#-going as far as to study literature now that i have the chance & finally gain enough confidence in my skills to start working on-

[wingsofhcpe]

one of those fifty things was a classist af post about how fanfic writers can't actually write for shit, yes all of them apparently bc they aren't educated in proper literary devices or whatever.

are you fucking hearing yourself

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.6k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Robin slumped down in her seat with a sigh and the oddly bittersweet feeling of melancholy mixed with excitement. Over the rim of her sunglasses, she observed how Jorien rolled her eyes at Cas, but helped her stow away her enormous bag in the overhead compartments nonetheless. It was still before noon, but the sun was already scorching Robin's skin as it flooded the compartment of the Hogwarts Express they had chosen to claim. The school year was over. Time to head back to London.

Minutes later, when the train slowly started moving and the two other girls finally sat down as well, Robin couldn't help feeling more excited than sad at last. Sure, leaving Hogwarts had always dimmed down her mood quite significantly, but this year it was a bit different. For one, she had intentionally chosen to take the train back to London together with her roommates. She also could've apparated back home, now that she had passed the class and gotten her license, but she had decided against it. Perhaps for nostalgic reasons, perhaps because of her constantly babbling but very much appreciated company. But most importantly –and therefore the real reason why she was more excited for the summer to start than dreading to part from her beloved castle– she actually had plans for the holidays for once. Plans which included two of her favorite things in the entire world; potions (in the broadest sense) and Snape. The latter obviously being more reason to her current excitement than the former, but ultimately she was very happy about both.

Really, she had been planning it for a while now. Robin wanted to continue her hunt for rare ingredients, or rather her studies thereof, and after the by now renown success she'd had last October, she had been quick to decide that she would spend the summer with the same kind of expeditions to confirm her theories. Obviously she wouldn't be able to work her way through the entire handbook, which she had kept on expanding and improving throughout the last year, but she would just start somewhere and work her way through as far as she got. Fortunately, from the very moment she had told Snape of her plans, he had been dead set on coming along, saying how it was far too dangerous to deal with some of the things she would necessarily have to encounter on her own, and after a while of teasing and prodding, he had also admitted that he simply wanted to do this together with her either way.

To Robin, the prospect of that, of their plans, was enough reason to keep smiling to herself from time to time, or really any time she thought of it. The only dimmer on her mood was that their adventures would only be able to start from next weekend on; before then, Snape was still stuck at Hogwarts for whatever boring thing Dumbledore had the professors do after the students had left, and Robin for her part had promised to wait until then. For his sake more than her own, and unfortunately, that left her with a week to spend with her parents. Lovely.

"Earth to Robin! What are you all smiley about?" Cas wondered loudly, snapping her fingers in front of Robin's face to get her attention.

"Oh, just excited about my plans for summer." She shrugged in return, yet again unable to stop grinning to herself. Damnit, she really was as subtle as a pink elephant.

"You actually have plans for once? After years of saying you literally don't care? Spill the tea, what's the story?" Jorien quirked an eyebrow at her in doubt and question, and Cas nodded in agreement to the objection.

"No story, I'm just excited, that's all."

"What's your plans then?"

"Proving my theories about different substances and ingredients, testing methods and means to find them, and improving all of it based on the results of practical research." Robin explained in one breath, and received two questioning looks in return. With a sigh and a smile she added, "I will travel around and look for plants and animals I can use for potions."

"Uuh, going on adventures! Why didn't you just say that!" Cas beamed in return, then went off into her own direction with it. "You should write a book about it! Or better, a comic! With moving pictures and all that kinda stuff! 'Robin the lone scientist'... How about that?"

"More like 'Robin the mad scientist'." Robin laughed in return, letting her head fall back against the seat for a moment until she could tone down her grin a little.

"Perhaps you should let us come with you! Then you certainly won't be alone anymore." Jorien mused carefully, more hopeful than intrusive, and Robin's eyes fell onto the two grinning girls again.

"I won't be alone at all, actually… My best friend is coming with me." She finally allowed herself to admit, and the words were already enough to make her skin tingle. Geez, she really shouldn't be this excited about it… but it didn't hurt anyone either.

"Oi, that mysterious guy you never lose more than a word about?" Cas' eyes lit up, and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Perhaps you will finally get that passionate romance I've been hoping for!"

"Speaking of which, have you made plans to visit Simon?" Robin inquired, brutally changing the topic before they would try to snoop any more.

"Unfortunately, my parents aren't too fond of the idea of me having a boyfriend." The blonde rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, falling back into her seat with a huff. The grandeur of the gesture made Robin want to snort, but she suppressed it for empathy's sake. "So I probably won't see him at all until summer's over. I hope he doesn't find someone better than me in the meantime!"

"You can always write letters to him." Robin suggested with a shrug. "The anticipation and delay in that can be quite exciting as well. Carefully chosen words, the time taken to share a piece of one's mind with the other, the reassuring physicality of someone's handwriting on parchment…"

"You're terribly romantic, you know that?"

"Don't tell anyone." Robin replied, rising her eyebrows at them with a small smirk. "I have a reputation to uphold."

… … …

The one good thing once they arrived back in London, after Cas and Jorien had found their parents who had come to pick them up like always, was that Robin didn't have to deal with her trunk anymore. With a swoop of her wand, it shrunk down to a miniature and disappeared in the depth of her backpack. Thank God she was finally over seventeen… had been for a while now, actually. The summer would be so much more enjoyable now that she could use magic outside of school.

Instead of taking the first train back to Oxford like she usually did, Robin spent some time strolling around London. After all, she could be at home in a blink now whenever she fancied to be, and she didn't have luggage other than her backpack either. When she eventually sat down in a small cafe with a book Cas had practically forced upon her (not without making Robin actually promise to read it over summer), she couldn't help wondering what Snape might be up to right now. It was around this time when they would usually have pre-dinner coffee, or take a walk around the grounds, or set up for that evening's work in advance… oh bloody hell, she missed him already. But in the light of the impending week with her family, she also found herself missing Jorien and Cas. Anyone was better company than the people who were (probably not even) waiting for her in Oxford. For a moment, she wondered if they would care if she didn't come home today. If they would even notice.

Sighing, Robin ordered the largest coffee on the menu and then went to distract herself from the inevitable necessity to go home by reading Cas' book for now. It was the kind of read Robin wouldn't pick up even with her eyes closed; a cheesy romance novel about a girl around the same age as her, who slowly discovered the 'wonders' of love and physical intimacy in a plot that otherwise didn't even fit the romance. Robin couldn't help rolling her eyes every other page, but she had promised Cas that she would read it, and thus she had to suffer through all the drama and badly phrased make-out sessions now. Why on earth was this Cas' favorite book?! Admittedly, the girl deemed fashion magazines the high art of literature, but this… ugh. Sometimes Robin wished she didn't take her promises quite so seriously.

When her coffee was empty and a good third of the dreadful book behind her (which at some point had gotten a little less dreadful… not that she would ever admit that to anyone), she decided that it was late enough to make her way home at last. If she didn't want to sleep in the gutter, there was little else she could do. Well, technically she could camp out somewhere up north… she had everything she needed in her backpack… but some stupid part of her mind wanted to give her parents another chance to care. Some sparks of pathetic hope had crept through the cracks in her walls once again, even if she knew that she would only be disappointed again. It couldn't be helped either way. After paying for her coffee, she sought out the first space away from prying eyes, and finally went home in a swirl of time and space.

… … …

It had been three days, and Robin was already going insane. During her absence, her parents' house had turned into an outpost of the local university, or so it seemed. Not only had her bedroom been unrecognizable and all her things were packed up in boxes in the basement upon her arrival, but there simply were too many people around her on a constant basis, and no possibility to hide; Robin's parents, the three American scientists currently living with them, and usually two to five other people working on the same project even after hours. Begrudgingly Robin had accepted that she no longer had her own room in this house, and even that she had to live out of cardboard boxes for the moment… But the five other people living in this house with her currently were just too much.

The moment she'd come home on Monday evening she had noticed two things right away: One, her parents hadn't expected that she would actually want to sleep on the couch for more than a night. Two, the people from the States were assholes, to stick with their language. Well, two of the three, at least. A married couple who had moved into her old bedroom, and honestly, they could be summarized as mainly three things: religious, respectless and rude. Right on the first evening, they hadn't hesitated to make not so subtle but very much mocking comments about Robin 'attending a boarding school for special children', as her parents seemed to have explained the situation to them. Then they had gone on to comment on her 'disorderly choice of clothing', which they deemed entirely unsuitable for a young lady of any respectable family. Them finding out that Robin, in fact, didn't pray before meals (nor at any other time really), and also had absolutely no intention to, had resulted in a lengthy speech about the importance of God's guidance for a young lady (that term again…), especially when she was constantly tempted by vicious males around her. (They had also found it outrageous that the school she attended wasn't just for girls!) At that point, Robin had regretted ever coming back to this place, ever allowing herself to hope that it might not be completely awful. That had been three hours after her arrival.

Three days later, she was going insane for real. The only good thing was that every one of them was gone throughout most of the day, which allowed her to take a break from the constant orders and remarks given to her by four people by now, none of which actually had the right to do so. Honestly, she didn't know why she didn't just leave. Pack up the boxes in the basement and find some other place to live, where she wouldn't be either entirely ignored to the point of feeling invisible or pestered with disdainful comments. And now, four days into this mess, she made the decision that she would have to adapt her plans if she wanted to survive this summer.

"I'll be leaving tomorrow. I'm going to travel the country with a friend until the end of summer." She declared out of the blue, during dinner on Friday evening, after being silent for over three hours. Originally she had planned to take day trips with Snape, and come back here in the evenings to spend the days in between excursions at her parents' house. But now she just wanted to have a decent enough reason to leave and stay gone for as long as possible. Perhaps forever.

"That's amazing, sweetie! I'm glad to hear you have plans." Her mom was the first to reply, smiling in what looked like sincere relief upon the prospect of having her daughter out of the picture at last.

The conflict growing between the American couple and Robin hadn't passed by her parents unnoticed, indeed they were as well aware of it as everyone else, but they had always made an effort not to get involved, always avoiding to possibly upset their guests, even when they had clearly crossed a line. To Robin, they had thereby picked their side, and it had never been hers.

"Traveling the country… Spending your parents' hard earned money, eh?" The scarecrow on the other side of the table scoffed in a too high pitched voice, and Robin had to make a conscious effort to keep her facade of perfect neutrality plastered onto her face. "If I was your mother, I would see to it that you find yourself a job and get working as soon as possible!"

"We offered to pay for her expenses, should she wish to spend the summer elsewhere, because we had to clear out her room for you." Robin's dad explained almost apologetically. "But it might as well be a belated gift for… two birthdays and two Christmases, I believe."

"Never coming home and then expecting to be paid for nonetheless…" The scarecrow made a face at Robin as she let out a scoff. "Children, they're all the same no matter where you are in the world. I know why I never wanted any."

Robin's jaw clenched for but a second, the only tell of her true emotions, but then she calmly went back to cutting her chicken into neat pieces of exactly the same size as she had previously cut her vegetables and potatoes as well. "I won't need any of your money, thank you for the offer nonetheless. I believe it would be best for everyone if I was… financially independent as soon as possible. I'm an adult, so I might as well pay for myself."

"Oh, you're one of those types." Scarecrow's husband mused in an unsuccessful attempt at subtle distaste. "Traveling around like a gypsy, always deep in someone's pocket for a dollar… The youth these days just doesn't know what work is anymore."

"Actually, I work hard and earn my money like everyone else does." Robin replied coldly, not even honouring the man with a glance. It was a very twisted version of the truth she was presenting here, but it would have to do. "Just because I attend a school quite far away from the larger cities doesn't mean there is no opportunity to make a living on the side."

