumb dug into my side.

“Damn straight, you are,” He nodded, hooking his hand around my neck and leading my lips up to his.

I shut my eyes and let the kiss be led by Harry. He kept it slow, dragging his lips up to my temple and resting them there for a moment.

“Your family will think I’ve kidnapped you,” Harry said slowly as he wrapped his arms around my waist and squeezed once before letting me go again and starting to walk. “And I’m starving as well, let’s go, yeah?”

I latched both my hands over one of Harry’s and manoeuvred us quickly back to where everyone was. There was a room full of happy faces when we finally got there, together, and I shrunk into Harry’s side shyly at the stupid catcalls from them all. Georgie held her phone up recording the moment with the promise of sending me the ‘adorable’ photos later. Laykn muttered something about it being ‘about bloody time', Harry beamed though, kissing me firmly in front of everyone.

+++

It was sweet relief to finally be in the back of a cab pressed neatly beside Harry on the way to dinner. I dropped my head to his shoulder sleepily even though I knew we were only a few blocks from where the Langham was.

Harry quickly greeted the driver and said the name of the street we needed before he turned covered my thigh with his palm and massaged it slowly, “Do you think we should get a pet?”

“A pet?” I asked, completely surprised by what came out of his mouth.

“Yeah.” “That’s what you're thinking about right now?”

“Been thinking about it for a while,” He misheard my tone. “We should get a pet, don’t you think?

“No, I absolutely do not think,” I challenged him, “Pets are so much work, and you go away all the time and what if I want to come to see you? It’d be annoying for us to have a pet.”

Without looking at him I knew the face he was pulling, all wide-eyed and pouted lip, “But imagine having a little furry bundle of love in our lives, Nina. I think you’ve been very flippant in dismissing what could be the best decision we ever make.”

“Harry.”

“I want a puppy, Nina,” He went on, taking a deep breath and racing through his words like that might convince me,  “A little fluffy one that needs help learning to howl and hates walking on the kitchen tiles. A cockapoo, like Rodger and Adriana’s dog. Doesn’t that sound adorable?”

“Harry, we can’t—

“—I said,” He interrupted, “Doesn’t that sound adorable, Nina? With little paws and that look of love, only dogs can give? And when we’re both away Gem can take it, or Josh.”

“Har—

“—Or Laykn! We can send little Pauper to university with your brother for a few days.”

“Pauper?” I gave Harry a look.

“Great name, hey? I’ve been brainstorming.”

“What makes you think I’d let you call our puppy ‘Pauper’. What a stupid name for a dog.”

Harry smiled widely, “Our puppy, eh?”

I paused, realising my mistake, “Shut up.”

He laughed at me and raised his arm up to rest it around me and pull me against his side, “I’m going to win this, I can tell.”

“You’re really not.” “Am too.”

We rode in silence then, the radio playing softly upfront and the streets of London slipping past us in their usual way. Harry was humming along, and when I eventually turned to look back at him, his eyes were already watching me.

“What?” I asked quickly, sitting up and moving out of his arms.

“Love you, you were fucking incredible up there tonight,” He said quietly, leaning his head back against the seat and not changing his relaxed expression in the slightest. His slight smile only created half dimples in his cheeks, and I found myself entranced by the curl of his eyelashes.

I felt my cheeks heat up immediately, “You’ve got that look.”

His eyes widened a little as his fingers snuck across my lap to reach for my hands, “What look is that?”

“The one where you’re secretly imagining me naked,” I said bluntly.

“Ha!” Harry didn’t hide his amusement at all, letting out one loud sound and then falling into an adorable bout of silent laughter, he leant forward and placed a hot kiss to the shell of my ear, “Well, it’s not a secret anymore, is it?”

“Harry!” I smacked him in the chest with my free hand which he quickly grabbed at and held in place.

“The best part is that now you’re imaging me naked,” Harry hummed out lightly.

Before any more could be said, the car was stopping, which had Harry kicking open the door and pulling me out with him. I stood for a second and waited for him to take my hand, leading me up the front steps and straight to the reception of the restaurant.

Inside everyone was already seated, and on their first drinks, I walked around the table and greeted everyone individually. We had a round table in a vast, impeccably styled private dining room. Two seats had been left free for Harry and me, he took the spot next to my dad, and I lowered myself into the place next to my mum.

It was the first time all day I actually felt relaxed. I sat back in my chair and let the pain in my feet ease. The boys were all challenging each other to different meals, making up anything that was in a different language and then convincing Oliver anything foreign would just taste like chicken. Isobel, Georgie and Sam were asking Harry about Japan, listing off a particular liquor they wanted him to bring back for the next time we drank together.

Everyone took far too long deciding what to eat and then even longer actually getting through all the food that arrived. Harry told me he slept through the food on the plane over and was much hungrier than even he knew. I let him take from my plate much to Laykn’s dismay.

“Happy?” My mum leaned over and put her arm around my shoulder for a quick hug, whispering and then watching my reaction with a massive smile on her face.

I pulled Harry, and I’s joined hands over onto my lap like he might disappear if he wasn’t as close as I could get him, “Yeah,” I replied, “Perfect.”

“You look happy,” She observed, “And Harry’s got his dopey face on.”

I laughed and looked back over to my boyfriend who was blushing at something Josh and Martin were teasing him about, “Do you know how long he’s got or …”

When I turned back around to face her, there had been a definite fall in her features, “Nina … He just got here, why don’t you—“

“—I know,” I cut her off, “I know. Harry isn’t meant to be here at all, who cares how long he can stay, right?”

She gave me a small smile and a kiss on my cheek just before I was pulled into defending Harry against whatever he was being attacked for now. Everyone looked happy, though, and I was glad to sit and be taken into whatever conversations I could. It was fun, and it felt almost like it was the holidays, and we all had nothing to do but enjoy each other. I found myself thankful for the occasion in an entirely different way to how I had appreciated it earlier in the day.

Eventually, after an embarrassing dessert experience that involved my receiving a ‘debut cake’, everyone started looking at watches and deciding it was time to end the dinner. Anybody who didn’t live in London had been invited by Harry to stay at our house.

“We’re not going with them,” Harry said to me at the last minute, after the bill was paid and we were all standing out farewelling each other in the foyer.

I looked over at my parents who seemed to already know this information, and everyone else was already loading into Ubers and Cabs.

“We aren’t?”

Harry smiled, “Say goodbye,” He nodded towards my family, and I offered them all a small wave without hiding my confusion.

“Where are we—”

Harry leant down and kissed me quickly, “—I got us a room for the night.”

“Here?” I asked astonished.

He nodded.

My eyes nearly fell out of my head, “Harry! That’s mental! This place is fancy.”

“Yeah,” He changed our positions, so his arm was draped across my shoulders and he started leading me over to the hotel reception, “Well … You’re a gorgeous woman in a beautiful dress, and I ironed this shirt so I’d say we’re pretty fancy. And it’s a celebration … Not to mention the fact we’ve hardly seen each other in four months …”

“Harry,” I warned slowly, feeling myself grow jittery when I saw the glint in his eyes.

He moved his hand down my arm and rested it across the back of my ribcage, fanning out his fingers to reach as high as he could, “I’ve missed you,” Harry whispered in my ear lowly, “And you look bloody stunning, Nina. I didn’t feel much like sharing you with your family at home.”

Home.

That was a concept that I was still getting used to, despite it having been almost a year since I moved all my things in with Harry. Probably because I’d spent most of that time highly stressed about composing, and Harry had been away for so much of it. But still, the fact remained, we lived together now and with that simple fact came a new level of pure intimacy that I relished in. I could only imagine how much better it would feel to have a good chunk of time together there come to the end of the tour for Harry.

“What’re you thinking about? Me naked?” Harry’s voice came right into my ear again.

We were standing at the desk, waiting behind another couple, and Harry moved around to stand tightly behind me, his arm affectionately across my neck.

I looked at him from the side of my eyes, “Just how nice it’ll be to actually live together for an extended period.”

“Hmm,” Harry agreed readily before stepping forward and introducing himself, he turned back to me while we waited for the check-in paperwork, “It will be pleasant.”

“Seriously, how much are you spending on—” I asked, reaching up onto my tippy toes when a piece of paper was placed in front of Harry.

“Oh-oh,” He tutted, plucking it up and shifting, so his back was to me, he smiled at the receptionist, signing his name quickly, “This is perfect, thank you.” She disappeared again, and he turned back to me, I tried not to think about how much whatever extravagant room we were about to stay in would be costing him. Not to mention the cost of him flying out here from Japan in the first place.

I caught a familiar movement over his shoulder and quickly diverted my eyes, “Does it matter if you’re seen here with me?”

Harry frowned, “What do you mean?”

“Someone just took a photo.”

Harry looked back over his shoulder to where I was looking, “Oh,” He turned back to me, “No, it’s okay.”

A keycard was handed over, and Harry profusely thanked the receptionist who pointed us in the direction of the elevators. We walked passed the group where I had seen the photo being taken, Harry gave them a polite little wave with a coolness I know I lacked.

When the doors opened, and we stepped inside, I watched Harry in the mirror as he pressed the for the flood we wanted, “It feels odd not having bags, doesn’t it?”

“Feels sexy,” Harry grinned.

“It feels conspicuous,” I returned.

Harry chuckled, leaning over to kiss my forehead, “I brought some things from home over earlier.”

“Oh.”

“You’re just so cute when you’re worried about silly things, Neens,” He explained.

I was about to rebut when we came to the door for our room. Harry opened it with no hesitation—his years of staying in hotels showing— and he propped open the door for me to walk in ahead of him. I ducked under his arm and hung my evening bag on the back of the door, continuing to where the whole room opened up to an expanse of windows.

My eyes were immediately drawn to the drawing desk by the window. Sitting up in a long, white vase was a dozen white and red roses.

“Harry … What are these?”

“Happy debut,” He said behind me as he pressed his chest to my back and wound his arms around my front, when I looked down he was holding a medium-sized, navy box out in front of me, “This is for you as well.”

I slowly took the box out of his hands and straight away he held them firmly across my stomach. His chin rested on my neck, and he observed as I ran my finger over the engraving on the front.

“Harry Winston,” I read the engraved name, “What on earth—

“Open it,” Harry instructed softly, turning his head to one side to press a kiss to the base of my neck.

The box opened with a satisfying pop sound and it folded out like a flower. Resting in the velvet insert was a beautiful, round pendant necklace.

“Harry, you’re not supposed to get me something.”

“Take out,” He urged, poking the back of my hand with his index finger.

“I don’t want to break it.”

Harry chuckled lightly, “You won’t. Take it out, and we’ll put it on you.”

It turned out that it was quite hard to extract from the box, and in the end, Harry in his own fit of giggles had to pull out the whole lining of the box and work from the underside to get it out. But he managed to get the necklace out and just before he put it on he made me go into the bathroom with him, so I’d be able to see in the mirror.

“Lovely,” He declared once the clasp was secured and the small pendant was resting on my skin. Harry ran his hands down my arms and back up again while I inspected how I looked wearing it.

“It’s absolutely beautiful,” I decided very quickly, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry returned, looking very pleased with himself behind me.

The movement of his hands halted for a moment as he bent down a little to kiss the back of my neck gently. It was a soft kiss that sent something delicious all the way down my spine and the back of my legs. He hummed against my skin, and his fingers trailed up to the zip at the top of my dress, carefully dragging it down to pull the two sides apart carefully.

“We’re going to have to hang this up if I’m going to be doing the walk of shame in it tomorrow,” I told him, referring to my dress.

“My girlfriend doesn’t do walks of shame,” Harry corrected with a growl, his hands slow and deliberate in their movements, “I’ve got something for you to wear tomorrow and pyjamas.”

“You have?” I turned around in his arms and was honestly surprised by him being that prepared.

“I do,” He said in a funny, high pitched voice, “What did you think I meant when I said I brought some things over earlier? It’s moments like these it comes out that you don’t think very much of my gentlemanly ways.”

I moved my arms up to rest over his shoulders and pulled myself up onto my tippy toes, “I’m happy to be proved wrong.”

Harry’s eyes went to my lips then, and I knew there wasn’t going to be much more talking. He pulled me against him and started out the kisses slow and sweet, getting me ready for when the four months of not seeing each other took over, and our hands started moving of their own accord.

It didn’t take long before Harry had me lying on my back on the bed, my dress over the back of the nearest chair and Harry’s nice clothes draped over the top of them. From there it was all hushed words of missing each other, and incomprehensible noises that only made the moment hotter and more dizzying.

After three years so much about sex with Harry was better than I ever could’ve imagined. Because he knew me on so many different levels, the physical connection between us was only heightened. And it grew in me some enormous sense of pride to know I was the only one who got Harry curling his toes together and panting against my skin.

He was all mine, and I got every inch of him to myself.

It was well past one in the morning by the time we were lying side by side, and I was finally reflecting on the day as a whole. My stomach was filled with a warm, settled feeling just having Harry next to me in bed again. Sleeping alone had been something I hated getting used to still. Having another, albeit longer, body beside me I was sure was the best end result I never would’ve dared to dream might happen today.