"Yes, and we all know how pretty young girls can make a living the easiest way, don't we?" Scarecrow scoffed, and the entire table fell silent for a moment. Nobody dared to speak, and all eyes eventually sought out Robin, who in return was desperately glad for her years of practice in looking entirely indifferent. On the inside however, her mind was raging. How dared this woman to make such accusations, or even hint at something like that?! A small part of Robin wondered what would happen if she simply cursed everyone in the room, and took their memories of it afterwards. But instead, she settled for merely being silent and clinging onto the thought that she would be gone tomorrow.

"Do you by any chance work in a kitchen?" The third American, the only decent human being in the room and the only person Robin wasn't currently mad at, asked and thereby broke the uncomfortable silence. "Because I couldn't help noticing how adept you are at cooking. The dinner you made last night was amazing, and I've never seen someone so skilled with a knife."

"Thank you." Robin offered him a small smile, and inwardly thanked him for saving her from the ridiculous situation like that. "I really do sort of work in a kitchen, actually. For the past few years I have been trained quite a bit in addition to the normal school curriculum, to properly select and prepare ingredients for example, but by now, I actually get to make entire recipes by myself." Again, not a lie. Cooking and potion making were quite similar in a lot of ways, and she would shamelessly take advantage of that now.

"I didn't know you were training to become a chef." Robin's dad frowned at her, then shrugged and continued eating at last. "But I'm glad to hear that you are looking into a serious and decently paying career path. Not that… odd stuff they teach you at school."

"So, who's the friend you're going to be traveling with?" Her mom asked, changing the topic and the tension that had been hanging in the hair was resolved as the others continued with their meals as well.

"You wouldn't know him; someone I know from school." Was all Robin replied, but perhaps she should've thought better of it.

"A boy?! Excuse me, but I just have to intervene here again, entirely for your own good…" The scarecrow was quick to respond, and Robin cringed at every single part of the vile woman's sentence. "Just imagine how that might look to some people! A girl and a boy, traveling the country together all by themselves… Do you truly want to have such a poor reputation?! Just think about the disgrace it would be for your parents! Or for your future husband! People might assume you were dishonored!"

If that woman knew that Robin was going to travel with Snape, a man who was eleven years older than her and who used to be her professor until a week ago, she surely would combust in outrage, or faint in shock. Robin had to suppress a snort at the thought, and the idea of telling her suddenly became very tempting. But she wouldn't, as that would surely only end to her own disadvantage. After all, it would put reality into even more of a false light… they were still going to part ways in the evenings to meet up again on another day. Either way, Robin had quite enough of the woman sitting across from her at this point.

"Bold of you to assume that I have any honour left for him to take in the first place." She said nonchalantly, in perfect indifference, and while four jaws dropped just like intended, the nice American scientist merely let out a snort. At least one person understood the joke inherent in this bloody situation… Still, this probably hadn't been the smartest thing to say if she ever wanted them to stop bothering her, but as it seemed, her reputation among them had been ruined long before she had arrived here in the first place. And it was the truth after all; at almost eighteen, it wasn't unlikely that she would have a lot more experience than she actually did. It wasn't her fault that a hug was the only form of physical intimacy she'd ever lived to share with anyone… even Cas had more experience than that, and she was only fourteen! Not that this bothered Robin in any way… it was just a fact, and she might as well use it to her advantage at this point.

Dinner continued quietly from then on, and while the silence seemed to be uncomfortable for everyone else, Robin actually found herself feeling more at ease than she had all evening. When willingly allowing yourself to sink quite so low in someone's eyes, even if based on false information and half truths, the result for your own self was quite liberating. No reputation to uphold, no need to impress, nothing to justify. Honestly, she just should've done this from the start. But then again, she had still wanted her parents to pay for her travels at that point. Still had hoped that the boxes in the basement would be unpacked again eventually, once the esteemed guests were gone. Now however, the idea of cutting herself off from her parents entirely had a shocking appeal to it, and she couldn't quite bring herself to step back from it again. Didn't even want to. No, she still had some Christmas money left that she had saved over the years, and from there on she could find some sort of work to make ends meet. Tomorrow morning, she would take the boxes in the basement with her and leave for good.

… … …

If there had been any doubt left in her mind by Friday night if she actually should go through with it, it was blown away Saturday morning when the only thing saying goodbye to her was a note on the kitchen counter that told her to put the rubbish out before she left. Thus she spent the early hours of the day gathering everything that was hers and storing it away in her backpack, while also taking some minor things that surely wouldn't be missed around here. An old record player and a few of her favorite records (both which weren't used anymore), that chipped mug she had been using when she was here for as long as she could remember, but also a photo album that only had the first five pages filled with pictures of her as a baby and toddler. If this was all that would be left of her childhood other than her own memories, she wanted to be the one to have it. She added in a picture of her parents that had been in one of their own albums, then hid the entire thing very deep down in her bag, in a box of things she wanted to keep but still forget about.

When finally she shouldered her bag to leave, she didn't even feel sad. Only bitter and, in a way, deeply hurt that it had come this far. Perhaps it had been her fault, partially at least. Perhaps it had been inevitable. But if the last five days had proven anything, it was that they would be better off going separate ways from here on. Maybe one day, if by that time they still remembered that they'd had a daughter once, she would come back to visit them.

… … …

Half an hour later Robin sat high up on the cliff on the Scottish east coast where their first adventure had started last year, legs dangling over the edge against the stone wall that dropped down way too far, as she waited for Snape to show up. They would have to meet somewhere after all, and this place had seemed like a good idea. Both of them had been here before, it was practically deserted, and thus it was easy to find each other.

The wind whipping around her cleared some of the bitterness the morning had left, dried some silent tears, and it was a reminder of the bigger picture, a reassurance that her problems weren't the end of the world. As dark as things might seem, the planet was still spinning and the only way to move was forward. She took a deep breath, and when the sun broke through the clouds at last, she put on her sunglasses and let it warm her face for once.

"You're early… A bit excited, are we?" Snape remarked the very moment Robin heard him arriving somewhere behind her, and even just the sound of his voice made her smile in an instant.

"So are you, in case you haven't noticed." She replied, leaning back on her hands to look up at him upside down when he came to stand behind her. Surprisingly enough, he was clad in ordinary black bottoms and a simple long sleeved shirt of the same colour. "I think I've never seen you in anything other than those robes you always wear at school…"

"Yes, well, our last… expedition has proven my usual choice of clothing to be rather unsuitable for the occasion." He mused, and finally sat down next to Robin so closely that their shoulders almost touched. "That, and muggles tend to be irritated when one wears robes around them. Since we haven't decided where today will take us, I thought it best to be prepared."

"Clever. As always." Robin smirked, and he rolled his eyes at her using his own expression on him, which she however didn't mind one bit. "How was your week?"

"Dreadful. Yours?"

"Even worse."

"Good."

"Hey!" Robin protested with a laugh, then with a grin she just couldn't fight. "What's good about me being worse than dreadful for a week?"

"It means that no matter if we succeed in our goals today or not, it will still be a better day for you than the last few were."

"Of course it will be better! An infinite number of times better even! Spending time with you is better than anything, you dunderhead."

"Call me that one more time and I will shove you off the cliff."

"Shove me off the cliff and I'll pull you down with me."

"I expect nothing less. That is what I'm here for, after all." He stated with an expression that was too serious looking to actually be serious at all. The not-smirk was an even better tell of that.

"You're here to jump off a cliff?" Robin quirked an eyebrow at him with a teasing smirk.

"I'm here to make sure you aren't alone when you do."

"So if I jump, you will too?"

"I would rather keep either of us from doing something ridiculously stupid as that, but generally, yes." He said, and the fact that he actually seemed to mean every word of that sent a wave of electric sparkles all through Robin's body and mind. She couldn't even put into words how much she adored him for that, and how infinitely glad she was to have him with her. If this was what being his friend was like, she couldn't even imagine how it would be to be more than that. Then again, she shouldn't imagine it in the first place. They were friends. Best friends, but only friends. That had to be enough.

"Good to know." She finally replied, allowing herself to smile at least, so very brightly that he almost had to smile in return. "So… what theory are we looking into today?"

"Get out that handbook of yours and we shall see."

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555 @purpledragonturtles @istrugglewithphilosophy @meghan-maria @hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall​

General Tags:

@wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream @hayalee8 @bluewneptune @lemonmochitea

[atths--twice]

Soulmates

Soulmate: a person to whom you feel an immediate connection. A connection so strong and powerful, you are drawn to them in a way you will never experience again. They are your perfect other, the missing half of you, and no love will ever compare. No matter the distance, soulmates will find their way back where they belong. ________________________________________

The long believed alien invasion of 2012 never occurred. Since that fated night, Mulder has searched for answers to questions, but has come up empty handed. Scully has been standing by watching brokenheartedly, as his obsession has begun to tear them apart.

A heart can only stretch so far before it shatters and the pieces left behind must be put back together. Sometimes a shattered heart (or two) needs extra care, love, time, and help.

Sometimes it needs guidance from someone who understands grief and pain. Someone who will not give up or back down. Someone who will see a broken heart and not declare it unfixable, but grab the tape, glue, or whatever it takes, to fix it and make it whole again.

________________________________________________________

Okay.... I have posted about this before, but as I’m a bit, just a small bit mind you, more savvy with Tumblr, I am going to post it again. Before I only posted the link to AO3 and not chapter by chapter, as I had no idea how to do that at all. I have figured it out and all I can say is... get ready...

I have recently had the pleasure of meeting two incredibly wonderful and supportive fellow Philes, @prichan7​ and @scullybuck​, and their encouragement and love for this story has filled me with such a sense of pride and happiness, I am so thankful to have met them. Ladies... your kindness means so much to me, you truly don’t know.

I am going to post the first three chapters today and then one, or sometimes a couple, the next day.. and so on.

This is my baby and the one I am the most proud of... I hope you like it.

Chapter One 

The Origin of Maggie Scully

Maggie had been a romantic all her life. When she was younger, around 10, she began to read from the “grown up” section of the library, the young adults area. She was always an advanced reader and devoured books. She discovered Anne, the orphan girl adopted by a brother and sister. She learned new, big descriptive words reading about Anne.

Maggie fell in love with Gilbert, a sweet, romantic, caring boy who was “fathoms deep” in love with Anne upon first meeting. She yearned, despaired, and was elated when Anne and Gilbert were finally joined together in marriage. She read of Anne and Gilbert’s children. Of Rilla, their youngest who was in love with a family friend. He went off to war and her heart was broken. She cried and mourned along with all her beloved characters. When she finished the books, she began again. She became obsessed with the love the characters had for one another.

The words she read were poetry to her young soul. She needed more. The librarian observed how often Maggie was borrowing the same books. On one of her trips to the library, when she was 12, the librarian, a “kindred spirit,” showed Maggie to the literature section. She suggested a few new books she may find interesting and Maggie’s eyes lit up. She borrowed Emm a and Sense and Sensibility.

Oh … being lost in the stories of yearning love, hardships, misunderstandings, broken engagements, and true love realized, made her heart soar. She wished that she could live in her books, to know these characters, to attend balls and dance through the night.

She felt a thrill when she discovered the word ‘soulmate.’ A soulmate. It was a word she fell in love with immediately. She rolled it around and around in her mind. To think that there was someone out there destined for her, her other half, made her stomach do flip flops. She read when true soulmates had found each other, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They would feel unified to have finally found the one they had, wittingly or not, been searching for. They would be together in unity and no other happiness or joy could ever compare. Oh, how those words and thoughts had thrilled her, down to her very soul.

Reality came calling, however, no matter how a person may romanticize the world around her. Her father felt reading, especially books far beyond her age, was a waste of time. He found it “foolish for a girl to be doing, especially the books she was reading. Stories about love and romance filing her head full of frivolous unattainable things. A handsome man racing up on a horse to save her, or dying for one's true love.