“What time are you setting it for?”

Harry stopped moving his fingers across his phone screen and turned his head my way, “What?”

I made a point of looking where the clock app was open in front of him, “What time are you setting your alarm for?”

“Neens,” He said sadly, not giving me an answer but only giving me a look that said whatever his response would be I wouldn’t like it.

“Harry, what time?” I asked again, moving my head over to rest against his shoulder for a better look at the screen, “Three a.m.?” I readout.

“Nina—

“—Three in the morning! Harry, what the hell kind of insane time is that? You can’t—

I was cut off by Harry rolling onto his side and forcing me into silence with a kiss, “Don’t get upset, Nina. It’s okay.”

I frowned and watched him as he hovered over me, “You’re leaving in the middle of the night?”

“I can’t stay any longer, I’m sorry. I’ve got an interview I can’t miss before tomorrow night’s show.”

My eyes widened in shock, “You’ve got a show tomorrow … Tonight?” I corrected myself.

“The time difference is a bit funky, but basically, yes.”

It dawned on me then that Harry had only had a day and a half off, that he had jumped on a plane after a matinee and had to be back for a show the following evening. That instead of going out to dinner with the crew and then sleeping until midday like I’m sure he needed, he had flown thirteen hours to London to have not even ten hours on the ground before flying back again.

He wouldn’t even see daylight in the UK.

“Why did you come?” I asked in a small voice, feeling tears welling with the guilt that was settling in. He was going to be exhausted for days from crossing all the time zones.

He let out a horrified laugh, “Why did I come?” He repeated, sounding every bit as defensive as I expected him to be, “I came because today was a huge day for you, and because I could, and because I wanted to.”

“You’re going to get sick from being tired and all the travel.”

“I don’t care,” He shook his head and hooked a leg between mine, “I don’t care.”

I pulled his neck down and held him there until he settled most of his weight on top of me in a tight cuddle, “I don’t want you to go so soon,” I sniffed.

Harry’s hands ran up my sides from my hips, settling under my arms and warming the skin below my breasts, “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, you idiot, ” I laughed through new tears, “You’re here. You came. You’re too good to me.”

“I love you, Nina Lawrence.”

“I know,” I sighed, containing my emotions slowly.

“I’ll always come when I can.”

“I know.”

++

Well, there’s our intro to Harry & Nina, 3 years later. What did you think? Predictions? 

[mewtwowarrior]

Under the Keep Reading is a janky fanfic that got way away from me and contains spoilers for Tron: Legacy and Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance.

I’ve been on a Tron kick lately and yesterday I was reading about the Tron: Legacy world in Dream Drop Distance and came across something that struck me as so fascinating, I had to write about it.

Apparently, at one point in the game, Clu offers to trade Sora Rinzler in exchange for the Keyblade. Sora, of course, says no, but it got me to thinking...

Things to keep in mind:

-I haven’t played Kingdom Hearts in forever and I haven’t started Dream Drop Distance yet, things will definitely be wrong. I read a little bit more, and I know things don’t play out even partially like I’ve written them, but I loved my original idea so much I had to keep it.

-I haven’t seen anything Tron in forever, except for playing some of Tron: Evolution lately, so character voices are probably super wrong

-Ark’s just a placeholder name for now, I don’t have a dedicated Kingdom Hearts OC, except for generic self insert nonsense, so I just put in my Tron OC’s name because it fits.

-Probably need to tweak some of Ark’s dialogue, I don’t really have a solid personality for her yet, but it started coming out as I was writing more of the story.

-I’m not completely happy with parts of this, but overall, I think it’s okay. It needs a better beginning (possibly going back in the past more and fleshing things out) and a better/actual ending (I’m not sure how to resolve the conflict just yet).

-I don’t know what happened here, the story got away from me, I had a rough outline last night, and when I started writing it, details kept coming up more.

-I’ve been wanting to write something about Rinzler for a few days now and this is what I finally hit on as working.

-I probably need to go back and most of the italics I was intending to be there, I wrote it in Notepad, so I didn’t have that option and forgot about it when posting, whoops.

-I feel like I should somehow apologize for this, so I’m sorry.

Part 1/Prequel 1st Draft

Part 2/Original 1st Draft (You are here)

Part 3/Finish 1st Draft

All Combined Revision 1

All Combined Revision 2

All Combined Revision 3

All Combined Revision 4

Circuitous Pathways (Final)

---

Even though this world was different, he was different, Ark had recognized her dear friend.

The problem was, he didn't recognize her at all.

She had called out to him and had hurried closer, but he had walked on by like she wasn't even there.

It had taken some time, but she had finally started getting to the bottom of this mystery.

Someone named Clu had taken over The Grid and seemed to have something to do with the transformation of her friend.

For some reason, he had approached Ark, her friend at his side.

He called him Rinzler.

She knew his name as Tron.

Clu had a solution, because he also had a problem, one that only Ark could solve.

"I've been watching you as you traveled The Grid. Your Keyblade is capable of some amazing things, isn't it?" He gestured to the weapon she had in hand, a movement that made her grip tighter to it.

"There's a...door, that I need open, your Keyblade can do that." He tilts his head ever so slightly, "You have something I want, and I have something you want, right?" He casually gestured towards Rinzler.

"I'll give you Rinzler in exchange for your Keyblade. That way, everybody gets what they want. It's a simple deal."

Clu changes his stance, putting both hands behind his back as he patiently waits for her response.

Ark gasps at the offer, it's one of great magnitude. She was chosen to weild the Keyblade, to fight the darkness and put things right. It wasn't something you gave away lightly.

But, Tron was her friend, and something was wrong with him. He needed her help, and that was something that needed put right.

Before she can consider the offer, Ark has one question, "How do I know you'll keep up your end of the deal."

Clu smirked in response, "I control The Grid and everyone who lives in it. If I wanted to, I could take your Keyblade by force. But, that would cause a lot of trouble and likely the loss of a lot of Programs. I'd much rather skip all of that and make a deal that would save us both the time and trouble. The fact that I haven't already made a move for it should be trust enough."

That wasn't exactly a comforting answer, but it was all that Ark got.

What did he need the Keyblade for? She had a feeling that he wouldn't be forthcoming with the answer, he had already been vague about it. But, it likely wasn't good.

But, could he even use the Keyblade? You had to be chosen for it, right? Plus, he wouldn't know how to use it, at least, not at first. And, he hadn't bargained for Keyblade lessons, just the Keyblade itself. She knew a few of the Keyblade's tricks, in face, there was one that might come in handy for this exact situation...

Ark looked down at her Keyblade, while in the grand scheme of things, she was a rather new Keyblade wielder, but she and it had been through a lot together. How many Heartless had she slain? How many worlds had she helped? What did her future as a Keyblade wielder look like?

She glanced to both Clu and Rinzler, Clu waiting for her answer, and Rinzler standing there cold and motionless, nothing at all like the Tron she remembered.

That was enough to make her waver.

Ark's decision was made before she had realized it herself. She had to save her friend, there wasn't any other choice she could make.

However, she had a plan, and, if it worked, then maybe everything would be okay after all.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her Keyblade for the last time.

Ark exhaled and swung her Keyblade up so that she could hold it in both hands, feeling its weight and presence and taking a moment to remember everything that they had been through together.

The moments she takes are quiet and reverent, she's solemn as she takes it all in.

Finally, she looks to Clu with tears starting to well up in her eyes. She knows what she has to say, but the words won't come out.

Clu meets her gaze, "Have you made your decision?"

Ark can only close her eyes and give the slightest of nods.

"Very well." Clu reaches over and takes off Rinzler's Identity Disc. He taps a few things and makes a few changes before attaching it back to his back.

Rinzler himself walks over and turns around to stand next to Ark.

Clu gestures to them both, "Rinzler is yours now, he will only answer to you."

He then holds his hand out to Ark, "Now, for your end of the deal."

Ark gasps softly, she didn't think it would go this quickly, she hadn't even been sure who would make the first move. At this very moment, she had both Tron and her Keyblade, she could make a run for it.

But, a deal was a deal.

And, if Clu was right and he controlled the whole Grid, she wouldn't get far without her Keyblade, even with Tron fighting for her.

Trembling, she adjusted her grasp on her Keyblade so that she was holding the blade in both of her hands and offering the hilt out. She clings to it for one final moment before lowering it to rest right above Clu's outstretched hand.

There's no such hesitation on Clu's part.

He grabs the Keyblade and carefully takes it out of Ark's hands, she gasps and flinches as he does so.

Clu holds the Keyblade up, admiring it, "Magnificent. It's even more impressive than I had realized." With a swift motion, he holds it down at his side, seemingly already comfortable with the weapon.

"Now that our transaction is done, I have things I need to attend to. You're both free to go." He quickly turns and strides off, no longer concerned with either of them.

Ark stands there in shock, never keeping her eyes off the Keyblade, until both it and its wielder are long out of sight.

Finally, she manages to look over at Rinzler, her dear friend she had just sacrificed so much for.

Was it worth it?

Before she had given up the Keyblade, her answer had easily been yes. But, now that the Keyblade was gone, she felt its loss as an ache. There was a part of her missing that was now in the hands of someone else. Someone who would likely do a lot of bad with it.

Tron was safe, yes. Or, Rinzler was. The Tron that she knew didn't seem to be anywhere under that cold black mask. Would she be able to restore his memories?

But, after her shameful action of giving up the Keyblade, did she even want Tron to remember? She knew he'd be disappointed in her, as she was disappointed in herself.

There was still her plan, the one scrap of hope. But, she was no longer confident in it. The act of giving up the Keyblade had been much more serious than she had imagined.

Ark closed her eyes and held out her hand. She'd always been able to summon the Keyblade before, and counting on that fact had been one of the reasons she had made her terrible decision.

She tried to feel for the Keyblade, in that space wherever it went when she wasn't holding it. Reaching out deeper and deeper, through her heart and the light and the darkness.

Ark came up empty. The Keyblade was no longer hers, it did not answer to her any longer. She had given it up, betrayed everything she and it stood for, and it reflected that fact.

She sunk to her knees, sobbing her heart out as the full magnitude of what she had done washed over her.

Ark had given the darkness everything it had wanted. She had handed it this world on a silver platter, and who knew what else. Clu had wanted to open some kind of door, was it the door between worlds? He so easily commanded this world, would he conquer the next and the next and the next?

She sobbed for a long time, while Rinzler, ever silent, stood next to her.

Finally, she wiped her eyes, trying to clear her vision so that she could think.

She had a few things in her pockets, some Potions and supplies she had picked up before travelling. Like everyone else in this world, she had an Identity Disc, which could be used to fight. And, she had Rinzler. He wasn't Tron, not yet, but he was a fierce fighter.

Ark didn't have a lot, but it was better than nothing.

She looked up at Rinzler, "Me and you against The Grid, huh? What do you think of our chances?"

Like always, Rinzler didn't respond, he just stared straight ahead.

Ark laughed coldly, more of a bark than a genuine laugh, "That's what I thought." She picked herself up and dusted off her knees, a reflexive gesture more than anything.

"It doesn't matter what the odds are, I know what we have to do. I'm glad I'm not going to have to do this alone, but I have to wonder, if you were still Tron, would you be proud of me?"

No answer came.

"I didn't think so." She shook her head, "It doesn't matter what Tron thinks now, or you, I guess. I'll deal with that if we get out of this alive."

Ark looked Rinzler up and down, "The Grid's changed a lot since I've last been here. It'll be a lot easier if you still know your way around. I don't know what he did to you to transfer you over to me, but if you still remember..."

She took a deep breath and looked straight at Rinzler, "Take me to Clu. I've got to set this right."

There was a moment where nothing happened, Ark was afraid that Rinzler's memory was wiped again or that he wouldn't actually listen to her. She held her breath until he looked around for a moment, then headed off in a specific direction.

She exhaled and followed Rinzler further into The Grid.

Ark knew that even if they were able to stop whatever plan Clu had, the Keyblade likely wouldn't come back to her. But, that didn't matter. All that mattered was keeping Clu from using it. Once she did that, she could deal with no longer having a Keyblade.

She looked again to Rinzler, who was walking with a single-minded determination. After they stopped Clu, she stil had to find a way to bring back Tron. Like the Keyblade, he probably wouldn't want to have anything to do with her, either, but, she still owed it to him to try and fix him. He had been her friend, one important enough to sacrifice the Keyblade for.

Ark had no idea if they would be successful, but she had to try. That's all she could do.

Her and Rinzler traveled through The Grid and to their, and everyone else's, destinies.

---

Behind the scenes:

My rough notes I hastily wrote in my phone before bed last night:

-Some kinda past friendship -Oh noes Rinzler -Make a trade -Trade with intent to take backsisies -Rinzler ownership transferred -Get away fast -Tries to take backsisies -Nope -lol accidental Bequeathing -oh crap what have i done -maybe it's best Rinzler has no memories because he would be disappointed -Gotta Fix This -No Keyblade, Disc Only, Final Destination

The story doesn’t have a name yet, but I saved it under the name “Meow Meow I Make Bad Keyblade Choices”. (My sister has a saying about a cat that visits, “Meow meow, I make bad choices” and it just seemed to fit.)