Try as she might, there was no reasoning with her father. Her mother was a meek woman and she complied with her husband. Maggie’s trips to the library became obsolete. She was told to focus her attention on other things.

Her parents were devout Catholics and her time for confirmation was approaching. She was to attend the classes and study what her faith would prepare her for in her future- a life devoted to her faith, husband, and a family.

Although she obeyed, she felt that a part of her was gone without the chance to read her books and become lost in their stories. But after her confirmation, she began going to parties and meeting people. New girlfriends to gossip with, share lipsticks (of which none of them were allowed to even possess), even try out smoking, and laugh about which boys they would like to kiss.

She loved the thrill she felt being in a group of boys and girls, seeing if she might feel a spark with of them. She had not given up that she had a soulmate out there somewhere looking for her. There were boys she felt an attraction to, but it was not the same as that deep desire for a soulmate.

Then when Maggie was 20, her mother passed away. She was left with an empty hole in her life. Her father took her mother’s death extremely hard. He began to drink heavily. He was moody and depressed. But at times he was kind and emotional. During those times, he spoke of his love for his wife. How beautiful she had been, how she could light the room with her smile, how much he missed her, how lost he was without her, how he loved her from the moment he saw her, how he wished he told her more.

Maggie sat in shock. Of course she knew her parents loved each other, she was not stupid. But this ... especially from her father, left her speechless. He was tough, quiet, closed off. She had no idea he was capable of feeling that way. How naive she was, how childish in her thinking.

She was an adult, but she was still much like a child, believing love was something a person longs for, pines after, or has to suffer a huge loss to find. She saw and learned of true love, of actual soulmates that day. Not the silly little girl version she had imagined with music sounding and “happily ever after.” This was a love that ran deep and true and real.

She was emboldened by this revelation. She made a firm decision. She would not let her father drink the rest of his life away. Her mother’s memory did not deserve that disrespect. His love for her needed to be stronger than the ease at which he grabbed the bottle for comfort.

It was not an easy task, but she got him to quit. She learned things about herself during this time. Patience, understanding, and extreme empathy. Her grief was raw, but her father’s was devastating. Spending time with each other, expressing their grief, had brought them closer together. She always felt a disconnect from him, as though he did not care for her as her mother had. As they learned from each other, her heart warmed with the discovery that his love was simply quiet. He was proud of her, loved her, and wanted the very best for her. He did not say it with words too often, but his eyes and his smile told her every day.

When Maggie met Bill, she knew right away he was a good man. He was somewhat like her father-quiet, serious, stoic. Under his outward presentation, though, he was sweet, funny, romantic. He was rational and cool headed. He would be a good husband, provider, father.

She loved him, immensely, but it was not until she had Bill Jr. that she realized how much she needed and relied on him.

She was sick throughout her pregnancy, never truly gaining much weight. She could not get the baby to feed very well once they were home. She was not sleeping, had not showered, the house was a mess, and she could not stop crying. She felt like a failure as a wife and a mother.

One day, a knock sounded at the front door. Bill Jr. had just spit up all over her last clean shirt and also managed to soil his last clean diaper. Maggie felt like lying down and giving up. She did not care about the person at the door, she just wanted to sleep, cry, or scream. Maybe even all three.

The knock sounded again and a muffled voice called out, “Mrs. Scully? My name is Evelyn McCreary. Your husband works with my husband. He asked if I could look in on you. He wanted to be sure that you were okay and didn’t want you to be alone.”

Maggie began to cry. From exhaustion, embarrassment, but mostly from the caring her husband showed by asking for help for her. She would never have asked on her own. She was a navy wife now and needed to keep that stiff upper lip. As she cried, she caught a whiff of both herself and the baby. It was not a good combination.

Her pride worn down, she walked to the door. She did not look at her reflection in the mirror by the door. She knew she looked like death warmed over. If this woman was truly here to help, she was going to see how big her job would be.

Opening the door, she found not a young woman, but an older one. White hair set in a fetching style, clothes and makeup perfect. She even had a pair of gloves in one hand and her purse in the other. This woman? She was going to help?

Maggie almost closed the door in her face. Close the door before she ruined the clothes of this poor well meaning woman. She had probably thought that Maggie was simply bored and was looking for someone to gossip with and drink some tea, maybe something stronger. Well, Maggie thought, that sure ain’t the case. She stared at this immaculately dressed stranger with a look of defiance.  

The eyes looking back at her were soft and understanding. She took in Maggie’s spit up covered shirt and could smell the baby’s soiled diaper. She smiled kindly at Maggie and put her gloves in her purse with a snap as it closed.

“Well,” she said with a square set to her shoulders. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us. How about you invite me in and we can get started?”

Maggie was completely floored. She expected this woman to be aghast and walk away. When she did neither, she could not do anything but allow her in the house. Evelyn set her purse down on the crowded dining room table and turned to Maggie.

“First things first,” she said with determination in her voice. “You need to get cleaned up and I will take care of this adorable baby.”

“No,” Maggie said with more force than she actually felt. “First things first. You tell me who you are and why exactly you are here.” Evelyn smiled at her, just as kindly as before, and clasped her hands together.

“My husband and your husband have become friends. They have recently worked together and have taken a liking to one another. Your husband mentioned that you had recently had a child. My husband, Philip, had asked how you were doing. Bill was honest with him and said it had been hard. My Philip told me, and I knew I had to come right over. You see, Mrs. Scully,” she said with a brief pause as she took a breath. “I know how hard it can be. How you can feel ... alone and no one understands. I have had six children and I was unprepared for each one of them.” Maggie balked at her. Six children? God. That sounded exhausting.

“My husband and I married young,” she continued. “My mother had passed when I was a girl and I never learned about ... well many aspects of marriage.” She laughed and her cheeks flushed. “When I discovered I was with child, I was terrified. I had no idea what I would do.” She smiled at Maggie kindly and reached out to touch the baby’s foot.

“My husband was wonderful to me the entire time. He was tickled that we would be having a baby. He boasted to everyone how happy he was to be a father. How he loved that I would be giving him that honor. But then the babies came ...” she became quiet for a second, lost in her memories. Maggie shifted uncomfortably, aware once again how terrible she smelled.

Evelyn gave a little shake of her head and then smiled at Maggie. “Mrs. Scully,” she said kindly. “I would love to tell you my story when you have had a chance to clean up a little. I can imagine you don’t feel so wonderful at this moment.”

Maggie’s eyes filled with tears at the kindness in her voice. “I can’t get cleaned up,” Maggie said with a sob. “There is so much laundry to be done, and I don’t have any more clean shirts.”

Evelyn reached for the baby, and this time Maggie let her take him. She brought her hands to her face as her tears began to fall faster. Evelyn tucked Bill Jr. into her side and drew Maggie to her with an arm around her shoulder.

“My dear,” Evelyn said softly. “Please lead me to the bedroom and we will get you sorted out.”

Maggie tearfully led Evelyn toward the bedroom. She set the baby down in the bassinet that sat in the room. Evelyn walked into the bathroom and started the shower. When it was a comfortable temperature, she turned to Maggie and told her to take her time and get cleaned up. Maggie sobbed and began to unbutton her shirt. Evelyn walked out and closed the door behind her.

Maggie left all her clothes in a disgusting heap on the floor and stepped into the warm steamy shower. She let the water wash over her and cleanse her body and soul. She was so bone tired and this shower was the best experience she had in days. She stayed under the spray and felt her muscles relax. She cried and cried. Let all her anxiety out in that shower. Felt it wash away down the drain.

She washed her hair and body twice, exhilarated by the feeling of being clean. Erasing the stench of milky baby vomit and soiled diapers. She stayed in the warm cocoon until the water began to cool. Finally she had to turn the water off and return to real life.

A towel had been placed out for her and her disgusting clothes were gone. She had not even noticed Evelyn return to the bathroom. She grabbed the towel and wrapped herself in the fluffiness. God, she felt like a new person. She dried her hair with an extra towel until it was just slightly damp.

Maggie walked into her bedroom and found that Evelyn had put some clothes on the bed for her. A button down shirt of Bill’s was laid out beside a pair of pajama pants. She slipped them on, no underwear available to be worn. She did not care and she doubted Evelyn would either.

Once she was dressed, she walked out to find Evelyn in the dining room. She had cleaned up the clutter on the table and changed the baby. He was laying in the bassinet that she had moved from the bedroom.

She looked up and smiled as Maggie came in the room. She walked toward her and put her arm around her shoulder, leading her to the table. Maggie sat and Evelyn disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with a two cups of tea and set them down.

“Do you take cream and sugar?” Evelyn asked kindly. Maggie shook her head. “I was able to find one last diaper for the baby, but he will be needing more. I placed a call to a friend of mine and she will be dropping off some items for you as soon as she can,” Evelyn said as she sat and drank her tea. “I have also started washing some clothes in your washing machine. Such a wonderful invention. Things took longer in my day. Once those clothes are done, I will hang them for you and start more clothes.”

Maggie was silently crying, looking down at her teacup. She was overwhelmed by everything, but especially by the kindness this woman was showing her. She did not know her, but she was here and she was helping. She had already done so much in the short amount of time she had been here.

She lifted her eyes to Evelyn. She could not talk around the lump in her throat. She shook her head, trying to fight back her tears. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak.

“Before you say anything,” Evelyn said softly, setting down her cup and taking Maggie’s hand. “Let me tell you my story. Drink your tea and just listen.”

Maggie took another deep shuddering breath and nodded. She did not know what she was going to say anyway. That she was fine? She clearly was not. She did not need any help? It was obvious that she did. She just needed to say something. Instead she took a sip of tea and waited for Evelyn to speak.

Evelyn placed her hands on the table and folded them together. She told Maggie of her hardships with her babies. How she had been wholly unprepared for caring for them. She did not know anything about children and she felt like a failure every day. She cried more in that time than any other time in her life. When the babies cried, when they spit up, when dinner was burnt, when her husband’s shirts were not ironed, or worse, when they too were burnt.

But through it all, her husband had been there for her. He was always encouraging, always positive. He ate the burnt dinner, smiling through every bite. He hid his scorched shirts beneath jackets, kissing her goodbye and thanking her for seeing that he looked respectable and loved. He was her champion, her cheering squad and she loved him immensely for it.

They moved to a new base when she was pregnant with their fourth child. Two of the children were in school during the day at that time, so she was home with only the youngest child. She was thankful for that because the fourth pregnancy had been her worst. She was sick almost throughout. She could barely eat, she was not sleeping and the housework began to suffer.

There were not scorched shirts anymore, there were simply none ready at all. Dinners were late as they had to wait for her husband to cook them and he worked late shifts. She would cry as she sat holding the youngest one and her husband served the older children soup and toast, grilled cheese, eggs. Whatever was on hand and easy to make. He would make them laugh with silly voices and songs he made up. Then they would help him clean up and head to bed.

He would come to her and wipe her tears. Tell her he loved her, she was the only person he would ever love in this lifetime and the next. He would take the little one and bathe her, put her to bed, and come find Evelyn still on the sofa, crying. He would take her to their room, help her get her night clothes on, and brush her hair. He would sing to her as he did, telling her how beautiful she was. How her hair was like spun gold and it shined brighter than the sun. He would hold her as she cried when they went to bed.

It had been two weeks and this had become their routine, until she heard a knock at the door. She opened it to find a dark skinned woman with the biggest smile she had ever seen. She told Evelyn that her husband had run into her, literally, and helped her pick up the items she spilled.

He struck up a conversation with her and found she was looking for work, but no one wanted to hire her. He said that was ridiculous and he hired her on the spot. Said he needed someone to help his wife because he loved her so much and seeing her breaking down the way she was, was breaking his heart. He cried for his wife, cried for her suffering, and asked, begged, for her help.