Continuation here!

[ofwizardsandmen]

BLISSFUL

“There have been plenty of first times for Tara Lee and Mark Yang...”

Word count: 1.1k 

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Tara Lee x Mark Yang, 

AU: Gossip Witch Universe

There have been way plenty of ‘first times’ for Tara Lee and Mark Yang.

The first time the two of them met they were nothing but toddlers. Julia —Mark’s Swedish nanny— used to take him to the local playground across the street of the Fawley Manor every Thursday at 4 pm. 

In normal circumstances the little Tara would’ve spent her afternoons locked in her room, forcefully put to sleep, but because children are social catalysts par excellence the family’s majordomo, Niles, used Tara to approach Mark’s blonde and model-esque nanny. 

No one would’ve guessed that Niles and Julia had anything in common, but apparently, they shared a mutual love for children, early morning strolls and German pastries. In springtime, their love flourished and the children too were quickly brought together.

When Tara was 4 she got her first pet. She had been dreaming about a black cat like the one her neighbor, Madame Moreau, raised, but Mark had found a white bunny in his backyard and he had thought it looked a lot like her.

The same day, Mark received his first kiss in exchange. He liked to tell that story to everybody although it was a rather brief peck on the cheek and Tara didn’t have any recollection of it.

Which takes us to the first time Mark felt something akin heartbreak.

In the summer following Tara’s fourth birthday, Madame Fawley, Tara’s mother, took her children to spend the holidays with their father in Korea. At their return, Tara stopped showing up to their weekly playdates. 

Mark heard from Julia that Tara wasn’t feeling particularly well, so the following days, he tried to visit her at the Fawley Manor several times. However, it seemed that Niles always had some strange excuse to stop that from happening. Either Tara was taking a nap, her mother had taken to see a doctor or she had piano lessons... Nothing prepared Mark to be olympically ignored once Tara finally turned up to the park holding hands with a platinum blonde, green-eyed girl of haughty expression, who glared at him and pulled Tara away when he tried to talk to her, calling him a ‘muggle’, whatever that meant.

A few months later, at the local muggle school, Mark became Tara’s first reading partner in their first English language class. It took all of Mark’s self to restrain not to snap at Tara, but ultimately he also ended up asking their first uncomfortable question. Why was she ignoring him? It was the first time Tara officially held a conversation with Mark —according to her, anyhow—, so she regarded him with her doe eyes fully open, eyelashes fluttering.  

Years later, Mark’s question finally made sense to Tara when she found out about her mother erasing her early memories in an attempt to hide a family secret, but by then whether she had ignored him or not wasn’t a concern for Mark anymore. By then, they had already experienced plenty of first times as the seasons and years passed by. Tara had written her first story, while Mark had performed for an audience for the first time in his short life. Tara had met Mark’s family and Mark had even gone as far as finding out about Tara’s magical powers.

The first farewell came on a cloudy September morning at King’s Cross. It was a teary goodbye that repeated exactly a year later and the year after that, but in between Mark had received his first owl, had heard of quidditch for the first time and had even tasted a chocolate frog.

The next summer Mark gathered enough courage to confess his feelings for Tara during their first trip abroad. They also had their first real kiss.

A month later, Tara discovered for the first time that farewells could be painfully heart-crushing when Mark moved to Seoul to pursue a dream she didn’t even know he had in the first place. It was the first time she realized how complicated Mark Yang could be.

And just like that, plenty of first times came spiraling up and down. There was the first argument —that lasted a record time of 10 hours and earned them the incessant teasing of their respective friends—; the first time Tara met Mark’s bandmates —and by default, the first time Tara met Johnny Seo and he swore he fell in love at first sight—; the first time Tara saw Mark perform on stage —consequently, the first time she experienced burning jealousy of his female fans chanting his name and fawning over him—. There was the first time Tara considered breaking up with Mark; the first time they were almost caught dating and the first time Mark wrote her a song. And every other first time in between.

Now, the first time Tara wakes up in Mark’s arms has finally come. They’re eighteen and as embarrassed as they are —her cheeks tinting a soft hue of red, and his messy hair sticking to his forehead— none of them has exuded so much love for the other before.

“Good morning, sunshine” The usually boyish Mark sounds so different that Tara gulps quietly before looking up at him, lips tightly closed, as though she doesn’t trust herself enough to say a word.

“Morning, love” she finally says a moment later —once she has let the magnitude of the events from the previous night sink in—. Her body unconsciously presses against his.

“How are you feeling?” Though Mark smiles tenderly and runs his fingers through her hair gently, Tara recognizes a type of confidence he has never flaunted before. She feels her heart doing wild flips in her chest. And he seems to feel it too, judging by the way he smirks pleased. Smug jerk.

The eloquent Tara can think of as many words as the kisses Mark plants on her forehead, but she ultimately concludes that blissful is good enough to reassure him she’s never felt better in her lifetime. However, Tara doesn’t have the courage to act so blatantly corny, and in the end, she settles for a hum followed by a simple “great” that makes her boyfriend raise a brow.

“Just great?” He questions, scowling.

The question itself is kinda silly considering Tara is almost floating on a sea of afterglow, but she ignores it, too wrapped up in the love haze still clouding her judgment.

“Very great” She giggles before moving to peck Mark’s lips briefly, shyly almost. “And you?”

“Blissful” For a second, she is almost afraid Mark can read her mind because how else is he supposed to pick the exact same word she had been thinking of? But there is literally no time for her to waste on useless musings because her boyfriend goes on “I have never felt better in my entire life”. His lips curve in a grin that makes Tara notice —for the first time— that Mark indeed looks like a cub, just like his fans claim. She smiles, closes her eyes and lets her head rest against his chest in the most cliched of the manners.

“Same” she simply says.

And she truly means it.

***

[wtnvwritings]

Meeting Your Mate

AO3 Version

Relationship: Kevin/Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.4k

Note: This is part of my Escape Strex AU, and this was also a commission for @matronofthevoid!

Summary: All seems normal in Night Vale, until a sudden sandstorm overtakes the town. While Cecil is out trying to get first-hand information and updates, Kevin is left to man the studio, reporting on all the mysterious portals popping up and so-called 'doubles' walking out of them.

But then he meets someone familiar--someone he had been told was dead:

You.

---

Lights twinkling above our high above our heads in the dark night sky. Are they stars, or are they government-funded observation planes making sure that you’ve not forgotten to brush your teeth that night?

Either way, please make sure you report to city hall tomorrow morning for reconditioning after hearing this,

Welcome to Night Vale.

[Intro Music Plays]

Good morning Night Vale, it’s Cecil! Or, well, it would be Cecil, if he wasn’t currently out of the studio, and it would be a good morning if we weren’t already under the terrible threat of a sandstorm coming in from the west.

If you can't already tell from the sound of my voice, it’s Kevin, your local radio co-host, bringing you all of the latest news and updates to this happy little town of ours.

...Oh, by the way, there’s a sandstorm coming in!

City Counsel has declared an emergency, in fact, so please make sure that all of you seek shelter from the wind and the sand--preferably somewhere with four walls and a roof. Though I know that some of you are very fond of your dugout holes, Night Vale, it simply won’t do to keep you safe!

I’ve been told that the sandstorm will be arriving on the edge of Night Vale in just a couple minutes! I would think that the City Counsel is apologetic about the short-notice warning, but I can’t dare assume anything from them--we all know what happened to the last person who assumed they wanted a medium fry from the local burger joint, after all--but never fear! Cecil himself is working diligently to get a quote, though I hope that he isn’t caught out in this storm as well.

More to report on the sandstorm whenever it gets here--I mean, we can’t rush nature, amiright?

Some wonderful news for all you sports fans out there: baseball season has finally arrived in Night Vale! This Saturday is the minor league opening game for the Night Vale Spider Wolves. They’ll be taking on bitter rivals, the Desert Bluffs Sunbeams.

I’m supposed to say that it will be an exciting, evenly-matched game, but we all know that our very own Spider Wolves won’t have any issues taking on the Sunbeams, especially after we broke the news of their funding getting cut last year.

But who cares? The Sunbeams are just not exciting , or, as Cecil likes to say in a not-as-kind way, ‘ terrible ’. But you didn’t hear that from me Night Vale, because I’m simply reporting on the facts!

And now for traffic.

It seems that the sandstorm has finally reached the highway, Night Vale, and it’s causing all sorts of issues for drivers on the roadway. I’m getting reports of wind speeds as high as--well, on the paper it says ‘unfathomable speeds unlike any ever recorded’ but I’m certain one of the meteorologists just assumed we couldn’t handle the raw numbers. Either way, travelers are advised to stay off the road and seek shelter wherever it can be found.

...There seems to be something far more troubling to the sandstorm, listeners. I am receiving this information right now from Intern Dana--she is handing me the folder, and I am opening it….reading the summary…..taking it all in and….oh, Dana? I believe you had a typo right there, yes, ‘lack of time or space’ should be ‘lack of time AND space’ considering the foreboding context clues by Lerry Leroy.

[Sounds of shuffling papers]

It would seem that portals are opening up across town, dear listeners. From out of these portals walks out people who seem like people we know, but are most assuredly not the people we know. They may look similar, but I am getting reports that these people, dare I say doubles , have brought multiple people to violence.

Please do not fight your double!

We can’t be sure what sorts of consequences there are for fighting--and possibly killing!--your double is, but I am certain it can be nothing good. After all, we remember what happened last month when time and existence came to a stop? Surely you remember that?

Let’s not repeat that unfortunate, uncountable number of repeated evenings, shall we Night Vale?

Now, onto financial news.

You are lost in a sea of sand. You look to the west and see the sun setting in the distance, it’s light slowly hiding behind the endless dunes. There is nowhere to go. Nobody else around you. You are lost.

You stare into the setting sun for what feels like hours, and soon it seems that the sun isn’t really setting at all--has it ever moved? Has anything ever truly moved? Have you moved? Are you moving right now?

Are you even breathing right now?

That has been financial news.

[More sounds of shuffling papers]

Listeners, that sandstorm is starting to get a little...frightening. I know that’s a strong word, like ‘government surveillance’ and ‘wheat’, but I simply cannot find any other word to properly describe what is going on just outside the radio station.

Across Night Vale, it seems dozens upon dozens of people--doubles--have made their way through those mysterious portals. Though some have done best to make peace with their doubles, others have either not heard or ignored my warning and have taken to battle with them.

Please, Night Vale, do not fight your doubles!

Cecil, our normal radio host, has just sent me a direct announcement from our own Mayor Pamela Winchell.

“Please return to your homes immediately!” Mayor Winchell said, her eyes as if wild with an emotion we can not truly comprehend. “I am declaring a state of emergency; if anyone is outside, return to your homes or else risk dematerialization, non-existence and some rather serious sand-burns.”

A second announcement, shortly after, says that she was lying and that “you shouldn’t listen to her. She’s not the real mayor! I am!”

Cecil wrote that, at such point, he was joined by a second Mayor Winchell, who quickly became violent with the first.

A third announcement followed between Mayor Pamela Winchell and the other Mayor Pamela Winchell, requesting that we “give me the microphone and get away from the podium! This is my announcement, you replicant clown!”

Unfortunately, our radio host could not provide much more information, as he was dragged into the fight between the two Mayor Winchells. It is good to know at least that he is safe--I hope that all of you are safe right now, Night Vale, I--

…

[Extended silence]

…

Listeners?

…

I...I see a portal. Night Vale, I see a portal right now, here in this very studio. It is...small, or at least smaller than what I expected it to be--but it is exactly like you expected to be. It’s...swirling, ominously across the room, on the wall opposite of where I am set up so that you all can hear my voice.

It’s...just there. I am not sure if I should be afraid or not, but...for some reason the portal feels...calming?

It’s just sitting there, listeners. Should I approach it? I mean, as any good journalist of Night Vale, being prepared for the unknown is a skill we all learn early in our lives--though the fear of the unknown often quickly comes after that when we all reach the age of seven so I suppose it doesn’t matter in the end.

I am...watching it shimmer. The portal is growing, taking up the entirety of the wall just across from me. I can make out the faintest image within the portal, listeners, and…

…

…

...It looks like...Night Vale? No, no it doesn’t, it looks….It looks nothing like Night Vale. There is a town through the portal, and it looks bright--so bright. Too bright .

Oh.

Oh.

I-

…

[Small sounds of shuffling]

It looks like ...like…

Like Desert Bluffs.

I cannot begin to fathom this, Night Vale, but the portals we are seeing--the people coming through them, the ones we believe are our doubles…

Are they all from Desert Bluffs?

You may all know my…. history with that town, my...change of loyalty, to this wondrous little hamlet of ours. If there is anyone here who can identify Desert Bluffs, it would surely be me--and what I see right now, through the portal, is more assuredly that very town.

That town .

I dare to think that perhaps these people coming through the portals, the ones we assume are our doubles, I think instead they might be-

[Near-silent gasp of breath]

...My...my mate…?

Listeners, I apologize for being so confusing. You must understand that these portals--these... things are causing not just your normal tears into time and space--we deal with those every second Wednesday of the month, after all. What I mean is, I…

I’m looking right at the person I had long thought, until this very moment, was dead.