Her name was Tanzie and she was a godsend. She helped with anything and everything. She washed, cleaned, cooked, ironed, and cared for the children. But most important, she became the friend that Evelyn needed. She cared for her. Cooking bland foods that she could hold down, offered up advice her mama had for pregnancy, remedies that were a wonder for Evelyn.

Tanzie helped her get back to herself and her family. She was the best friend Evelyn ever had. They shared secrets, dreams, and their lives.

“Mrs. Scully, without the love of my husband, and the care of others, I would have crumbled. I would have given up. I am a lot older than Tanzie was when she showed up that day, but I would like to be here to help you as she did for me.” Evelyn said kindly, looking into Maggie’s eyes.

Maggie sat in rapt attention, tears running down her face, through the whole story. Listening to Evelyn’s story of love filled Maggie with hope, with happiness and such immense love. She read of soulmates, saw it through her father’s eyes, knew she found it in Bill, but Evelyn’s story ... it was pure love and devotion.

And now Evelyn sat there, in a dirty house, with clutter and laundry piling up, offering her help because Philip heard about her need from Bill. A loving heart reached out to another loving heart. As a result, without hesitation, Evelyn came to help Maggie. To offer what she could, however she could.

Through her tears, Maggie smiled and nodded. “Please, call me Maggie,” she said as she grasped Evelyn’s hand, reaching out for the lifeline that had been sent to her.

I had posted all of this story here, chapter by chapter, but now… I’m not sure how to find it. So, I am posting the link to it on AO3. Happy reading… with perhaps some tears along the way. 💕

[williamcohen]

( EWAN MCGREGOR + CISMALE ) — Have you seen WILLIAM COHEN ? This FORTY-NINE year old is a/an FILM DIRECTOR who resides in MANHATTAN. HE has/have been living in NYC for ELEVEN YEARS, and is/are known to be DEDICATED and RELIABLE , but can also be STUBBORN and OVERPROTECTIVE, if you cross them. People tend to associate them with DAD JOKES, WARM SMILES and SCRUFFY BEARD. @codstarters​

Hello everyone, my name is Julia but I go by Jules. I’m from est zone and I bring to you my goofy goober William Cohen with the lovely fc of Ewan McGregor. I apologize in advance if this sucks but I’m really bad at intros. Anyway, hit me up if you’d like to plot or give this post a like and I’ll come to you!

Career:

Born and raised in England. William developed an in interest for filmmaking from a young age and never really had an alternative for directing films . 

You could say that his love for filmmaking started thanks to Miss Rivers, a broadway and film enthusiast who loved to put on play every chance she had. And c’mon what child doesn't like to participate in a play? To put on a costume and pretend to be someone else? It was like a game for them. But for Will acting and putting on costumes wasn’t his favorite part, his favorite part was watch Miss Rivers direct and produce the whole thing. It was the making of the play, the behind the scenes that really intrigued him. Of course eventually, as the years passed he stopped acting at the plays and became his teacher’s assistant.

At this time William was filming everything he could, the school plays, his mother cooking, his father working, his siblings playing. He made his first film at the age of ten, an adaptation of one of his favorites books.

Through his whole teenage years everyone thought that William would’ve majored in something like arts, something related to filmmaking, but no. Everyone was surprised when he told his family and friends that he wanted to study English Literature. The reason he chose to study that its because he felt that studying something unrelated would give him a different take on things.

While attending college William started working as script reader, camera operator and even production assistant in television, films and music videos.For years he worked on his own short films but it was during around of his career he had made little or no success getting his projects of the ground.

In 2000, he met with a friend from college and together released their first feature, he directed, photographed and edited the film while his friend wrote the script. They didn’t have any expectations but finally William could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Their film won several awards during its festival run and was well received by critics. Thanks to the film’s success William afforded to make another one, which became his breakthrough. 

After his breakthrough fellow directors and screenwriters recruited him for more projects, and slowly he started to gain more international recognition and transitioned from independent to studio filmmaking and gained further critical and commercial success with his new films.

Personal life:

So like I mentioned before, he is from England. Born in a high-middle class family. He is the second of three children. I picture his family very tight knit, very loving and supportive of everyones dreams.

He used to be married, he’s been divorced for 7 years now. He met his wife during college and even though they are no longer married, he still considers her to this day the love of his life. They met when he was 22 and majoring in English Literature through some mutual friends. You could say that it was love at first sight, or at least just in William’s case. Whenever he talks about how they met he always says that from the moment he saw her he knew that she was the one, that he had met his future wife. They dated around a year before William finally had the courage to pop the question and asked her to be his wife. Their marriage lasted 20 beautiful years and gave birth to 2 beautiful and healthy children. 

For many years everything seem to be working out for William, he had a beautiful family and he was finally gaining recognition. Unfortunately what goes up  eventually must come down. While he started to gain more international recognition it required him to travel a lot and leave his family behind every time he was working on a new project. For a few years they tried to make things work out between them, and even bought a house in NYC thinking that it would solve their problems, boy was he mistaken. For a brief moment it seemed that things were going to even living under the same roof there was a distance between him and his wife, things just weren't what they used to be. So after a few months of living together in New York they both of them decided that the best thing would be to get a divorce. For their sake and the sake of their children. 

So now he’s been divorced for almost 7 years, of course he’s dated and has had a few girlfriends but noting ever too serious. 

Personality:

Career wise he is very professional, dedicated and pretty much a perfectionist. 

He is just the sweetest and silliest person you could ever meet. 

He’s just the sweetest  and silliest person you could ever meet, I mean he is very charismatic and likable and sometimes can come off as childish or immature, specially when he’s around his children. He loooooves to embarrass them and make them feel uncomfortable with their friends.

He’s really laid back and always tries to see the good in people, so he is likely to form friendships with whoever approaches him.

He truly cares about people, that’s why he always ends up putting everyone’s needs before his own, specially when it comes to his friends and family.

He also tends to act first and think later, which has led him to some poor decisions in his life but even after he fucks up he somehow manages to make it work.

Last but not least, he’s a hopeless romantic and a true gentleman. Sometimes he can come off as a flirt but he would never dream of disrespecting a woman.

Connections:

As far as connections go I want all of them, I would love for him to have some besties, brotps, some nephews or nieces, someone he knows from the showbiz world, someone who has worked with him in one of his films, exes, a love interest, it would also be interesting to have like a sugar baby, someone who uses him just for his money/fame, drinking buddies, frenemies, opposites attract, neighbors, he could be a good influence in someone. So yeah be sure to like this post and I’ll slide into your dm’s if you want to plot <3 !

[zashamalkin]

Translation of Anna Kasterova’s live interview on 5/29/20.

Thanks to my amazing Gino Anon, the entire interview is translated below the cut. Final word count, btw, is 2405 so like, send big thanks their way. Holy shit! 

Anna got sick few days before the interview. Not covid, just a cold, that later turned into otitis. It was very painful, but now she’s feeling way better, though she still has some trouble hearing with her left ear. They talk a bit about the weather in Miami (it’s been raining there for a few days, but it’s still pretty hot). Igor asks if they’re allowed to swim during the quarantine. Anna says that the 1/ 

beaches were recently open, but there are obviously rules about keeping the safe distance. “Is Zhenya a good swimmer?” “Yeah, he’s great. He’s spending a lot of time with Nikita, teaching him how to swim. More in the pool though, than in the ocean.” “How do you and Zhenya feel about the latest news in NHL?” “I think, the idea is pretty good. Everyone has been waiting on some news about this season. I asked Zhenya if he preferred for the season to be cancelled. He said, he wanted to finish it 2/ 

properly. This season has been great for him, he’s in a great shape. And even though he hasn’t been skating for 2 months, he’s still been training pretty hard, running, roller skating and he didn’t lose his shape.” She thinks everything is turning pretty good so far and it’s great that the teams will have a time for training camps and a chance to go to playoffs.“In your opinion, were the players mentally prepared to continue the season?” “I think, those, who genuinely want to go to playoffs, 3/ 

have been working very hard to be ready, when the time comes. But, for sure, there are some players, who spent more time relaxing, rather than training. A lot of teams are asking their players to come back and start training on the ice and not all of the players follow their instructions.” “What are the rules about practice right now? Are they allowed to train in groups or…?” “There are no details about it yet. It haven’t even been decided yet, what cities will be chosen as Hub cities. So far 4/ 

the coaches are asking players to stay in shape. They have video calls together, where they go through different footage every time. But, as far as I understand, the organization and the coaching staff are ready for the players to come back.” “How do the players feel about the new rules for playoffs this season?” “No negative feelings. They’ve been under a lot of mental pressure, not knowing anything about the season and the playoffs. Everything seems pretty logical and they’re very happy to 5/ 

get back on ice and to have a chance to fight for SC.” “Is there any inside information about what cities will be chosen as Hubs?” “No one knows anything for sure. But I know that they’re very carefully considering epidemiological situation in the cities and will choose the safest options. ” *I SUCK at translating hockey terminology from Russian to English, so I’m sorry if anything is incorrect.* “Do you think it would’ve been fairer to include the numbers of “play-in” (I have no idea what he 6/ 

means by “play-in”) as well as the Robin Rounds into the statistics of regular season? Because it would give the players, like Ovechkin and Panarin, and Malkin to gain more points.” “It’s a very difficult question. But I’m sure NHL and NHLPA have gone over all the possible scenarios and have chosen the best one.” “How has Geno been handling the quarantine?” “He’s been very calm and collected. He’s been doing great mentally, smiling and cracking jokes, and keeping us safe and happy.” “Why did 7/

your family (meaning Geno, Anna and Nikita) decide to do a covid testing in early April?” “I had a pneumonia in November and wanted to find out for myself, if it was covid-induced, if I had any antibodies for the virus. But all the testing came back negative. None of us had it.” “What books did you and Zhenya read during the quarantine?” “Zhenya likes to read fantasy books. He’s been reading “Quantum Warrior: The Future of the Mind” by John Kehoe.” “Does he read in English?” “No, in English 8/

he’s mostly watching TV shows.” “I was very impressed by the story, that after his 1st season in NHL, Zhenya hired Russian language and literature teacher.” “He’s had a lot of free time these past 2 months and he’s hired 2 tutors: English language tutor to work on his grammar and Russian language tutor. (*Sorry, I don’t know if I need to explain this, but Geno obviously knows how to speak Russian. What I think Anna means here, is that the pronunciation of the words in Russian changes depending9/

on where the person is from. Every region has its own accent. I think, what Geno is trying to do, is lose his Magnitogorsk accent and start to speak clearer Russian, like ppl in Moscow of St. Petersburg do.*) He has classes with his tutors Monday to Friday. I’m very happy for him.” One of Geno’s friends in Russia has been robbed recently. Igor is asking Anna, if they ever considered buying a gun, since it’s allowed in US. Anna says no, they feel safe and they live a good neighborhood. She 10/

doesn’t think it necessary or appropriate. They talk a bit about Ovi’s second child being born recently and if Geno and Anna are planning on having a second child any time soon. “Of course, we wouldn’t mind having another child. If it happens, we’ll be very happy. I would like to have a girl, though.” “What’s the best way to describe Zhenya’s and Ovechkin’s relationships today? Are they friends or rivals” “Both. And healthy rivalry is very important in order to reach their personal goals.” 11/