But...you aren’t dead, are you?

I’m talking to my mate of course, listeners--you see, when I escap-... left Desert Bluffs, I had been...waiting for someone. Someone very important to me. For those of you who know who and what I am, you will surely understand the magnitude of the situation I was faced with.

For people like me and Cecil, finding our mate is...the most important thing in our world. Cecil found Carlos and I...I had waited for many years. Many, many years indeed.

[Shuffling noises, the sound of a chair being pushed back]

And...here you are?

How...is that even possible? I thought you were dead--you...you were dead! I was told so. I was…told I’d never see you, never find you...you weren’t…

...Oh?

...Oh.

I see.

You were...waiting for me. In Desert Bluffs. But where? Where were you?

Hiding? No?

Hidden?

Hidden away? But why would you try to hide yourself from m-

Oh.

[Extended silence]

...I see now.

They were hiding you from me.

How long have you been there, at Desert Bluffs?

[Muffled sound of an answer]

I...I can’t imagine waiting that long, except that I can, I have also waited so long--too long--and now you’re...you're right here!

You’re here!

You are standing here in front of me--my mate, listeners--and you are...absolutely beautiful.

No, no it’s alright, don’t mind the scars, love, I have them too--we both have them. Don’t be ashamed--you’re beautiful in all the ways you are right now. I am just...overwhelmed. I was told that I would never meet you, that you were…

...that you were dead.

But they were hiding you from me.

They were...hiding you...from me...

Hi̶̲̚d̸̗̓i̸̼͆n̵͎̈g̴̖͂ ̶͍͆y̶͓͗o̶̯͊ǔ̵̩.̵̻.̵̦̉.̶̙̀.f̷̼͙͖͖̿̇̓̒̅̃͗͆̕r̷͔͔̻͔̀̓̽̔̃̈͆̏̕ȍ̸̰̗̤͉̗͇͜m̴͕͉̦͊̋̆̏̐̉͊̚ ̵̟͖̠̗͐͂̑͋̏̇̎m̷̢͚͐͗̈͒̐͘̚̕ẻ̴̘͕̿̂̐̍̒͐̅͘͘…

I̶̜̋'̶̣͗l̴̟̅l̵̟̑ ̸̫̏h̶̞̋a̷̟̚v̴̰͒e̵̥̿ ̸̺͒t̶̘̾o̸̍ͅ.̸̧̾.̴̜͊.̴̡̃p̶͉̈a̸̭̐ẙ̴̯ ̶̤͒t̸̖̍ḩ̷̉e̶̱̋m̴͕̈́ ̶̰̊á̴͓ ̸̽ͅḻ̷͐i̶̞͘t̸̻̑t̸̖̀l̴̩͠e̴̳̽ ̵̱̂v̸̢̓i̷̮͛s̴͖͘i̶̜͗t̴̫͠.̷̺͝.̷̖̊.̴̥̍ṛ̴͝i̶̡̊ģ̶̏h̶̙͒t̴͙́?̶̫̄

[Sound from the radio shorts out, then turns to white noise for several seconds]

...

[Extended silence]

...

[Sound of the microphone being picked up]

...

Listeners? Are you still there? Night Vale?

If you are still there, this is Cecil, your regular radio host--I’ve returned from my journey to get the front-line news of the sandstorm, since our Intern Dana has been quite busy trying to keep our social media updated with all the relevant outages and traffic warnings. How long has the radio been silent?

Where is...Kevin?

Where is anyone, in fact?

I am standing here in the middle of the recording room, but across from me is a portal and a-

Oh. Hello there! I am sorry, I didn’t see you--uh, I don’t think I recognize you at all. Do I uh, know you?

What?

...Listeners, the person standing in the room with me says that they are…

...Kevin’s mate?

Well, that’s not something I expected to hear. I mean, there’s a lot of things I never expect to hear--none of us are. The news of a baby, the death of a loved one, the securing of a new job, the need to move to a new state….

I mean, we really--Oh!

Listeners, I’m seeing someone coming through the portal now--I can make out the vague shape of their body...they’re stepping closer, the dark silhouette shimmering against what I can only assume is the surface of the portal itself…

Kevin? What in the world are you doing going through the portal? Where...were you? I said in my press report that it wasn’t a smart idea to-

…

...why...are you...covered in blood?

[Sound of a muffled answer]

Ah. I uh, suppose that explains the lovely person standing over here, does it? From Desert Bluffs? I suppose that you...ah, well, I’ll spare our listeners on the silly little details of your encounter-er-visit over there, I’m sure they don’t want to hear all of that anyway.

In fact, I think they would rather hear the update that the sandstorm is finally passing! That’s right Night Vale, we have survived yet another horrific, unfathomable beast of nature, and have come out 100% alright--well, minus the millions of dollars worth in property damage, including several fields worth of corn grown by John Peters, you know, the farmer?

Despite the major damages though, there seem to be no deaths and not a single accountable injury--not even any dematerialization either! I am proud to say that Night Vale, we again have kept ourselves safe from harm and have weathered through yet another disaster--and I hope, nay, I pray that you had considered carefully my words of warning.

I hope you did not hurt or kill your double.

But other than that, it seems that we have reached the end of our segment, so I will turn it back to Kevin to-

Oh?

What’s that?

...Well, what wonderful news, Night Vale! It would seem that we not only didn’t lose a single person to the sandstorm, but in fact gained a new member of our little town! Let me be the first to say how happy I am for you, Kevin, what luck you have to finally meet your beloved mate--you can take them back to the apartment to get them settled, if you like.

We’ll get them taken care of just like we did for you.

[Muffled sounds of conversation, as if a hand is over the microphone]

So uh, that is the end of this segment, Night Vale! Tune in next for the sound of deep contemplation, and the bittersweet love of two people who had long thought they would never meet, but are finally able to be with one another.

Goodnight, Night Vale,

Goodnight.

[gold-from-straw]

Everything That Happens

A tentative peace...

Fair warning, though - while I have ‘fixed’ a lot of the canon deaths from the battle, I won’t be fixing all of them. Harry has to learn that he can’t save everyone, and it’s not his place to do so... please forgive me!!

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you prefer!

When Harry woke up in his bed at Hogwarts, for a moment he was too scared to let the memories loose again. He took a deep breath and let them come.

He remembered everything, layers upon layers of timelines, grief and battle and terror, and finally, settling on top like a tentative veil, the memories of finding Draco, Ron and Hermione huddled together in the alcove, covered in rubble but unharmed. Fred and Percy thumping him on the shoulder and running back into the fray without a backwards glance. Hermione handing a fallen wand to Draco as they ran on.

They were separated in the Great Hall, Harry, Ron and Hermione continuing on to the Shrieking Shack without Draco, and most things from then on blended into that first bedrock memory of horror and fear.

Except in the Great Hall. Just before he slipped away to watch Snape’s last memory, there was Remus’ body. And instead of lying dead beside him, Tonks wept over him, Draco Malfoy standing awkwardly beside her, flinching if anyone got too close.

Harry curled into a ball and cried again. It felt like now he’d started crying, weeping out his problems to his parents on his eighteenth birthday, that he might never stop. He wept for Remus, like he hadn’t done properly yet, but he also cried his gratitude. Tonks was alive. She was grieving her husband and her dad, but Eddie still had one of his parents.

“Harry… Harry, mate, wake up.” The hangings around his bed were pulled back and Ron shook him gently by the shoulder. Just the fact that he was here and alive and able to do that made Harry want to scream and laugh and cheer and cry, all at the same time.

Ron patted him awkwardly, rubbing between his shoulder blades and murmuring platitudes, and Harry rode out the wave, exhausted.

Considering the magnitude of the change, the life-altering vastness of having all the Weasleys alive and well (and somewhat celebrated for that fact - a family of nine surviving the war intact was nothing short of miraculous) seemed to have little obvious effect on the world at large.

But the more Harry watched and remembered, the more he saw the good it had done. There were no longer fifty names on the memorial, but thirty eight. With Fred alive, Percy no longer blinded by grief and rage, Tonks still there, and Draco fighting on their side, the ripples had spread out across names Harry had never recognised, and those people who’d been saved had saved others in turn.

And more than that; Harry hadn’t recognised how much smaller Ron had made himself after Fred died, the weight of the war having pressed so hard on his shoulders. But now that Fred and George were running the shop in Diagon Alley together, sending him test packs to hand out among the students to ‘raise spirits’, he had become almost a figurehead for them all. Ron was loud and cheerful, and he saw. It took Harry a while to really work it out, but Ron would notice when someone was struggling to keep their social mask on, and he’d either cheer them up or he’d grab the world’s attention. Once everyone was looking at Ron, it allowed the struggling person, usually Harry, to slip away.

Hermione may have teased him for having the emotional range of a teaspoon, but Ron’s empathy was instinctive and generous, and Harry had to close his eyes and control his breathing every time he remembered the darkness of that one, awful timeline without him.

And it was all thanks to Draco. Harry watched him, and wished. Because in this timeline, Harry had never held him through the night, fingers stroking through that soft hair. He was glad of that, desperately relieved that it hadn’t been necessary, of course, but it was like he’d taken a step away from Draco. They were back to their last names, at least out loud. Within the privacy of Harry’s own mind he could never go back to calling him Malfoy, always hearing that quiet voice, saying ‘Just Draco… no Malfoy, no past.’ They hardly spoke at all now. He wondered if he’d ever hear that again.

Even so, he sometimes caught Draco staring across the table, eyes narrowed not in anger, but in cautious calculation. It made Harry nervous, stumbling and clumsy with his hands and his words, and though Ron and Hermione made the effort to include Draco (and by extension, Theo Nott), Harry found himself tongue-tied more often than not. Which was frustrating, because he wanted so badly to thank Draco, and now it felt too late, like replying to a letter months after receiving it.

And then Harry dropped his head onto his desk in the middle of Charms and laughed at himself. Because he was a fucking time traveller, and it didn’t have to be too late at all.

He focused on a quiet moment he remembered from summer, when he’d sat and watched Diagon Alley as it repaired itself, eating one of Florean Fortescue’s best sundaes and reliving the summer before third year.

The first time round, he’d spent a wonderful hour of peace and solitude just people-watching. This time he excused himself, leaving his ice cream behind Fortescue’s counter under a stasis charm, and ran down to the post owlery. Standing at the counter there, trying to stop himself from chewing on a borrowed quill, he wrote:

Dear Malfoy, I’m sorry for not doing this in person. I think I’d screw it up and not say everything I mean - it all seems so big. Thank you. I can’t even express how much it means to me, what you did at the battle. You saved my best friends, and Te Eddie still has a mum because of you.

Harry paused. What else could he say? How could he express how dark the world had been, how many times he’d tried and failed to save those people until Draco did it for him? In the end, he signed off with one more thank you, and posted it with a rented owl, a deep pang in his chest to see the bird fly off silently.

He walked back to Fortescue’s and sat back at his table with a peaceful smile before letting go of the past and blinking, disoriented, back in his Charms class.

“Harry,” hissed Hermione, like she’d been saying it for several minutes. “Wake up, for Merlin’s sake, and do your damn questions before Flitwick kicks you out!”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and bent his head over his work.

***

Almost nothing had changed after his little jump back to summer, and it was such a relief. Harry hadn’t realised how tense he’d been, waiting for all the new memories to settle in his mind. The only difference he could see was that Draco now glanced at him with a bit of uncertainty, as if it was now he who wanted to say something and didn’t know how.

He got his chance one night in early November.

Harry didn’t think he’d ever have a healthy sleep pattern, especially not with enough battle memories to fill a lifetime of nightmares and nobody to talk to about a lot of them. Not that anyone ever talked about their battle memories, he thought as he wrapped his warmest cloak tighter around him and stared out over the lake. Hermione tried to get people to talk sometimes. Maybe she and Ginny talked some days. Maybe she and Ron did too, late at night when Ron crept into her dorm like they all pretended he didn’t.

Harry turned when he heard footsteps, and saw a pale shape faltering in the corridor. “Oh! Draco.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up; Harry realised what he’d said, and kicked himself. But Draco didn’t say anything, walking up to join him at the window, staring out into the night instead. He took a deep breath. “I must formally apologise for not replying to your owl over the summer. It was terribly rude, and - what are you laughing about, Potter?!”

Harry shook his head, chuckling at Draco’s bristling, offended glare. “Sorry, nothing. It’s just… nothing.”

Draco blushed, two spots of colour high on his cheeks. Harry found himself staring at them, wanting to touch. “I realise that’s the least of the things I have to apologise for,” Draco began.

Harry shook his head. “No, no, I wasn’t laughing at that, I just…” He chose his words carefully. “I felt like I’d taken a long time to thank you. Like I should have done it earlier. It was… it was just such a huge thing, I didn’t really know how to say it.”

Draco met his eyes, searching. “Yes, that’s exactly it.” He paused and seemed to consider, weighing his options. Harry should, perhaps, have made his escape, but he didn’t want to, preferring to enjoy the sight of that pale face limned in moonlight once more, only this time with less shadow under Draco’s eyes, less of a haunted look.

“Something’s different about you, Potter,” said Draco. “You called me Draco, like you’ve earned that intimacy.”

“Sorry,” said Harry, ducking his head and wondering if he should go back, rewind this conversation.

Draco carried on like he was thinking out loud. “And you look at me like you’ve seen something else, like you remember something other than six years of acrimony.”

Harry struggled to focus on the start of the conversation, but the memory was too recent, too imprecise, too mixed up with the distraction of Draco right there. “Excuse me,” he muttered, pulling away from the window.

Draco’s hand shot out and grabbed his elbow. Grey eyes bored into his, almost angry, almost afraid. “One good thing, Draco. One choice you can be proud of,” he said. “You pulled me out of a cursed fire that one of my friends set, you’d had my own wand pointed at me moments before, and yet you then called me Draco. I’ve been through these memories obsessively, Potter. In a pensieve. I’m not misremembering, so don’t you dare try that.”

“I wouldn’t--”

“How did you know?” Draco hissed, leaning close. “How could you possibly know the words that kept me going each night?” His hand tightened around Harry’s elbow, fingers digging in. “‘Just one good thing;’ that’s what I kept telling myself. If I just made one good decision, it’d be enough. How did you know when the bloody Dark Lord himself didn’t?”

Harry made his decision with one look at Draco’s wild, terrified eyes. “You told me,” he said. “In another timeline. A worse one.”

Draco let go of him, frowning. “You’ve got a time turner?”

Harry shook his head and bit his lip. “I’m not meant to tell anyone. I don’t even know if you’ll believe me but… on my eighteenth birthday, I found out I can travel back in time.”

Draco let out a long breath. “That’s what the Potters have, then.”

“You’ve heard of it?” he asked, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Lots of Pureblood families have these hereditary extra powers,” he said. “It’s almost always a closely guarded secret, so…” He shook his head and seemed to sag against the wall. “Of course you just went and told me. Of course you did.”

“Well, I didn’t know, did I?” Harry snapped. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit out of the loop on family traditions.”

“Sorry,” said Draco, looking away.

Harry leaned against the wall next to him. “Wow, you’ve changed,” he teased.

“Of course I have,” Draco frowned. “I’d change every aspect of my personality if I could.”

“Don’t,” said Harry softly.

Draco looked at him for a long moment, then pushed off the wall. “Come on then, Potter,” he said. “You’re going to tell me every tiny embarrassing thing I said to you in every timeline so I know exactly how much to Obliviate you.”

Harry smirked and followed.

Tagging anyone who interacted with last chapter! I hope you like the way this new act goes ^_^ @idriltelcontar, @dangerouslyyoungphilosipher, @slytherclaw134689, @sadsoulsadeyes <3

[grimelords]

Two days after I said I’d upload it tonight, here it is! My October playlist is finished and it’s chock a block full of good music and also bad music that I love. From John Mellencamp to drone metal, from Katy B to Cassius, it’s all here and more. Deadmau5 also is here and for that I apologise.

Small Town (Acoustic) - John Mellencamp: Guess who had a legit emotional reaction to a John Mellencamp song this month, thinking deeply about what it means to be from a small town and how much this song gets right and wrong about identity and freedom in a small town versus living in a big town? This guy. I think this song works a lot better stripped down acoustically than it does in the album version. It gives the lyrics a lot more space, and really lays out just how simple the sentiment of the song is. It sets the tone of this month's playlist pretty well now that I think about it. I've been feeling like a real pea-brain hayseed this month and big chunks of this playlist really reflect that.

Katy On A Mission - Katy B: It feels like this and Hold It Against Me by Britney Spears (which was also 2011) is the moment that big american style dubstep completely crossed over into the mainstream, Scary Monsters And Nice Sprites was about six months ago and from there it was a tidal wave until oversaturation and complete death. But Katy On A Mission is different because it's at least got the credentials of dubstep pioneer Benga producing it and it doesn't go all-out on the super dirty bass, or even particularly have a big drop at all - it just uses it textually all the way through and it's better off for it.

I Only Have Eyes For You - The Flamingos: The way this song is recorded is insane. It literally sounds like they're at the bottom of a well. And it's mixed in that good early stereo hard-panned style so the lead is in the right channel and the whole harmony is in the left channel and absolutely soaked in reverb in a way that just sounds incongruous with the rest of the song. It sounds like a dream. My favourite moment is at about 2:30 when the harmony vocals get so large on the high note that they clip out and distort in a way that just sounds very, very cool.

Horses In The Sky (Live Version) - The Sound Of Animals Fighting: The Sound Of Animals Fighting was a post-hardcore prog supergroup where they were all anonymous (it was just the entirety of RX Bandits plus Anthony Green from Circa Survive) and I really wish they'd done more like this after their first album - because they still wrote very very good songs but they got lost in the mire of studio ambient interludes and being avant-garde for the sake of it which sometimes worked and most times just bored you which thankfully they only succumb in the end section of this version. Compare this to the studio version if you want to know what I mean, halfway through the guitar solo it just starts playing in reverse.

Split Wide Open - Cannibal Corpse: Here's what I mean about feeling like a pea-brain this month. Cannibal Corpse is proper troglodyte moron man music. It makes me feel dumb as fuck like a real stupid guy. There's something interesting about Cannibal Corpse's enduring ability to shock people, and that a band making such extreme music are at least a name that people know. They were in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective for god's sake. Before Marilyn Manson and that wave of cabaret shock-rock really got into the popular consciousness Cannibal Corpse were making shocking, violent music without any of the glamour and I think it's served them well in the long run. Songs like 'Hammer Smashed Face' or 'I Cum Blood', are shocking in title, artwork and content to this day are still musically shocking to the vast majority, far more than Marilyn Manson's spooky androgyny and wearing like a top hat and having fangs or whatever that's aged like milk and become just another boring cliche. The idea of the devil being charming and sly, disguised in charisma is so much more boring than the devil just tearing you apart like mince meat and eating you. Anyway I'm here to say Cannibal Corpse is good music for dum-dums like me.

Funeraloplis - Electric Wizard: Someone's edited it now but it's still in the footnote links, but the best ever piece of writing on wikipedia was the quote on Electric Wizard's page where they were explaining the origin of their name because it said "Is the name Electric Wizard made out of two Black Sabbath song titles? [smokes a big bud of weed through a can] Hahahaha, yeah it is!" which is so good and sort of all you need to know about them.

I <3 U So - Cassius: Looking back through this list it seems I'm having a real 2011 moment for some reason. I don't think I *get* Cassius. From everything I read about them they seem to be french dance royalty but they literally have two good songs and they're both in this playlist. These two songs are very good though so maybe it's just that. Anyway it's a shame what Kanye did this to song on Watch The Throne but I don't blame him, it feels like this song is just impossible to work with. It's at a weird tempo, it's incredible loose, it basically has one section. I imagine this song would have frustrated a lot of DJs when it was popular cause I really don't know how you would mix in or out of it, but fuck it while it's on it's a great song!

Youth, Speed, Trouble, Cigarettes - Cassius: This is the other good Cassius song. I'm pitching it as the theme song for when they eventually reboot Skins. I really appreciate that this song has 1 idea and basically just does every variation it can with it before bringing it to a climax. When your idea is this simple and this good that's all you need. Also the big toms that kick in after the 'just one more' but are heaven sent.

It Took The Night To Believe - Sun 0))): Sun 0))) are such morons and it's so funny that you can be so dumb and so serious about this sort of music at the same time. On this song Greg Anderson is credited as Mystik Fogg Invokator and Stephen O'Malely is credited as Taoiseach, which is the name for the Irish prime minister. Whenever I listen to Sun 0))) for the first two minutes I'm like 'lol this sucks' but then suddenly the guy is like 'cry yourself to ash' and I'm feeling the pull of the void quite heavily. Basically it's just like that meme.

Seven Angels - Earth: I remember ages ago some guy posted Earth 2: Special High Frequency edition and it was just this whole album with a high pass filter on it which is a funny joke. Anyway it interesting to think of this album in the context of when it came out. Two years after Nevermind, six months before In Utero - grunge at the absolute height of its power, stoner metal like Kyuss and Sleep huge when suddenly this guy comes out of nowhere and distills guitar music down to its essence: slower, louder, heavier than anything else by an order of magnitude.

Mutual Slump - DJ Shadow: I finally saw Xanadu this month and now I can finally relate to the weird smiling breathing out your nose noise that she makes after she says 'I'd never hailed a cab before' in this song.

Walkin' On The Sidewalks - Queens Of The Stone Age: Queens Of The Stone Age's first album is 20 years old this year and I've been thinking a lot about how it was a two person operation. Josh Homme played and sang everything on this album except the drums and it's funny to think about writing this sort of music all by yourself outside of a jam structure. He really sat down with a pad and paper and wrote down 'outro: bass riff x400' and then recorded it just like that.

Witch - Maps & Atlases: I wake up with this song in my head so often it's insane. I think a triplet groove in 4/4 like this is such a good and underused feeling and this song really deploys is perfectly. I want more of this, the good kind of math rock where it's not just guys doing midwest emo tappy riffs that all sound the same.

Down 2 Hang - Kirin J Callinan: This is what meeting up with people from the internet feels like. It's kind of a shame that this album got completely overshadowed by the Jimmy Barnes screaming meme, and that it's the first and last a lot of americans will ever hear of Jimmy Barnes but in reality it's exactly what Kirin J Callinan wanted to good for him I suppose.

Fast In My Car - Paramore: If you can't tell already I'm having an extremely basic bitch moron man month and that included listening to this Paramore album a lot and telling my girlfriend about how isn't it so interesting that the guitarist Taylor York just took over drum duties for this album after their longtime drummer quit and did such a good job playing drums AND guitar and her rightly not caring at all. I'm always impressed by songs that keep the same chords through the verse and chorus, it seems impossible but it works great here.

Don't Stop The Dance (feat. Delafleur) - Breakbot: I'm clapping my hands to stress each syllable when I tell you that Disco Will Never Die.

Oqiton - Jeremy Dutcher: I'm so glad this album won the Polaris Prize because I feel like I would never have heard of it otherwise. I absolutely love it, and I think what I love so much about it is that it doesn't fall into the trap of similar projects like this in the past of smoothing out all the jagged edges and turning it into plastic pretty music from the untouched ancient peoples - it's a real and alive reinterpretation of old music that looks toward the future and past in equal measure. Including the actual original recordings in each track is such a smart move, it gives you the context you need so this album isn't about liner notes and extra sources and it lets those old recordings seamlessly fold into these new reorchestrations.

I Remember - Deadmau5 & Kaskade: Anyway moron month continues here with the only worthwhile contribution to the planet earth that Deadmau5 ever made, I suspect by letting Kaskade do most of the work. It sounds sadistic but I really appreciate how this song is nearly ten minutes long, I'm a big fan of any song with that much confidence that actually pulls it off.

Overtime - Jessie Ware: Fucking Jessie Ware is back and she’s got Bicep producing! I think I added this song to my playlist before it was even a minute in, I just heard the bassline and my brain stem said yes.

Body - Julie Jacklin: I really think Julia Jacklin might be the best songwriter around right now and I cannot wait for her new album. I guess this keeps with the moron man theme by telling it from the other side. I keep listening to this song and then getting into a real mood for about an hour afterwards so I can't imagine the damage the album is going to do to me.

Can't Tell Me Nothing - Kanye West: Throughout the whole ongoing Kanye drama I've been thinking of this song. " I feel the pressure, under more scrutiny, and what I do? Act more stupidly" "I'm on TV talking like it's just you and me". Anyway he's had is money right for a long time but it's becoming increasingly apparent that you really really can't tell him nothing. I think it's interesting that the thing that seems to have spurred him into clarifying his beliefs and finally backtracking on anything is that Candace Owens tried to credit him for the shitty Blexit thing and it turns out the one thing you can't do to Kanye West is manipulate him into putting his name on something he doesn't believe in or didn't create. It's insane that John Legend and Mos Def and Talib Kweli reaching out didn't change anything but Candace Owens taking one too many liberties absolutely did.

Like Wolves On The Fold - Colin Stetson: I've said it one million times but I love Colin Stetson. I love how straightforward this is for a Colin Stetson song. You can sing along to it! So much writing about him focuses on the intricasies of his technique rather than his resulting very human, very primal music. I feel like his music is not very far from beating on your chest and yelling a lot of the time (especially toward the second half of this song) and the saxophone element just makes it a lot more socially acceptable.

Sack 'Em Up, Pt. I / Sack 'Em Up, Pt. II - Gwenifer Raymond: Bandcamp had a really good article about American Primitive the other day https://daily.bandcamp.com/2018/10/10/american-primitive-list/ and I found this album in it and fell completely in love instantly. I listened to it five times in a row. It's just incredible and I'm so glad that the music I love is finally being rescued from the mire of New Acoustic youtube men with their slapping and tapping and harp guitars and moving forward in new ways with artists like Sarah Louise, Marisa Anderson and Gwenifer Raymond. Women are finally allowed to play guitar now and thank fuck. One of the things I really appreciate about this album is just how written it feels. Every part, even the very swirly Part One of this song feels very purposeful, and if not totally written at least improvised in a tight framework before moving into the completely written second half. There's nothing wrong with improv but in a genre like this that's almost overrun with guys putting out hour long improv records it's refreshing to hear someone with such a clear vision execute it so expertly.