“When Caps and Pens play each other, is it possible for them to go have dinner after.” “No.” “What can you say about the relationships between Zhenya and Sidney Crosby? When we talked with Zhenya last year, he said very nice and kind things about him. Even though Zhenya is in Sid’s shadow a lot of the time.” “I can talk about it for hours. They push each other and make each other stronger. But they also can step in and do more than anyone, when the other is hurt and not playing. Off the ice, 12/

they are very good friends and they support each other. Have I ever thought about what his life would be like, if he was the only star player in a team? I think, he’d be the best player in the whole NHL. He’s very intelligent in terms of building a game, always plans 2-3 steps ahead. He’s very fearless in his game, very talented and vey multilateral player. He’s very unique. They won together THREE STANLEY CUPS! No one's saying Crosby is less talented. He’s an incredible player, he works very13/

hard every day. They are 2 number 1 players in this team. If Zhenya ever asked me if I’d like him to play in New York, f/e, I’d say, no. Pittsburgh is his city, his home. And management and coaching staff are also a very important part of team success. The relationship inside the team is very important. And Pens are the best in that, imo.” “You two watched Super Bowl at Sid’s place. What’s it like there?” “It’s a tradition. Every year Sid invites the team with their wifes/gfs/kids to watch 14/

Super Bowl. His gf Kathy does all the cooking. She’s a very geart person, very hospitable. *omg, this is the first time I hear any1 talking about Sid’s gf 😀, aww* Everyone on the team is very open, very kind, they are great guys. It’s the best thing about Pens. So we’re always happy to accept Sid’s invitation and we always have a great time.” “Do you want Nikita to become a hockey player?” “We’re not gonna push him to it. If it’s something he wants, sure. But I have big plans for his 15/

education. I’d like him to know 2 languages, (English) and Russian, especially grammar, not just being able to speak it freely. I’m studying with him and for an almost 4 yo he already knows quite a lot. And it’s always very hard for a child of a parent, who has achieved so much, to surpass that kind of success. And I don’t want my son to have this kind of pressure on him. I don’t want him to be known solely as “Malkin’s son”. For me it’s very important for him to get a good education and to 16/

choose his path in life.” “Talking about the tv series about Michael Jordan, would you like a bio series to be shot about Zhenya?” “I know he wants to act, in a tv series or in a movie. He talked about it many times. As for a biopic, of course I would like that. He has a huge success story. A man from a simple, working class family. It’s very expensive to play hockey. And he was so talented even in a young age, that his coaches would sometimes bring him a puck, or a stick, or a uniform, for 17/

free. Add to that a story about him finally getting to NHL.” “Zhenya said once in an interview, that you fight sometimes about him not being open enough w/ you, not sharing his problems etc. Has it changed during the quarantine?” “Everything’s been great during quarantine. During the season, he’s under a lot of pressure and always takes it hard if the team loses or if he doesn’t score. Right now he’s very calm and happy, and everything is great.” A question about a conflict around Geno having18/

a USA passport (a lot of people in Russia, his celebrity friends especially, weren’t happy with that, and judged him for that). What does Anna think about it? “He’s a patriot. He loves his country and his city. We were in a hopeless situation, when I needed to get all the documents ready ASAP, and we needed to get married, and him having a US passport would speed that up. You could say, he did it for me. On the other hand, America is his 2nd home. He spends here more time than in Russia. He’s19/

been working here for years. Why is that such a big problem? It’s not like he turned his back on Russia or anything.” Then she talked about Geno’s donation to families in Magnitogorsk, who suffered bc of explosion that happened there in December 2018, and how much he gives to his community in Russia, that ppl don’t know about, bc he prefers not to advertise it. Then Igor keeps asking political questions and Anna is getting more and more irritated by them. Geno publicly supported Putin’s 20/

reelection whenever that was, and interviewer is asking whether him having an American passport is appropriate, considering that he’s a part of Putin team? “Why is it inappropriate? America and Russia are not enemies. Yes, there are some unresolved political issues. They are 2 huge countries, of course they will always feel threatened by each other. But I don’t see any serious political confrontation. Maybe bc we’re in US right now. But Zhenya has a great respect for his president. *bleh, I 21/

don’t like Putin. I know, she has to say nice things about him, bc as long as Geno is a part of Team Russia and wants to have a life in Russia, they can’t be openly against him. But both Geno and Anna don’t strike me as ppl, who will support Putin’s ideals. Sorry for me butting in w/ my opinion*” Question about Geno’s new diet after 18-19 season. “He never drinks alcohol during season. He doesn’t eat potatoes anymore. It’s very hard to cook him a soup w/o any potatoes in it. No sweet things,22/

no gluten. Now before games, he eats gluten-free pasta.” “Is he very superstitious? Do you try to wean him off some of them?” “No, if it makes him feel comfortable, why would I do that?” She declined to name any of them, bc it’s a personal thing for Geno. “Do you put in any work in Zhenya’s image and style?” “I think so, a bit. His sense of style has become better, his taste in literature.” “Zhenya’s favorite music?” “Russian pop-music mostly.” Question about Geno’s gaming habits. Anna 23/

doesn’t try to control him or tell him not to play, bc for him these computer games are a way to relax. She doesn’t mind. It’s his personal time. He doesn’t have his computer in Miami, so he found another way to spend time – studying with his tutors. Question about Olympics. “Yes, he’d like to win a gold medal with Team Russia, when the time comes.” He doesn’t feel jealous about Datsyuk or Kovalchuk, who have an Olympic gold. “Do you think, Zhenya’s last hockey season before retirement will 24/

be in Magnitogorsk?” “Sure, I don’t see why not. He’s very grateful for everything Metallurg gave him and it would seem logical for him to come back there before retiring.” “What is Zhenya’s biggest motivation right now?” “He’s very self-critical (she means Geno’s words about his skills in 18-19 season). He always has a high bar for himself and je always tries to reach it.” Question about Geno reaching 1000 pts. “It was a very big moment for us and a big win for him. He was very inspired 25/

by it and it gave him a lot of self-confidence.” ‘Was Zhenya mad about not making NHL’s 100 players list?” “I was. I was very angry. But he knows his value and what he’s achieved as a player. But it was very strange for me.” “Who do you think Zhenya wil be after his career ends? And how will your life together change? Will you spend more time in Russia or in US?” “It’s a tough question. I imagine a house by the lake, in Russia, with kids and, later, grandkids. With a big fireplace. I think, 26/

after finishing his career, we’d like to travel a bit. But I don’t know. It’s something you should ask him.”

[masterhandss]

I wanna know more about the guys. Don't get me wrong I like that the anime focuses a lot on the girls. But the guys who are ironically te main LI's in game are just kinda dragged around for harem purposes. We don't know anything about things that are actually unique to them their hobbies,interests(save for Alan and his music but that's about it,it seems) We know that Mary has her gardening, Sophia loves literature and romance novels, Maria has baking,Katarina agriculture and a vegetable garden

Hahaha yeah, I kinda get how that feels. When it comes to personal hobbies and interests (likes and dislikes), I guess Alan really takes the cake here on the boys’ side because he has an interest outside of Katarina (Geordo has “interesting things” listed as something he likes, but that just leads us back to Katarina so it doesn’t really count). Though now that you point it out, it is interesting to know that the girls all have interests that are linked to them, but the boys don’t really have any?? kinda??

Alan has his music, but the other three boys are kind of just presented with things related to Katarina (Geordo with his magic and snacks for Katarina, Nicol with the Devilish Count attire and the veggie bundle that Katarina gives him, and Keith with his Earth Dolls, Maria’s handkerchief (which idk why that’s even there) and keys??). I can’t be bothered to find any other merchandise that is presented this way but for all the girls and Alan, it’s pretty consistent.

I don’t really play any otome games (I’d love to though) so I’m not sure how far they go when it comes to developing the love interests, but since hamefura is about Sorcie being beyond an otome game, it does feel rather lacking that we don’t have much about the boys. The focus is put so much into the boy’s interest in Katarina that they don’t have too much outside of their backstory, personality and magic type.

Volume 5 does inform us that Keith likes studying magic and Nicol likes relaxing times, but to some extent you can still trace that back to Katarina (Relaxing times, since Nicol is most relaxed around people that he doesn’t need to please and aren’t interacting with him with ulterior motives; and Studying magic so he can control it and not hurt anyone). Geordo doesn’t even really gain anything new from this information. I feel like Alan was spared of this treatment just because having something that makes him unique compared to his twin brother is important to his character. I don’t want to take away the author’s efforts on providing interests for the boys in this volume, but I do feel bad for people like anon over here who might be looking for things that can relate them to the boys. I guess it’d be hard to connect with the boys if all they care about is Katarina.

Maybe it’s some sort of meta commentary about how the author wants to avoid having us find things that will endear us personally to the boys (aka their interests, personal goals, tastes, etc) by only giving aspects of themselves that can be traced back to Katarina? Because they literally only have eyes for her? I mean the description above does apply to the hamefura boys, not the Fortune Lover boys so hahaha idk. I feel like i’m trying to find an excuse for that mistake/laziness. I doubt my own assumption though, since something like that might ruin the boys’ marketability (or not? I don’t know hahaha)

As much as I’m happy that each girl has an interest that helps define them, the fact that they never get developed beyond that does seem like a bummer. It's hard to praise the girls for their originality when they only have singular interests that differentiates them from the treatment of the boys. 

Like Mary, we know she likes gardening flowers, but we don't what kinds she prefers to plant or if she'll plant anything that's available like how Katarina is to her vegetables, or random details like that. We know that Mary’s interests (or likes) are gardening, flowers and romance novels (and Katarina), and her hobby is gardening, but those interests are linked to her hobby (except for books, but we don’t know the extent to which she likes them in the first place), so there’s only so much praise that I can give. She basically doesn’t have much interests outside of her established hobby (it doesnt help when her only labeled dislikes is her sisters).

To be fair, with how the hamefura novels is written, it’s constantly moving forward in some way or another, and there aren’t really many scenes where facts like that can be implied or mentioned. Their feelings for Katarina and for each other are given the biggest priority, rather than how they act and what happens around them (that isn’t magic, politics, or Katarina related). Katarina’s pov just gives us the bare minimum facts about her friends, and she doesn’t seem like she’d narrate anything post-timeskip because she already knows what they like and don’t like by growing up with them, so we don’t get to learn anything unless we’re absorbing it for the first time as she is (she could mention stuff, but there’s also the fact that the light novels seems to be taking the screen time of the original harem bit by bit from each passing volume, according to spoilers i’ve seen, so situations where those can be mentioned as diminishing each volume.)

In some way, I guess the author is giving the fans a chance to interpret his characters through headcanons? I mean it sucks that we aren’t being given anything official, and I wish they could have at least hinted at things through dialogue or observations. 

Interpreting things is hard because you can never tell the line between noticing something small or seeing something that isn’t there.

An observation/interpretation, for example: like maybe while Mary likes to read romance novels with Katarina and Sophia, she’s actually not too into them but considers them worth the read-through and mostly reads them in order to relate with her friends, but wont obsessively scream and fangirl about them like her two friends; and Nicol might not like romance books at all and only read them in his childhood when Sophia had no one to talk to about it, and finally got to stop when Katarina came in.

I’m not really the type to think things through when I read/watch things like this so I personally would prefer if they would just tell me these facts. That could just be me though.

The english light novels is only up till Volume 5, with Volume 6 just about to come out in two weeks, so maybe japanese LN readers might know things that I don’t! I’m sorry if my answer is all over the place, I’m not really the most analytical person to ask  when it comes to things that might be hidden between lines of text since I usually take things at face value. Thank you for the ask!! :DD

[zenonaa]

💗 AO3 💗 cover pic by @otomegrandma

Chapters: 4/5 Fandom: Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Relationships: Fukawa Touko/Togami Byakuya Additional Tags: Time Loop Summary: The morning after Monobear revealed their embarrassing secrets and hidden pasts, Togami wakes up back at the beginning of the same day. Over and over again. It might have something to do with Touko Fukawa.

Comments: Fourth chapter. <3

***

“I admit it,” said Touko shakily with a wide space around her in the gymnasium, on the verge of imploding from the pressure of their unrelenting stares. “I told him I am Genocider Syo.”