Bleeding Finger Blues - Gwenifer Raymond: Also, get a fucking load of this. An absolute powerhouse performance from a master. There's not enough solo banjo music around and it's a shame because I don't know if there's a better argument for banjo as a solo instrument than this song. The other thing I like about this album is there’s three banjo songs on it, which works well for breaking up the sequencing and making each song really distinct in a genre where albums can really blend together.

4:30 - Danger: It's a shame that Danger never really fulfilled his potential. With songs as good as this as 19:11 he seemed set. But then he took about a decade off before his debut album and I guess he lost something along the way. Anyway, doesn't matter because when you've got a song as good as this it's all you need. Also here's a good video where someone just put this song over the bar scene from Terminator which really accentuates the vibe in my opinion. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z37R39-mff8

Crybaby - Abra: I love love love the production on this. A friend sent it to me because he said it reminded him of the Call Me Mr Telephone song I was raving about and he’s absolutely right. I love how formless it is, it goes through about three different verse ideas before finally getting to the chorus at about a minute and a half in and it’s only stronger for it. I’m so glad a new generation of darkwave adjacent people are discovering freestyle because this is great.

OMG!!! - Yelle: This song is probably best experienced with the music video. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eoWK4rV3INY It’s fantastic on its own, especially the “oh my god!” sample and the whole chorus section, but the video - titties out, covered in glitter, very very good dance move for the rising 'ooo' part, a hamster is there. Really accentuates it.

Copacabana (At The Copa) - Barry Manilow: Was thinking about this song the other day. Woke up with it in my head actually which was strange. I feel like this song and the Pina Colada song definitely take place in the same cinematic universe.

King Of The Dead - Cirith Ungol: I've been rereading Lord Of The Rings and also a very dodgy 70s sci-fi series called Dray Prescot and so divine fate has drawn me to discover Cirith Ungol. The good kind of metal where all the album covers could also be fantasy novel covers and all the songs are about how cool it would be to slay an ancient demon with a sword. I love this song because it feels impossible to sing it without doing some very dramatic face acting and also his voice is completely insane. I feel like this is maybe just how he talks.

Sugaree 10/21/1978 - Grateful Dead: Grateful Dead are good and ever since I came to terms with that I've felt like I'm always on the precipice of buying a box of tapes, covering my car in confusing stickers and dropping completely out of society. The problem with a big chunk of live Dead recordings that I've heard is that while the playing is always on point, the vocals can vary wildly - especially when they try any kind of harmony, but this recording is just great. Fantastic vocals with a lot of feeling, ample crowd noise so it doesn't feel like just a sterile soundboard recording, and of course an incredible extended jam.

Ring De Bell - Brother Resistance: I don't fully understand what rapso music is yet, I don't have enough understanding of the culture or surrounding genres. I basically just found this Best Of compilation and have been listening to it a LOT. As I understand it it's 70s Trinidadian calypso music that got very political, which is very cool. I'm a big fan of this sort of lyric where it feels like you could just go on and on for days about all the places you should ring the bell.

Kojack - David Rudder: The crown jewel of this compilation is of course this song I've posted about before and absolutely love to death. A protest song about them taking Kojack off the TV because it's too violent when shows like Dallas and Dynasty, which are far worse, remain on the air. Miami Vice! Before youtube comments and online petitions you had to make extremely good songs about this kind of thing, and its a huge shame that we've allowed this to die.

The Power Of Love - Celine Dion: I love Celine Dion because all her songs sound like they were recorded across 5 countries and 8 different studios and cost two million dollars. They always sound too expensive for casual listening to me, like I should have an emergency mink coat on me at all times just in case The Power Of Love starts playing in a supermarket.

Airworks - J Dilla: I've been listening to Donuts a bunch this month and really thinking about what makes him so good and the vast legion of Dilla imitators on soundcloud bad and I think this song is a good example. The main sample sounds straight up ugly, it's backwards and twisted to hell, the main strings part keeps folding over itself, it's just chaos but completely controlled chaos. Every imitator is so afraid to make a total mess like he does and is too focused on the underpinning laid-backness of the beat, where Dila somehow makes the relaxed feeling easily as a result of a million clashing elements.

Anti-American Graffiti - J Dilla: I also found a playlist on Spotify where someone had put together Donuts with all of the the original tracks it sampled (or at least the ones that are available on Spotify) and it's such an illuminating new way to listen to this album. https://open.spotify.com/user/keatonkreps/playlist/1TPeWt38uceWXD1Vhyf7wx?si=NJ_jHrYqQpCt18q-W9nrag

Marvel - Solillaquists Of Sound: Every genre has good music in it. Even rappity rap conscious hip hop has good songs like this one. There’s another song on this album called Popcorn that’s basically the It’s Media picture converted to a .wav but this song is good. Especially her vocals when they come in halfway through sounding like an astrology zine except good.

Rock Island Line - Johnny Cash: Johnny Cash has around one million songs about trains, including ‘Blue Train’, ‘Train Of Love’ and a song called ‘I’ve Got A Thing About Trains’ but this is the best one because it’s about train-related fraud and doing perhaps the most outlaw country manoeuvre ever and telling the toll man that you’re carrying livestock when you are in fact carrying pig iron.

I <3 U So (Skream's Made Zdar Feel Like He Was 20 Again Remix) - Cassius: Also as a kind of coda, here's Skream's version of I <3 U So, where he's completely ironed it out and turned it into a pulsing dnb thing which is always impressive to me when people completely reverse the feel of a song in a remix.

Worms Of The Senses / Faculties Of The Skull - Refused: Stereogum had a really good article about The Shape Of Punk To Come on its 20th anniversary and whether it really did turn out to be the shape of punk to come. They asked a bunch of people whether the title seemed arrogant and the vocalist from La Dispute had a really good answer where he said "But it’s like calling your shot and then fuckin’ hitting a home run. If it was arrogant, it was justifiably so." which is so great. https://www.stereogum.com/2020358/refused-shape-of-punk-to-come-turns-20/franchises/sounding-board/​

listen here

[cinema-tv-etc]

‘Game Of Thrones’ Built Up Its Female Characters Just To Watch Them Fall

The women we championed for nearly a decade suffered confusing character shifts in the final season.

By Leigh Blickley   05/14/2019

Bells continuously chime as Daenerys Targaryen (Emilia Clarke), sitting atop her fire-breathing dragon Drogon, stares out at King’s Landing. She’s enraged, having recently watched Queen Cersei Lannister (Lena Headey) order the execution of her best friend, Missandei (Nathalie Emmanuel), shortly after her dragon-child Rhaegal was speared to death.

Before facing those losses, Dany fought the army of the dead, held her adviser Jorah Mormont (Iain Glen) as he took his last breath and discovered that her new love, Jon Snow (Kit Harington), was actually her nephew, the true heir to the Iron Throne. At this particular moment, she’s unhinged. And bells are ringing.  And ringing, and ringing.

With the Red Keep in sight, Dany snarls as she decides to forgo everything she’s become in favor of an old Targaryen tactic: “Burn them all.” She goes full villain in the penultimate episode of “Game of Thrones,” scorching enemies and innocents alike as she surrenders to madness.

Yet many viewers saw little forewarning that a character twist of this magnitude was coming, and her erratic change of heart was a punch to the gut. Instead of the satisfying conclusion of a long descent to depravity, Dany suddenly shifts modes, from a woman who graciously earned loyalty over seven seasons to a power-hungry monster who murders thousands of men, women and children.

Sure, she wasn’t always perfect, but the Daenerys Targaryen we knew was the fearless Mother of Dragons. She was Khaleesi, who united the Dothraki after the death of Khal Drogo (Jason Momoa), later rallying them to fight for her claim to the Seven Kingdoms. She was Mhysa, who freed the Unsullied and was lifted up by the slaves of Mereen. Dany rose from the ashes to break chains and then risked everything to protect Jon and the North from the Night King’s army.

To see a woman so fully represented over 70 hours of television, especially in a fantasy epic, was groundbreaking. But, with a final season of just six episodes, showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss decided that a couple of scenes were enough to turn the unburnt beauty bad ― and essentially muddied her yearslong journey.

The “Game of Thrones” audience had devoted so much time to Dany, and other characters, only to now watch Benioff and Weiss hurry along the ending (and move on to their “Star Wars” trilogy). Why couldn’t they, after spending nearly two years crafting the final season, show us Dany’s slow decline into madness? Why do we have to watch “Inside the Episode” to figure it all out?

Surely George R.R. Martin, who wrote the unfinished “Song of Ice and Fire” book series on which the HBO show is based, told Benioff and Weiss where he wanted the storyline to go: “Mad Queen” Dany destroys King’s Landing, demonstrating that humanity, not necessarily the dead, is the true enemy. The thing is, the showrunners decided to shorten the final two seasons of “Game of Thrones,” to seven and six episodes respectively, and rush through key plot points to reach Martin’s goal. And it’s turned into a bit of a nonsensical mess.

Sure, make Dany evil ― women can be monsters, too. We’ve certainly seen glimpses of her “madness” in the past, whether it be callously watching as her brother Viserys (Harry Lloyd) is killed by Khal Drogo in Season 1 or perhaps prematurely burning alive the father and brother of Samwell Tarly (John Bradley) in Season 7.

But whereas, lately, the show tells us what to think, the books present Dany’s inner monologue. Readers can see how she fights to shake her violent family history as not only her actions but her wide-ranging relationships with siblings, friends and lovers are described.

From “A Storm of Swords”:

“I was alone for a long time, Jorah. All alone but for my brother. I was such a small scared thing. Viserys should have protected me, but instead he hurt me and scared me worse. He shouldn’t have done that. He wasn’t just my brother, he was my king. Why do the gods make kings and queens, if not to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves?”

“Some kings make themselves. Robert did.”

“He was no true king,” Dany said scornfully. “He did no justice. Justice ... that’s what kings are for.”

Ser Jorah had no answer. He only smiled, and touched her hair, so lightly. It was enough.

Although “Game of Thrones” used to give us more context around characters and their decision-making, once it passed the books’ timeline in Season 6, the series faltered a bit in terms of depth. It didn’t show us the intricacies of Dany’s small council, her romance with Jon or her friendship with Missandei, who is only a young girl in Martin’s novels. Perhaps if we saw the show’s version of Dany and Missandei have a meaningful conversation about fear or loneliness ― versus men and sex ― we would have understood Dany’s underlying fragility and why Missandei’s murder triggered a rage within her. Instead, we saw the one woman of color become a plot device to turn Dany, as well as her own lover Grey Worm (Jacob Anderson), to the dark side.

That’s all to say that the recent rushed storylines have prevented us from getting that nuance we previously used to connect the dots.

The same flaw also hurts other women on “Game of Thrones,” including Cersei, Brienne of Tarth (Gwendoline Christie) and Arya Stark (Maisie Williams).

Brienne is one of the strongest warriors in Westeros. She killed Stannis Baratheon (Stephen Dillane) and took down the 6-foot-6 Hound (Rory McCann) ― with a few solid punches, might we add. Yet she turned into a puddle of mush when Jaime Lannister (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) left her for Cersei ― something she would’ve never done three seasons ago. In one sense, it’s wonderful to see a vulnerable woman on screen. But Brienne ― who is rarely shown out of armor ― sobbing in a nightgown came out of left field. (Love makes us do crazy things?)

And Cersei was so shocked and afraid to meet her rubbly end during Episode 5, Season 8, that it’s easy to forget she once told Ned Stark (Sean Bean): “In the game of thrones, you win or you die.” The ruthless Cersei we’ve studied over eight seasons, the most cunning of the cunning, would’ve known to flee the city when she saw dragon fire (especially if she wanted to protect her unborn child). Or she would’ve at least had another plan in case those scorpion artillery weapons didn’t work out.

We’re not watching the most adventurous show in the world for uninventive writing. Yet here we are.

During the most recent episode, The Hound easily convinces Arya to go home and forget about killing Cersei. She hugs him goodbye, gives up on Cersei and tries to make it safely out of King’s Landing.

Eh, what? We’ve watched Arya train for years to become an assassin. She just destroyed the Night King with a stab of a dagger! She doesn’t fear death! She just traveled weeks to get to the capital for one sole purpose: to murder the woman who betrayed her family.

Too-fast, terribly thought-out writing has reduced “Game of Thrones” to a soap opera. We miss the scenes where Dany argues the advice of Ser Barristan Selmy (Ian McElhinney). Or when Arya secretly soaks up intel from Tywin Lannister (Charles Dance). Or how about when Sansa Stark feeds her abusive husband Ramsay (Iwan Rheon) to his own hounds?

Now we see a half-baked “Mad Queen” and a woman like Sansa crediting sexual violence, not her own strength, for making her a power player in Westeros.