The whole class gawked at her. Byakuya’s eyebrows climbed. He began to smile. Almost laughed. Finally. Finally! Monobear ate popcorn nearby.

She dropped into a low bow, hiding her face.

“It’s just... he seemed so interested in him, that... that I thought if he thought I had something to do with him... then he would be interested in me too,” she explained.

Byakuya’s smile dried up and fell off his face. Everyone else looked at each other and nodded.

“That makes sense,” said Yasuhiro.

“I suppose so,” Kyouko chimed in, scratching her cheek.

Nearby, Byakuya pouted.

It didn’t stop Syo from trying to kill him later.

***

Time loops rolled by as Byakuya tried to figure out what to do. What he could do. Most of the time, he spent the day reading books and dissecting Touko, and at night, he remained in his room until he inexplicably lost consciousness.

One time, he tried waiting in his room but not staying there the whole night. Instead, he planned to try talking to Syo, thinking he could talk her out of killing him. Besides, he had wanted to talk with her for years. This case had piqued his interest when he first found out about it, and as cases came and went, some being solved by him, this one always stayed at the back of his mind like a twin-braided girl watching him from across the library.

This could be his only chance to do that, before she died.

And so, after Monobear declared it night time, Byakuya stood up, rising off the edge of his bed. Either Syo was lurking outside of his door or she was prowling in the library. The soundproof walls of the dorms meant he couldn’t hear what was going on outside if she wasn’t hammering on his doorbell, so he had no idea where she was. Breathing quietly, he waited until his doorbell stopped screaming and made his way over to the door, and very slowly, he cracked it ajar, bringing his eye to the gap with great caution.

Silence.

He opened it a bit wider.

And then Syo impaled him in the eye.

***

Alright. So Syo seemed to wait outside his room, but if he went to the library, she chased after him. Maybe, then, if he wanted to talk to her, he needed to do it in the library. Yes... that was good. She would come to him, and he would make sure to talk to her before she could kill him, and then... then...

“Togami-kun?”

Byakuya looked up from the book he had been staring at. Touko’s face greeted him from where she sat beside him at a desk in the library. As his mind returned to the present, other details filled the library. The tray with two cups, one half-full, and his, barely sipped. The poor lighting that tainted everyone and everything outside the scope of the reading lamp, obscuring the titles on spines of books too far away. The crease in Touko’s brow as she studied him.

“Hm?” he went lightly.

In one cycle, she started calling him Byakuya-sama. Since then, she had been calling him Togami-kun. It was like that never happened, like all their conversations about books, about old movies so abstract that the director got blacklisted for a period.

And like when she told him about her upbringing, or when he told her about some of his. They both collected antique dolls. Once, a boy asked her on a date, and she spent countless hours planning it, only for the guy to sneak out part way through because he had only gone because he had been dared to go on a date with her. And one time, he had found the almost dead body of his half-sister at the end of the heir selection process, tortured by two siblings, violated by another, and that had just been another confirmation that he could not trust anyone, not even those related by blood.

But she knew that already.

All those conversations did happen... just to him.

“You looked like you were zoning out,” Touko said. She tilted her head to one side. “Are you feeling alright? If you’re sick, I can help you to your room... be your nurse... and even t-take care of you...”

With that last remark, the ends of her lips curled, and she pressed the tips of her index fingers together. The beginnings of a daydream glossed over her eyes.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a shudder, imagining her feeling his forehead while he lay paralysed on his bed. "If anything, it’s your stench that’s making me feel sick.”

“Ah!” Touko’s hands flew to her chest. “If you wish... I c-could go shower...!”

Byakuya hesitated. Each word had to be careful. If this had been one of the first few cycles, he would have demanded she leave the library in no uncertain terms. He would have snapped, and she would have left. And that would have been that.

“The library is masking most of it,” he said, which was true. Or maybe he had just got used to her smell by now. “I was wondering something. Have you ever considered writing something that wasn’t romance?”

Touko shifted.

“I mean... j-just because I write romance, that doesn’t mean it’s all romance,” she told him, sobering up. “In my novels, there are also other elements... but also, I’ve started work on an I-Novel.”

He already knew what an I-Novel was. It was a literary genre that referred to a biographical piece of literature, akin to a confession, about the author’s life. In its creation, the novels were intended to portray an honest view of the author’s life and society in general, dark in nature.

“Have you got it with you?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Not on my person, but it’s in my room... I haven’t finished it yet. M-My teacher once suggested I try writing about my life, but it’s hard to get motivated.”

He nodded and studied her as she drank some tea, as her other hand curled its fingers inward to scratch at her palm. Stray hairs had escaped her braids, as they tended to do when it came to her, and he tipped his head to one side.

Braids suited her. Byakuya wondered for a moment what she would look like without them. Then he scolded himself for even asking himself that. Focus.

“Tell me,” he said, “when is the last time you showered?”

Colour blotted her face.

“I... um...”

That wasn’t an answer, but it answered his question.

“Do you not know how to shower?” he asked.

“I...” She seemed to cave in on herself, hunching her shoulders, mumbling into incoherency.

He glanced at her lap, at her fist and its knuckles that screamed white. Then he fixed his gaze on her face. Her eyes were averted away from him.

“Do you not like the image of your own body?” he asked her, not harshly, but not too soft either.

Touko swallowed and gave a small nod, but she didn’t speak. He thought this would be a better conversation to have later. It would make sense for her, later.

“Go wash yourself,” he said calmly. “If you’re clean... perhaps later, we can talk again.”

She peered at him with growing curiosity. Then she nodded again, and left, glancing over her shoulder once on the way out.

Like the other times, she visited him later, and he followed the script up to the point when she set her foot on a chair and hoisted up her skirt. On her left thigh were scars. Tally marks that he counted, that matched the number of victims in the casefile.

Usually, he didn't look at them for this long, those marks on her thin, pale thigh. His lips parted and he held his breath as he brought a hand forward. He traced over one mark with his finger. She inhaled sharply. Tensed.

It broke him out of his trance. Byakuya snapped his hand back.

“Is this why you don’t bathe often?” he asked.

Touko’s lips contorted.

“It’s... a reason,” she admitted. “But not the first.”

“Did your house not have clean water?”

“It did,” she said. “But even if it didn’t... there are some things water can’t clean away, no matter how hard you claw at your skin.”

Byakuya stared at her scars some more before looking up. Her gaze teetered on her face. Flickering like a faulty light.

“Do you know what those things are?” he asked. “Or does your alter know?”

“I...” Touko’s body quaked, and she rubbed her knuckles roughly across her eyes as she turned her head away. “I can’t... s-say... Sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry... T-Togami-kun...”

She was crying. He glimpsed tears glistening in her eyes. Usually, Byakuya would think that a display of emotion like this was weakness. It showed that a breaking point had been reached. But as he studied her, he realised something. This pain she carried, this secret, her life, she had done so for years, as it clung to her, dug its claws in, but here she stood. For a lot of other people, they would have fallen to their knees long ago. Long before this point.

He swallowed. Felt it vibrate through him. Didn't know if he had met anyone else as strong as this.

“I see,” he murmured, then he raised his voice slightly. “Listen... I can’t solve your problems. That is something, if it’s to be done, you have to do. You gain meaning in life through personal growth. The journey may be long, but if you’re not putting one foot in front of the other, you’ll always stay where you are.”

Touko listened, and her lack of response made him wonder if she could hear him. Then, she met his eyes, and she almost smiled.

“Togami-kun...” She faced him properly. “Byakuya-sama...”

Byakuya stared back. Touko leaned in, and he did too. He could see the groves in her lips. The wet streams on her cheeks. The small mole on her chin. And he could smell her must. Her sickly breath. He could feel it too.

His stomach plummeted and he straightened, feeling a bit light-headed. Must have been the lack of ventilation. The time of night.

“I will keep a check on your progress,” he said briskly, adjusting his glasses. “Now, if that’s all...”

Later, when he held his envelope, peering at her from across the gymnasium, he almost didn’t reveal her secret to everyone. He still did though.

***

The door to the library ripped open. Moments later, the slender frame of Genocider Syo crept in, her head stooped down like a snake as it eyed its prey, ready to strike. No one sat at any of the desks, despite the fact that a lamp was plugged in via a chain of extension cords and it was switched on. Its glow resembled the Moon on a cloudy night.

Syo took a few more steps forward, swaying, with shadows smeared across her face.

In the backroom, peering in through a small gap, Byakuya gripped the door, ready to slam it shut at the slightest of movements.

This was the woman who had avoided the police for years.

No. Not exactly. Her alter also evaded them too. Touko deserved credit as well.

“I know you’re in here,” Syo said as her voice rumbled through the library. She lifted her head, her tongue hanging out her mouth.

Byakuya swore he saw her eyes glint like rubies.

“Come out, come out!” Syo crooned, tilting her head all the way back. “I can smell your sex pheromones... It whiffs of fear and arousal.”

Seconds passed. Nothing happened. She lurched her head forward. Her neck cracked. He winced.

“My heart’s hurting real bad,” she said. “You must have hurt Gloomy... and if you do that, I get so turned on!”

“Why?” asked Byakuya.

Syo tensed. She turned toward his door. A chill tumbled across Byakuya’s skin, tingling afterwards, and he shut it loudly. Pressed his whole weight against it. Fortunately, the door opened toward him, so Syo would have to overpower him in order to reach him. And as mentally strong as she seemed to be, physically she ranked very low in their class. Only Chihiro would have been weaker than her.

With his head against the door, he heard her rush at it. Heard the flurry of her footfalls in her stampede. The door shuddered as she struck it with her fist. His breathing hitched. He swallowed. Shook.

Was this fear?

“Don’t tell me you’re shy,” she drawled. Her nails howled as she dragged them down the door. “Come on... Let me see your wickle face that I could just pinch until it became confetti.”

“I know who you are,” he said, barely hearing himself over his heartbeat. “You’re Genocider Syo.”

She breathed heavily. Didn’t speak.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked.

“A birdie told me. Gave me directions,” she said.

Byakuya’s brow scrunched. “Who? Who told you?”

She burst out laughing. It groped at his brain like nails down a chalkboard.

“Hell if I know! The goth girl.”

Celes. The scraping resumed.

“Open the door,” she whined. She punched the door again, then over and over again. “Let’s play. You like playing, don’tcha? I wanna play a game with you. I wanna...”

Syo gagged, cutting herself off. He shifted, and his legs gave out as he overbalanced. His world went black as he toppled over, but he didn’t think he ever landed.

Yet, he didn’t think he stopped falling either. As he opened his eyes, in his bed, with the shadow of Touko’s face drawn onto his ceiling, he felt like he was still falling.

***

There was nothing he could do to persuade Celes to not tell Syo about his whereabouts, and even with his indefinite number of cycles left, he didn’t bother trying to convince her. Though he hadn’t seemed to have died, something happened that meant he lost consciousness and restarted the cycle regardless. In his room, or in the library, it didn’t matter. Byakuya wondered if there was a time limit. If something had to happen before that time or else the cycle would loop back to the start.

When Touko told Byakuya that The Inugami Clan was a pulp novel requiring one’s suspension of disbelief, she hadn’t been exaggerating. The novel began with the death of a tycoon, whose will was left in the hands of the granddaughter of a head priest, a man he had been intimately close with. His fortune would go to whoever the head priest’s granddaughter chose to marry, and she had to choose a son of one of the tycoon’s consorts.

Only, someone murdered one of the sons. Then another. Several people died, one every few chapters. Everyone had a motive to kill, and it was up to the detective to unbury the metaphorical skeletons in the family’s garden before it was too late. The detective was a blithering man who reminded Byakuya of Yasuhiro, only the detective at least had noteworthy deduction skills.

Byakuya watched Touko as she crossed the library, holding a tray of drinks.

“The Inugami Clan?” she remarked, seeing the book resting in front of him. “I see you’re still reading detective novels.”

“I am,” he said. He couldn’t tell her that she recommended it to him. That he had already finished it. That they had already spoken about it to each other. Touko didn’t know any of that.

She set down the tray. Byakuya waved at the chair next to him.

“Take a seat, Fukawa,” he said, making her twitch.

“R-Really...?” she said, blushing. “Can you say it again?”

He pointed at the chair. “Sit.”

Not pushing her luck, or more specifically, his patience, she seated herself. Byakuya pushed up his glasses, then returned his hand to the book.

“It was an entertaining enough read,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve read it.”

“I have!” she told him, nearly jumping off her seat. “I’m surprised you’ve read it, actually. I would have thought you would have considered it too ridiculous. The murders are over the top, so it is unlikely you would risk doing something similar when you...”

She stopped. Sank back into her seat.

“... kill someone,” he finished for her.

Touko grimaced.

“R-Right. That.”

Byakuya broke eye contact as he grabbed his cup. After he sipped from it, he put the cup back on his saucer and noticed she was still leering him. He pulled a face for a flicker of a beat before smoothing over his features, with only a furrow in his brow blemishing his mask. She tensed, but she didn’t look away, waiting for him to speak like he seemed about to do.

“So...” Byakuya could still taste his coffee’s nutty flavour on his tongue. “... you thought I would find this book too ridiculous?”

Yet in a cycle, she had been the one to recommend it to him. Even now, there were times when it was jarring to return to a cycle and find progress had been undone. She fidgeted.

“Admittedly... y-yes. I mean, you’re a no nonsense guy, aren’t you? I would assume you’d find it too beneath you.”

“I am a realistic person,” he said. “But just because something may seem impossible to you, that doesn’t mean it is.”

Byakuya glanced into his cup and gave it a small shake. Ripples puffed across the liquid, but the wrinkles in its surface soon disappeared. He fixed his gaze back on her.

“You know,” he said, “as an heir to a conglomerate such as mine, one does see a lot of things that no normal person could even conceive of being possible.”

She regarded him seriously.

“I thought so,” she said.

“You did?”

“I mean, you’re so sure of yourself... and you mentioned how any of us could poison your food,” she said. A smile seeped onto her face. Her eyes didn’t gleam but reminded him of beetles. “Someone in line to receive headship of the conglomerate is sure to have a lot of enemies.”

He didn’t like how she had used ‘receive’. That sounded so passive. They had been through this, not just once, but several times now.

“I do have a lot of enemies,” he said. “Not just you lot, but outside as well...”

And as on those other occasions, he told her about how he had needed to earn the right to be the sole heir. How he had needed to survive. Her features contorted and slackened at all the expected points. Touko lifted her head when he mentioned the creation of his siblings, in clinics, with his father donating sperm to high quality women. She nodded at the rounds in the competition that whittled away half-siblings until only a few were left.

“... the last round,” said Byakuya, “wasn’t supposed to leave anyone dead. The losers would be exiled, like all those before them. Whoever solved all the riddles and completed all the challenges first would become heir. However, Togami-sama’s biggest fault is that he struggles to realise that not everyone thinks like him. Within a few weeks, one person was murdered. Then another. It escalated rapidly. A detective was called in, but by the end, only two siblings were left alive.”

“Togami-sama?” she said.

Of all the things to pick up on, that was relatively minor.

He hummed. “Hm?”

“You called your father Togami-sama.”

“That’s our arrangement, yes,” said Byakuya. She paused. Moved past it.

“One of them...?” she pressed on. “Those... survivors. They were...?”

“One was me.”

Silence. She scraped her teeth against her lips. Squirmed in her seat.

“And the other?” she asked quietly.

“I made her my assistant,” said Byakuya. “She was almost dead. Two members of a set of triplets tortured her to near death, and another... her brother...”

Byakuya gritted his teeth. Remembered her torn, out-of-place clothes. The blood trickling down burnt skin and more blood. That vacant, dissociated stare beaming from her empty face.

“T-That’s...” Touko understood. Didn’t need to say. She stared at him with a similar look on her face.

“Of course,” he added, “that’s just one part of my life. But you see, that’s why I know I’m superior to all of you, even other Super High School Level students. I’ve been through this before. I’ve reached a level of perfection only few can achieve. I had to.”

Yet without evidence, none of them would believe him about Syo. To them, he was just someone rich. Someone born into his position. That came first to them, before his intelligence, before his analytical mind and dispassionate approach.

Touko fidgeted. “Togami-kun... can I... ask something?”

“You just did. But go ahead.”

“Were you scared?”

He scoffed.

“Of course not. I just said this was just one point in my life,” he reminded her. “I’ve dealt with assassination attempts, dealings with backstabbers, kidnappers... This didn’t faze me at all.”

“So how do you feel?”

Byakuya hesitated. “Huh?”

It was a stupid, ugly noise, but she had caught him off guard.

“About what?” he asked.

She pinched at the corner of her lips with her fingers. Let go soon after.

“About going through all that,” she explained.

“Are you asking if I was afraid?” he asked sharply, as a twinge of offense stung his chest.

“I... I mean... maybe not that. Didn’t it make you feel sad?”

“Sad?” he repeated blankly. No one had ever asked about how he felt. It hadn’t been important to anyone.

Touko tilted her head to one side. Her expression was pathetic. One of pity. But also one of understanding.

He hated it. He hated it a lot. He couldn’t bear to look at it.

“Enough about me,” he said. “I’m sure you have your own stories to tell too. Tell me... have you ever written an I-Novel?”

***

Byakuya needed several days to read the I-Novel and not a lot of buildup to ask for it. Touko required little prompting, handing it over with a tentative smile. Upon receiving it, he would retire to his room for the rest of the day, and he read it with only a break for when he was required to attend Monobear’s announcement in the gymnasium.

Had he been able to have his way, he would have finished it in one sitting.

‘At the front of the house stood weather-worn plank fencing, pressing shoulders with their comrades-in-arms. When I returned home, whether it be from school, the library or the peacefulness of the local cemetery, their growth rings stared at me, millions of eyes trained on my small frame. They stood guard; at the same time, they both faced me and had their backs to me. For years, I wondered what they stood guard for. It certainly wasn’t for me.’

Sometimes, Byakuya sat at the table in his room, one leg crossed over the other, back straight. Other times, he sat on his bed with his legs in front of him, one sprawled all the way out, another slightly tucked toward him. Occasionally, he would wet his thumb and finger, riding his digits across dry lips to aid him in turning the page. Touko had handwritten her I-Novel on lined paper that left a musty smell on his fingers, which he would breathe in whenever he moistened them.

In this day and age of technology, writing on a computer was more convenient. One could fix spelling mistakes, tweak the wording and add in more detail at a later date. The sheets of paper in his care had tight writing packed into them, crossed out words and arrows connecting later additions to previously written sections. Yet, the lack of polish didn’t put him off.

Not at all.

‘Imagination is the most alive thing I know that isn’t alive. Plants require four basic elements to live and grow. They need carbon dioxide from the air, water to aid in photosynthesis and growth, nutrients like a human needs vitamins and sunlight for energy to form food and sugars. However, with imagination, you don’t need all those. I can be walking to school, and I can imagine. I can be sitting on a toilet seat lid, and I can imagine. I can be at my desk, I can be confined to a closet without food and I can be on my bed in the pitch black, and I can still imagine.’

Growing up, Byakuya’s days were structured for him, whether it was during a period where he was homeschooled or whether he was attending an elite private school. Byakuya would rise early, eat what he was given, go to lessons, lessons, break for lunch, lessons then lessons. He would have free time later in which to study for more lessons, read or for hobbies. Things like vending machines and television and toys had no purpose. One time, as a child, he obtained a twig, an elastic band and a kitchen sponge, and for a time, he tried playing with them like the children in story books, twitching his fists as he held them and pretending they had voices, only, when his mother discovered the box under his bed, she had them thrown out and gave him an astronomy book to read instead.

‘For a long time, I didn’t understand why my mothers hated me. Often, I would think I would know why. It was because I was ugly. It was because I was stupid. It was because I stammered and sometimes wet the bed. But as time passed and I grew older, I stumbled upon forks ahead of me that led to other answers. It was because they were jealous of me. My father gave me the attention they so craved. Played games with me they wanted him to play with them. Secret games. Games that only he could win and only I could lose.

Right now, I think it was because I was their shackle to him. I was their leash. If they knew who I was biologically related to, then one would be forced to stay with us and the other one would be forced too, because she wouldn’t know what it was like to live in any other way. They couldn’t bear to know which one it was. They both wanted to hate me.’

Byakuya was used to people attempting to get close to him. The reasoning always boiled down to one of few things. Prior to becoming the sole heir to the conglomerate, businessmen would trickle into his mansion to try to charm his stony-faced mother, offering him smiles and promises they hoped he would remember like everyone else they sidled up to. Had he not been so young and unlikely to win, he suspected he would have received more visitors.

There were other people too. Some tried to entice him with presents. Pretend they were friends. That he could trust him. A couple of times, when Pennyworth or security weren’t there, before Byakuya wised up, they managed to grab his attention. Coil around his neck. Once, he was in the trunk of a car for twelve hours. Another time, he woke up tied to a chair in a dark room with the taste of bitter tea in his mouth. And on a different occasion, he put on a private concert for a friend of his father’s in a guest bedroom, and from all of those times, Byakuya learned about the world.

He preferred it when people didn’t play games with him.

‘Happy people can only write about a shallow world. It is the downtrodden, the outcasts, that can see the world for what it is, and only they can visualise an ideal world. A skilled writer sees beauty in ugliness, and ugliness in beauty. A lion devouring its prey... a supermodel with limbs as thin as her puppet strings... the human mind... Ugliness and beauty are not opposites, but aspects of a single thing.’

Before Byakuya attended Hope’s Peak, he read about Syo, but he also brushed past Touko. Once, she wrote a best-selling novel called So Lingers The Ocean, and because of it, the popularity of fishermen with young women soared. Touko painted impossibly blue skies, soaked her prose with sea water that manifested in real life and made seagulls echo melodies in her readers’ ears, and they all fell under her spell. Another time, she wrote a novel called Black And White And Inbetween, about an heiress who fell in love with her butler, and Byakuya remembered the looks his butler would get on their errands, the letters that would spit into Pennyworth’s lap on a regular basis. Byakuya had seen firsthand the power of her words. 

With her mind, she could create a spell that could make society do whatever she wanted. She could make anyone fall in love with anyone.

‘Some fear what the darkness hides, but for some, that is where we hide. From my nook, I see blond cresses, slender fingers and eyes alive and blue. But where there is light, there must be shadow, so where there is me, there must be her.’

As he reached the last page, his chest heavy and hairs standing on end, he realised she really could make anyone fall in love with anyone.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

The Raven on Writing

Top o’ the morning, lads and lasses,

It has been a wee while since a post about a specific literary subject was written and since creating this post has been contemplated many times recently, it is perhaps the time to finally write it.

Some of you may wonder how it is the pencil was first picked up or at least be curious as to how it is able to bring fantasies into words in a style that seems to be marked as ‘’quite unusual’’. This is put between quotation marks since this is the polite term of what has been gathered from comments (both positive and negative) on all publishing platforms (AO3 & Tumblr). However, in personal opinion, it is labelled as poetic prose or prosaic poetry reminiscent of the past. Indeed, the tales and the style aim to make the audience remember the great names who have preceded this wee birdy who can never excel them.

Now, how has this rather odd style been gained? How can one create a style at all?

It should be noted that the use of the word ‘odd’ is in comparison to the styles of modern authors.