THE HOUND: None of it would’ve happened if you left King’s Landing with me. No Littlefinger. No Ramsay. None of it.

SANSA: Without Littlefinger and Ramsay, and the rest, I would’ve stayed a little bird all my life.

It’s that bad.

Riddle me this: Why does a show featuring four leading ladies have barely any female writers? (Bonus: Michelle MacLaren was the only female director brought on to helm episodes, the last of which aired in 2014.) Although Gursimran Sandhu is credited as a staff writer for Season 8 on IMDb, only two other women, Jane Espenson and Vanessa Taylor, wrote for the series, with both of their runs ending by 2013. That, my little birds, is the root of a very big, now unfixable problem.

Espenson helped craft scenes like the aforementioned death of Viserys, and Taylor had a say in that memorable lunch between Sansa, Margaery (Natalie Dormer) and Olenna (Diana Rigg) as well as Arya and The Hound’s Brotherhood Without Banners meetup. Those back-and-forths soar in comparison to Season 8’s Sansa-Dany stares or Cersei’s unexplained cowardice.

Clearly, Sandhu couldn’t have singlehandedly saved the final season, but other women’s voices in the writers’ room might have provided more perspective into these characters’ closing motivations.

Still, Martin created these women, and Benioff and Weiss have shown they can write strong dialogue for them on this show. It just feels like the latter two’s desire to be in a galaxy far, far away perhaps trumped their desire to give these ladies what they deserve: earned arcs.

RELATED COVERAGE

‘Game Of Thrones’ Fans Had A Lot Of Feelings About Daenerys’ Fiery Choice

The ‘Game Of Thrones’ Season 8 Premiere Was Good. But Why Wasn’t It Great?

Why That Daenerys Twist On ‘Game Of Thrones’ Burns So Badly

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/game-of-thrones-women-daenerys-cersei-arya-sansa_n_5cd98811e4b0796a95dfd968

[evotter]

jan, march, sept + one of your choice, love. have a great day, u icon

thank u kyra i adore u

january: what was the first fic you posted this year?

the first fic i posted this year TECHNICALLY was the epilogue of a different path. the first standalone was chewbacca (aka my introduction to the jily world once again and i have such a soft spot for it)

march: do you listen to music whilst writing? 

yes! pretty much always; if it’s not music, it’s a TV show.

september: share a comment or review which still warms your heart?

quite literally anything you’ve left on any of my fics BUT there are a few that i hold dear to my heart. i’ll post them under the cut cause they are LONG :’)

ancient: the first fic you ever posted online?

hahahaaaaaaa. it was my own version of rick riordan’s the son of neptune before the actual book was published. it was on ff.net, and the first chapter got 7 reviews, and i felt so good about myself after that lmfao. who knew i’d still be writing 8 years later?

ask me questions!

OKAY so i have 3 top favorites:

from a different path:

okay so i had seen this in someone else’s bookmarks the other day, thought it was an interesting concept—especially since i too love slytherin!percy and strongly subscribe to ofswordsandpens’ headcanons about it—but didn’t give it another thought until i was listening to a video about the cursed child and went: wait, there’s a percabeth hogwarts au that i saw somewhere. and immediately i hunted this down and i’m just in awe? i tore through it. belatedly, i realized that i made a mistake: i didn’t write down my thoughts as i was reading, which is definitely a disservice to you. however, here are a generalized list of things that i loved.

first of all, with hogwarts au’s, there are three main aspects that i look for: plot, characterization, and quality of writing. normally, fics of this size lack one or more of these key factors, but i was astonished to find that the plot is tremendously tight and intriguing (my lip bled from biting it so much because i’ve been stressed to the max), you write these characters with such distinct voices i can easily picture them saying everything—except, of course, now in a little british accent—and your writing flows so well, it feels almost like i’m reading an actual harry potter book, just with percy and co. you also do a masterful job of weaving together aspects of the pjo universe with the established canon of hp.

and there are so many specific things that i love. primarily, the way you write the relationships in this story; not just concerning percabeth (though i will get to that in a minute), but also with each of the interactions between all of the characters. i applaud you for how you handled luke/annabeth and rachel/percy, and the friendship among them all is just incredibly well done. i especially love how well you wrote connor and zoë and just, a lot of characters that i don’t often think about when i think of pjo. grover and percy’s friendship especially is heartbreaking, i just. he’s so protective because he loves his friends and holy fuck i also love how you wrote grover in this. but i just adored how you wrote annabeth/percy—the love between them, both platonic in its early stages and the romantic all throughout, was doubly apparent. i ached when they kissed each other’s cheeks, and i inwardly cheered when she kissed him in the locker room. there was just such a natural progression, to me, of their relationship. and man did i dig it. i’m excited (and maybe a little scared) to see where you take their relationship in the future.

boy, this is getting long. sorry. but some more just little quick things: loved the b99 reference, with both of their competitive natures playing out in a similar way to jake and amy’s. i kind of want to go back and see if i can find any other references that i missed because i was just too engaged in the story to catch them. also, zoë’s death killed me all over again, thanks for that. i like how you’re working the kronos plot in, and i can’t wait to see how the Final Battle plays out. what else? oh! professor hestia? beautiful. eventual maybe professor percy? outstanding. percy kissing the top of annabeth’s head? breathtaking. rachel being a quidditch commentator? earth shattering. (truly i cackled when i saw that.) mrs. o’leary being a cat? incredible. how you incorporated percy’s water powers? stunning.

ooh, this exchange was beautiful and had me cackling it was so in-character:

“None of us are dying.” Connor clarifies. “Not you, not me, not Annie, not the rest of us.”

“I might have to dispute that.” Annabeth says, from Percy’s other side. “Call me ‘Annie’ one more time, Stoll, and I’ll kill you myself.”

Connor only grins at her. “Sorry, love. No more ‘Annie’. Can I call you Beth?”

“No.”

“Anna?”

“No.”

okay, so i just finished chapter nine and i am blown away. sorry for how long this comment was, but a fic of this magnitude truly warrants it. i can’t wait to see what happens next.

i leave you with just two words: “holy shit.”

from a different path: 

god, oh my god, am i the only dumb bitch who didn’t get what the prophecy was??

anyway, i stumbled on this fic last year, patiently waiting for its completion, and now that i’ve rediscovered it, i’m so glad i finished it all in one go! i couldn’t imagine the tension of waiting for the next chapter, especially since the tension is so well-crafted!! i hardly noticed the tonal shift even as the story got darker and darker as it led up to the war, and in that way i was reminded of how extremely similar it felt to reading the hp books for the first time! you nailed percy very well i might say, and the awkward-yet-caring relationship he has with his dad. i daresay you gave connor and zoe more characterization than rick riordan himself, and the percabeth you wrote is perfect to the nth degree. i appreciate that you didnt bother with all the love triangle and unrequited feelings nonsense as well.

but i have to say, even as i cried at sally and paul’s wedding, or at dionysus’ quiet mourning for castor, what really struck with me most was the way you handled silena. for that, i have no words. that was a job extremely well done. thank you so much for blessing us with this fic.

from chewbacca (a comment from u!): 

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen. Her coat is dripping all over the floor he’d just cleaned (but it’s fine) and when he leans over the counter he sees that her boots match the coat.

First of all!!! Thats the best opening line in the world and nobody can convince me otherwise. I want to become a publisher just so that if you ever write a book, I’d be able to publish it. ( like omg, what an honor??? )

She looks like sunshine, standing there with the amount of yellow in her wardrobe. Briefly, James wonders if that’s her favorite color. It’s got to be.

Im going to quote this whole fic but I really love these lines? Like, you have this distinct style of writiting that I aim to acheive and you’re literally such a rolemodel!!! These are my favorite kind of fics to read. Funny story but I was going through a ‘no thanks Jily’ mood (  a horror, i know !! ) but your fics are just,,,,exceptions? You could write about trash and I’d love it and ask for you to sign me up.

 “Say it again, but convincingly this time.”

ooof this dialogue??? let me breathe

This is the longest he’s stood still since he started working. It’s actually a miracle.

and the funniest person award goes to YOU. also, the most talented and cutest but thats neither here nor there.

james taking care of fleamont, switching off the lights gives me just a nice and realistic vibe? its so simple but i love how you added it.

honestly at this point, ive been sucked again by the fanfic. it feels less like a fic and more like a masterpiece that belongs in a museum but anyway.

“James is supposed to be helping.

James is on his phone.”

ugh i love ur mind. im rereading and its so nice and lovely. even if its like 1am and im exhausted, this fic is sustaining me.

“Do it off the clock, would you?”

PEAK HUMOR

have i mentioned how much i love that scene with euphemia? she seems like such a lovely mom. i love ur euphemia the most. and ahh, both of them just rushing to the hospital ? another 100% good scene.

“Euphemia smiles too, but looks at Fleamont rather than at her son. “Yes,” she says. “It really does.””

fic? or shakspeare? HMMM

A girl in a bright yellow hooded raincoat stumbles into the cafe on one of the slowest nights James has ever seen // “Get fucked.”

the fic!! has made a circle!!! i love how it begins and ends along the same lines. I really want to know how??? are you so talented im in love.

i just really love this fic, okay? i love how james is just the kindest, lily is allowed to have feelings, its just so soft and warm. and it makes someone feel loved, want love anyway.

the dynamic between the characters are just so real and great and im astounded, in short.

your sirius is everything. so many fics potray him as a dick??? which is first of all #rude and also, not at all true. you made me love these characters even more so i sincerely hope you never stop writing.

you’re such a beautiful writer and the way you string words together is just poetic and gorgeous and all the other good adjectives you can think of. i read your spiderman x reader too and i was a goner for you. EVERYTHING YOU WRITE IS SO GOOD. i read it so long ago but i can vividly remember peter whipping the mask off and she just going wtf stop on the window ledge. what im trying to say is that you leave this lasting impression on people that make them remember random scenes and words / prose long after they’ve read it which is a remarkable feat, i believe.

and im so sorry im not on tumblr rn bc i cannot keep recing this fic but i have told my friends about your writing and they loved it too. you’ve got like a million fans. when i do get back from my hiatus, im going to keep recing your fics and people will cry because their universe will shift thanks to the newfound joy of your presence in their life.

lastly, im more of a dog person and that, more than anything, should tell you how much i love this fic. i love u. and basee on your writing, i want to hug you, be your best friend and make you cookies bc again

WOW

[levs-mindspace]

Chapter three /// paranoia

Around 1400 words. New record :)

I walked in the store, and to my suprise, Sarah is standing there talking to a deputy. Their eyes glared at me when I started to walk over to them.

“Are you the owner that called about a complaint last night?” the woman asked. She pulled out her paper and gestured to me.

“Yes?” I said uncertainly. I didn't know that they would be here so fast.

“The man you saw, i’m going to need a little more description about him. We think we may know the guy but... it’s complicated,”

What did she mean complicated? Does he have a record of this? Has he done it before? As my anxiety started to fume up again, I told her all that I knew.

The man was around 5’2’’, he talked confidently and stood with perfect posture. He talked with a slight english accent and was very charming, which was why I let him in in the first place. Other than the fact that he had my book, of course, which he could of stole for all i know just so that he could get close to me. He had a scar over his lip and had jet black hair that was swooped back. This was all I noticed.

She wrote all this down and then slowly looked up with the most sympathetic look that i think she could muster.

“Thank you, um… could I talk to you alone for a bit as well?” she questioned me while slightly looking over at Sarah. Sarah came back to her senses (she often zones out) and then went into the back of the shop. What was she going to do, argue with the police?

“Now that I have you alone,” she whispered,”im not actually from the police, but i know that you are still in danger and i want to help. The man you were describing sounds a lot like a cold case from the 60's. It is a long shot but the resemblance is uncanny. Now i know you believe in some of the supernatural so it is really such a long shot that someone could come back from the dead? Maybe a witch killer named Satin Browning? I resume you know who he is?” she rambled off, wide eyed and out of breath. All while i just stood there with my mouth open staring at her.

The only thing i could push out after that was, “excuse me?” before the cat that I brought in, the one i almost forgot about, jumped out the window, shattering the glass and dirtying my entire store. I will have to close all day for this, ruining our already horrible customer base.

After the surprised screaming and sarah's questioning from the back room she yelled, “See, he always pretended to be a familiar! He’s stalking you and if you can't see that…” she pants,“He’s gonna try and do to you like he did those witches from all those years ago.”

To think back on what those people went through churned my stomach, yet she has a point.

“But wait, if you aren't a cop how did you get my complaint?” I demanded. How did i know she wasn't working for him?

“im not a cop myself, but I am friends with some. I've been tracking him for years now and overheard that you complained when i was at the station. It sounds exactly like him, especially with the murders around the city,” she said. “I'm begging you, i wanna help you but you need to be careful. He is dangerous. This is the first time I've gotten to someone before they got to him first so we can't blow this. We could finally catch him! You have to be with me or against me for this savannah. For you own sake i hope you are with me.” She said while whispering the last part out of sarah's reach. Due to the magnitude of this, and for the fact that she is going to be in the store as well, i don't want her knowing about this quite yet.

I don't know if I can trust this woman, but im scared and i have to overthrow my paranoia about the situation. Or else who knows if i will survive?

“I'm in, now what?”

-------

As we talked we walked down the street. It was freezing yet I still wore short sleeves for some odd reason.

“So what are you thinking we should do, I mean, how are we gonna hand in a dude who should be averaging 100 and dead?” I ask her. This is a wild goose chase. If Satin is back from the dead, we can’t stop him and that’s a fact. Rumor had it he was over 500 when he did the killings in the 60’s and he was experienced then. Now he was technology and media on his side as well as almost 60 more years.

“I figured you man be able to overpower him in the right circumstances. If we can make him mortal again he will be down for the count. They have his dna in the datibase from his previous arrest which he so happily excaped from,” she said.

She can’t be serious

“Wait you are really banking on my being able to turn him mortal? I’m not even sure a coven leader could do that. Heck, if a Pukius Reagana was born they might even have trouble with…..” I stopped. Oh my god.

“Wait what, have you thought of something, and what the heck is a puke us….?”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. We were idiots. I almost screamed in her direction, “Satin is rumored to be a great witch. If we find the waters he was born in, and if his blood, no matter how small, goes into the water, he will turn mortal again!”

“Say this in non-witch speak please?” She was honestly confused. I forget- normal people are gonna be normal.

“When a powerful great witch, or what we call a pukius regana, is chosen by the gods, they must bathe and drown in the waters of a specific lake or pond. If we find that pond and lead him to it and he bleeds into the water he will turn mortal,” I say. It sounds easy in foresight, but this will be the most dangerous thing I do in my life and I know this.

“So what your saying is that there is a way, we just need to find the means,” she was excited she was great. Finally, a normal person who believes in magic and wants to actually help me with something. The best of both worlds, actually.

“Exactly, the only problem we have is getting him here. I mean, I don’t wanna be bait.”

“I get that, but this may be our only option. But we don’t have to worry about that yet, we need to track him first. Know where he stays. Also what he looks like cuz I bet you that cat was him is disguise,” she was right.

“Okay I kinda thought that about the cat too to be honestly but I ignored it,” I said.

“That’s why your gonna need to learn to trust your instincts. Especially now. And learn how it harness your energy… however you do that,” she said awkwardly. Usually I take a nice crystal bath, light some candles, dance nakedly in the forest with a cat. Okay maybe not that last one but the point is… she probably doesn’t wanna hear specifics.

For the rest of the walk we just talked, almost as if we were friends.she told me her name is actually Valerie yarnall. After the Satin incident, I lost all my friends. We all broke apart in fear. Being a full coven was way too dangerous back then, so we made a vow. We kept it do date and it is horrible. I miss them so much, especially in times like this. The fact that this will last forever is the worst part, due to all witches being immortal unless killed. We are kind of like lobsters I’ve heard? Until Satin is killed, I’ll never get my coven back and I know that for a true fact. But on the bright side, if I do kill him in that lake with the help of the Valerie, I will take all of his powers and become a great witch in his place. Ah, gotta love the help of friends.

[megan0013]

trollhunters: unfinished fic

stricklake - 2,080 words - drama, romance

written pre-s3. baby drama and jealous strickler and a prophecy and an unknown changeling working for morgana. at least, that was the original idea. i only wrote one chapter before scrapping it, so it’s really just baby drama. 

He’s been back in Arcadia for two weeks when he finally sees her.

Most of his time has been spent behind closed doors, debating the pros of certain defensive maneuvers and organizing the best possible attack strategies, and the feeling of confinement has been threatening to suffocate him for days now. He needed to get out of those caves, needed to breathe fresh air and feel the warmth of the sun on his skin. And so he’d taken the opportunity to quietly duck out of what was supposed to be a quick discussion about how they could best utilize NotEnrique (that had somehow erupted into a Blinky and Claire squabble session) for a cup of tea at their – his – favorite coffee shop.

He chats amicably with the young barista as he orders his usual, explaining away his absence as a series of unfortunate familial incidents he’d had to attend to, before heading outside to his preferred two-top. It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky and he can’t think of a better way to spend his afternoon as he takes a sip of his drink and settles back into the chair.

Two hours and an embarrassing number of refills later the sun is halfway through its descent when he reluctantly pushes back. The meeting is bound to have broken up by now, and it’s best he gets back to his little hovel before anyone realizes he’s shaken the short leash they’ve been keeping him on. He’s halfway standing when the sound of her laughter suddenly fills his ears. He freezes, eyes wide and heart pounding as she steps into his line of vision.

The ground seems to sway under his feet.

She’s got on her scrubs and her auburn hair has started to fall out of her bun, there’s a smear of something that could be vomit on her shoulder, her glasses are smudged, and there are dark circles under her bright blue eyes, but that wide, cheerful smile on her face is infectious and Walt honestly doesn’t think he’s ever seen something so beautiful before in his very long life. He takes a subconscious step forward, and rams his knee into the very heavy metal table. The jarring pain is enough to snap him out of his stupor and that’s when he realizes Barbara isn’t alone, that she’s laughing with a tall, blond man he vaguely recognizes as one of the orthopedic surgeons at her hospital.

It’s nothing, he thinks just before the surgeon’s hand comes to rest on Barbara’s lower back. The grin she flashes the blond is enough to make Walt’s blood boil and he’s sidestepping the table to instigate (though he swore to himself he would avoid her at all costs) when he notices the way Barbara’s scrubs have smoothed over her slightly rounded belly. He stops and blinks. Barbara shouldn’t have a belly at all. Barbara is bony and thin and doesn’t have enough fat on her body to keep her warm in summer.

But Barbara does have a rounded belly that is made all the more prominent when her hand rests upon it just before she’s ushered into the café.The blood drains from Walt’s face.

Food baby? He hopes silently before shaking away the thought. He’s bared witness to Barbara’s binging after a long shift and this bump is nothing like those caused by cheeseburgers and cake.

She’s pregnant, obviously. But when? And how? He was gone a little over five months and the swell of her stomach is too big to be anything less than that. Unless, his treacherous heart twists, she was seeing the surgeon before he left? No, she would never do that. Barbara is loyal and selfless and would never subject anyone to the pain she felt when her husband had been unfaithful.

Which leads to the next question – how? Changelings aren’t able to reproduce. They have the equipment but shoot blanks due to the manipulation and magic done to their DNA and there has never been a documented record of a hybrid conception in any of the historical texts he’s read before.

“Oh hell,” Walt mutters to himself as the realization of what he’s truly done settles upon him. Not only has he somehow defied the rules of biology andmagic, but he’s also managed to drag poor Barbara into it in the most despicable way possible.

With the magnitude of his mistakes beginning to weigh on him, Walt takes a deep breath and forces himself into action before his knees give way. He’s lucky Barbara didn’t notice him the first time she’d passed by, but he doesn’t want to push it, so he steals one last look at her through the café window, nose wrinkling at the way the surgeon’s arm is thrown around her shoulders, before setting off.

If he wants answers, he needs to talk to Jim.

Which is why he’s hunched over Barbara’s kitchen table an hour later, staring blankly at the picture in his hands. He’d somehow managed to convince himself that it had all been a misunderstanding during his long walk from the café. A trick of the light or an awkward wrinkle in her shirt, he’d thought with certainty as he let himself into the kitchen through the garage. And then he’d spotted the sonogram stuck to the refrigerator and his carefully constructed denial had come crashing down around him.

The due date is listed as a little less than four months away. Counting back, Walt pins the window of conception to be the week prior to the night in which he had utterly destroyed his life. He hopes it happened during one of their more romantic interludes and not that quickie against the wall in his office, but he can’t quite figure out why that particular detail is so important.

Walt rubs his eye with the back of his hand and sits back in the chair.

It’s a girl, or so it says in white type just below the border of the sonogram. His heart keeps flip-flopping unexpectedly every time his eye catches the words and, though the phenomenon isn’t entirely unwelcome, the implications make him somewhat nervous. There have only been a handful of times in his centuries-long life that he has felt genuine affection for others and that attachment had never, not even for Barbara, manifested so quickly before. What he’ll do when he’s told he’s not welcome in his daughter’s life, he doesn’t know or want to think about yet.

“You know, it’s called ‘breaking and entering’ when you let yourself into someone’s house uninvited.”

Walt looks up to find Jim leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and frowning. They’ve come to a sort of truce over the past two weeks, Jim has even sought him out for advice on more than just battle strategy, but that doesn’t mean this is going to be a pleasant conversation for either of them and Walt figures it’s best to skip the pleasantries.

“You know, it’s called ‘being a dickhead’ when you see a man every day for two weeks and neglect to inform him of his impending fatherhood.”

Jim points at him and says grudgingly, “Touché.”

“Why don’t you have a seat and bring me up to speed?” There’s a hard edge in Walt’s eyes, one honed over the years by defiant teenagers and overly ambitious minions, and he slaps the tabletop across from him with a little more force than intended.

Jim hesitates a second, eyebrows furrowing, but ultimately decides it’s too late to ignore the situation. It was only a matter of time before Strickler found out anyway and, whether he likes it or not, the changeling deserves some sort of explanation. Unfortunately, his mother’s continued ignorance means the responsibility falls to him. As usual.

“She’s healthy,” Jim says as he pulls out the chair and takes a seat.

“Which one?”

“Both.”

Walter nods before glancing back at the sonogram. “I don’t see any horns.”

“She’s developing like a normal human.” Jim gestures at the picture. “Mom opted for the genetic testing a few weeks ago and everything came back okay. Nothing abnormal or weird.”

That’s a relief. Walt had been certain there would be mutations or deficiencies and had been comforted when the sonogram showed nothing obviously out of the ordinary. Hearing confirmation from Jim, however, is much more reassuring. “And Barbara?”

“She’s fine.”

The words are clipped, almost snappish, and Walt senses a bit of accusation in Jim’s tone. Barbara is obviously not fine, or wasn’t before, and the teenager blames him for it. “You’re sure about that?”

“Yes.”

Walt nods, watching Jim warily. “How did she react when you told her about your secret life?”

“I didn’t.”

“I thought not.” Walt sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “Will you tell me why?”

Jim relaxes slightly at the older man’s calm, neutral tone. He’d been expecting indignant anger on his mother’s behalf, but one of the reasons Jim had been drawn to Strickler in the first place was his openness and his ability to listen without passing judgement before judgement was due.

“She was scared,” Jim finally mutters after a long, apprehensive moment. “And I just… I know I should have told her, but she would have freaked and I didn’t want her more stressed than she already was.”

“Can’t fault your logic,” Walt concedes with a nod. “How much does she remember?”

“Nothing troll-related, and nothing about you after you put the enchantment on her. Everything else is still there.”

“She doesn’t remember how she got pregnant?”

“No.”

Walt groans and leans forward to cover his face with his hands. He should have stayed, should have finished what he’d started and waited until things had settled down. But he’d been in such a hurry to retreat, to run away from the guilt and the heartbreak, that he had left Jim to clean up his messes without argument and now… now he bitterly regrets that decision.

“She started acting weird a couple weeks after… that night.” Jim’s gaze drops to the table. “I don’t know if she talked to anyone about it, but she was super cagey around me for a while. That was pretty rough.”

“I can’t begin to imagine what she was thinking.”

“She finally told me about the baby and asked me if she’d been seeing anyone about a month later.” Jim shrugs, though he’s obviously troubled by the memories. “I was gonna lie, but she had this look in her eye and I just… couldn’t. So, I told her you two were dating but broke up when you took a research position in Greece.”

“And she accepted that?”

“Mostly.” Jim nods. “She wanted to try to get in touch with you, but I told her you were in some remote area and didn’t have access to a phone or internet.”

“She didn’t question why she couldn’t remember dating me?” Walt’s eyebrows quirk skeptically.

“I think, at that point, she was just relieved to know it wasn’t something more…” Jim grimaces and waves his hand to indicate the more-ness.

“Right.” Walt knows what Jim is alluding to and he’s happy to leave it unsaid. If Barbara wants to talk about it sometime down the road he’ll listen without interruption, but he doesn’t need her teenage son to elaborate just now. “How would you like to proceed?”

“Would you be cool with pretending this conversation,” Jim sits up a little straighter in his chair and smiles hopefully, “never happened?”

Walt responds with an amused, but undoubtedly negative, snort.

“Didn’t think so.” Jim’s nose wrinkles in disappointment. “Alright, let’s just tell her you came back from Greece last night and-“

“No,” Walt’s tone is firm and steady. “We are not lying to her. Not this time. She deserves the truth.”

“I knew you were gonna say that,” Jim groans and drops his forehead to the table with a thud.

“What time does her shift end?” Walter asks, ignoring the teenage theatrics. “Do you know when she’ll be home?”

Jim looks up, bewildered. “You wanna do this tonight?”

“There’s no time like the present, young Atlas.” Walter gives him a grim smile because, no, he doesn’t want to do this tonight. Or ever, really. Confessing his true nature to Barbara is terrifying, but the thought of her living this lie another moment is almost unbearable. “Trust me, you’ll feel much better once you tell her the truth.”

Jim rolls his eyes. “Doubt it.”