Kathryn Lasky once said: ‘’I believe that reading widely is the best preparation for writing.’’ It is the manner in which many if not all wordy artists start their literary journeys, allowing themselves to be guided by a skilled author into a world of another’s making. Out of curiosity, the reader might pick up more works from their favourites and create an unconscious liking to the style. Withal, this preference might only become fully known in a creative way upon attempting to put personal fantasies onto paper. These imaginations might be ignited by a disagreement with a scene in the book that could have gone differently or the end is too open and thus begs for a continuation where the original author has left off. Whatever the case, the individual endeavours to make something of their own thanks to the inspiration provided by another’s work.

Certainly, this is essentially true each time a novel project is started since writers tend to follow the principle that originates in Ancient Rome and the Renaissance, namely translatio, imitatio, aemulatio. In other words: translation, imitation, innovation. One might study a language and translate a story they are curious about into their own tongue or find an already existing translation. Afterwards, they might be fascinated with the tale enough that they might try their hand at writing a similar chronicle themselves, imitating the original. A truly radical aspiring novelist will take the original work and give it their own spin.

What if it was Beatrice who had to reach Dante instead of the other way around? What if Athena was not actually raped by Hephaestus but the god was accused of this to worsen his reputation among the Olympians even though she might have actually genuinely fallen in love for the first time?

What if? 

That is the most important question when it comes to writing. Ask it and it will lead to an answer.

Returning to the specified questions above, they particularly pertain to classic literature and mythology which are two of the trademarks that have been absorbed into the pen’s style while reading and following the old law. Admittedly, it was without awareness until the moment of enrolling in university to study English literature and specializing in classic literature and poetry.

And there is the answer as to how this wee birdy writes as if she hails from the sixteenth century or Romantic Age. Major influences and inspirations for the works currently making up the bibliography and the stories yet to tell are: William Wordsworth, William Blake, Shakespeare, John Donne, Charles Dickens, Edgar Allan Poe, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, W.B. Yeats, James Joyce, Seamus Heaney (a more recent name), Lewis Caroll, Oscar Wilde. In hindsight, the novelists of the Victorian and Late Victorian age alongside the Irish appear to be the greatest influences. 

Regardless, style can also be developed in other ways. At university, it is expected of students to write in formal English. Henceforth, it is not allowed to use first and second person pronouns (I, you) as well as colloquialisms (get, a lot of, thing). Now, there is no shame in admitting the pen is guilty of the latter at times and even of the use of the pronouns nowadays. Yet, both of them are noticeably absent from the works unless there inherently was no other option but to use informal language. The use of I is, personally, still regarded as selfish for the reader might not want to accept the role offered to them by the narrator nor be able to sympathise with the character and their point of view.

Alongside the now innate restrictions on use of language, music is another great source to look for inspiration. Find what it is that makes a song attractive and write a tale about it if there is one to be told. Take a whole album and paint the images the songs conjure. ‘’Spring Remembrance’’ is based on BTS’s Spring Day, ‘’Babel’’ is based on the song with the same name by Mumford and Sons and this is the case as well for ‘’Broken Crown’’. Furthermore, references to various songs are strewn about in the chronicles told thus far. Look at the music by Delain, Within Temptation, Stray Kids, BTS, Linkin Park and Breaking Benjamin to find the obvious clues. However, nowadays, there is also creative fuel to be found in the soundtracks of Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate and Assassin’s Creed: Odyssey and Mumford & Sons’ album Babel.

Last but not least, and unfortunately not everyone has the chance to exploit this means of advancing as an artist, travelling. A couple of true stories might arise in A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Woman, but yours truly has had the lucky opportunity to have seen a lot of the world and continue to journey despite work and education. 

Dear reader, before an untrue maleficent thought finds its way, it should be noted that by no means do I come from money. In the gap year before starting university, I had a fairly bad job at the local train station working shifts from five in the morn till half past one, requiring me to cycle to the city around a quarter past four. The pay was good, but mental wellbeing did not particularly take a turn for the best and the liquor bottles emptied pretty fast, too. Still, it allowed for seeing places that would otherwise have been left undiscovered and hear local myths and legends that could not have been as authentic and credible as when they would be told at a later date on local soil. Working (fortunately under better conditions) alongside studying maintains this Romantic and Byronic lone wolf’s ever-wandering lifestyle and supports the development of a wide view on the world that is at times disconnected from. Notwithstanding, all personal negative implications aside, if there is a chance to go out and explore, please take it for it will allow growth as a person and an artist alike.

A truly last piece of advice: do not be afraid to fail. All arts need to be practised in order to be perfected and even then have to be worked on in order to be made distinct from the rest. The first works will not be the best, but eventually, they will become of better quality if effort is continuously put into the craft.

In sum, look to creative outlets that are nearby such as music and books, the latter remaining the prime source for a proper start on the road to becoming a novelist. Of course, there are other means to gain inspiration such as art and travelling as well as academic education. In the end, there are various manners in which to develop as a distinct wordy artist. However, most of all, do not fear failure. If you fall, get up and try again. Translate, imitate and emulate a personal path in the world and artistic growth will come along naturally. 

Until we speak again.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ @sasuhinamonth || SasuHina Month 2019 || Day Seven: Falling in Love with an Ex ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

...he’s pretty sure there’s some kind of unwritten code about this. Friends’ exes are, surely, off-limits. He’s heard the phrase “used goods” before...but that pisses him off. For Sasuke, it’s more a betrayal of trust, in a weird way. Sure, Naruto isn’t dating Hinata now...but they were an item for over a year in high school.

And then, well...graduation came, and...that all fell apart when he moved states for a sports scholarship, and she stayed local. There were a few weeks of long distance communication before he decided he wasn’t too fond of being tied down to someone so many miles away...and with so many ‘new opportunities’ to explore.

When he told Sasuke that during a visit home, the Uchiha nearly decked him.

Really?

Really?!

Well...he is, admittedly, a little biased. You see...Sasuke had harbored a crush on the little Hyūga lady for nearly all of high school. But he never made a move, seeing as how Hinata has been pining for Naruto for far, far longer.

So, they finally gave it a try their senior year. And for a while? Things seemed to go swimmingly. Naruto boasted about how thoughtful Hinata was, how attentive, how sweet…

And Sasuke just grit his teeth and went with it.

So when he heard that Naruto was abandoning that just because it would take a little effort? Just because there were other tails to chase now that he was suddenly free of their small town? It infuriated him.

But...he didn’t say anything. Partly because, well...Naruto was Naruto. There was never any stopping him once he made up his mind about something.

...and maybe...just a tiny part of him was glad. Not because Hinata would now be heartbroken - never that. But because - just maybe - how he could have his chance. Seize it before something else were to come up and beat him to the punch a second time.

But how to do so without being too hasty? In no way does he want Hinata to feel...pressured. Or like he’s taking advantage of a failed relationship for his own gain.

By some odds, they are both attending the same school: one just a town over from where they all grew up. Hinata is studying humanities. Sasuke? Business. Only because it’s what his father wants him to do. Beyond that, he has little idea what to do with himself once schooling ends.

Well...except for one thing.

There’s only one class they share together: a core credit English block. For the first week or so after the bomb drops, he isn’t sure what to do. He hasn’t really talked to her - they haven’t even acknowledged that they share the class. But Sasuke notices that, the day after Naruto informed him he was going to cut ties? She isn’t there.

...or the next day.

Then the weekend comes, and he finds himself embroiled in anxiety. Is she all right? It’s not like her to just...skip class. Sure, this is a bit of a big deal, but…

Come Monday, he gets to the proper room a bit early, lingering outside as the previous class awaits to be released. Leaned against a wall, he glances over as someone else approaches...and nearly chokes.

It’s her.

She looks...neutral. Blank face, typical clothes...and yet he feels nervous to approach her. Should he…?

“...Sasuke?”

The sound of his name earns a small jolt. “...hey.”

“I never noticed you were in this c-class…!”

“Yeah...gotta love core credits, right?”

That earns a small scoff of amusement. “Mm...I just want to get to the interesting classes. I already took four years of English in high school…”

“Exactly. Though I was done writing literature essays.”

She manages a small smile. “Well...next time a group project comes up, I’ll k-know who to ask, right?”

“Uh, yeah...right.”

Class passes without incident. Having a few hours before his next one, Sasuke idles in the hall afterward, checking his phone for a text from his mother.

“Hey.”

Another jump. Hinata again…? “...hey.”

“Do you, um...do you have another class coming up?”

“Not until three, no.”

“Oh! M-me either - my next is at four.”

“...oh.”

An awkward pause.

“D...do you want to, um…?”

A dark brow perks.

“I...I haven’t had any lunch yet. I was, um...I was wondering if you’d like to g-go with me? I haven’t seen you in s-so long! And...I don’t get to keep up with many of our...o-of our classmates from high school.”

...he blinks. Is...is she really…? “Uh, yeah...sure.”

Hinata perks up. “G...great! Any, um...any preference?”

“Nah, not really. I usually just go to the Hub.”

“Oh! There’s a little cafe just off campus I like to go to - it’s r-really reasonably priced! And not very crowded, thankfully.”

“Sure, sounds good.”

As it turns out...it’s a nice little place. Sasuke branches out so little, he never even knew it was here. They order something quick and simple, sitting and just...chatting.

...never once does she slip. He watches her carefully, wanting to be sure she’s not still upset. But though maybe a bit subdued, she otherwise seems...fine.

...he expected something, well...more than that. But he’s also glad she seems okay.

“This is...this is nice! I usually don’t have anyone to eat with…”

“Yeah, me neither. Been too nose to the grindstone to make any new friends yet.”

“M-me too. But...I want to work on that. I want to...to branch out more!” She gives a little smile. “But...I thought maybe I’d, um...practice a bit with someone I know. That I’m...a-already comfortable with.”

...damn it, she’s still so cute.

“That’s all right by me. We should, uh...do this again.”

“O...okay! Yeah!”

Sasuke manages a smile of his own. Sorry, Naruto...consider the bro code broken.

                                                           .oOo.

     Some modern this time around as we wrap up the first week! I always love the love square trope with team seven + Hinata...where Sasuke secretly has feelings for Hinata. So I tend to indulge in it in modern where I have a bit more freedom than canon x3      Naruto, if you're not gonna appreciate our queen Hinata...Sasuke has no choice but to step in. You snooze, you lose!      Anyway, that's all for today's SHM drabble! I'll be back tonight with the daily - thanks for reading!

[johnnq]

Study Hour: Johnny x Reader (Chapter 1 of ??)

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: none (for now, I have no idea if this’ll take an angsty or smutty turn, so you’re all safe for now ;) haha)

Summary: Johnny is a badboy, and more importantly; probably far too adventurous to be even slightly interested in you, the girl that everyone wants as a friend but never anything more unless it’s strictly ‘no strings attached’ because you’re far too overbearing for your own good, and everyone else’s. After a chance encounter in a library of all places, the race against time before he changes his mind about you is on, but the question is, when’s the deadline?

It all started on a Wednesday afternoon during a day that had surely exhausted you; the foundations of the thing that would forever plague you, keep you pleading for more and have you second guessing yourself enough to last a lifetime.

One thing you knew for certain about anything that day while looking at your blank computer screen with only the title to your overdue literature essay, was that you sure as hell wished you hadn't waited this long to finish the work you needed to do.

To you, studying wasn't top priority - at least as of lately. You'd been too heavily weighed down by family problems and external stresses that plagued you to focus on your dream of becoming a writer, abandoning the hobby and future career you so desperately craved and worked for from around as long as you'd been able to walk, and instead replaced it with days on end of balancing adult life far before you were ready or willing to start doing it.

Your mother was an alcoholic to put it bluntly, and caused you endless strife throughout the years. Since the age of fifteen when your father passed away from a rapid and agonising battle with cancer, she'd gone from being his carer, wife and a mother with the father of her child to help her raise her teenage daughter, to a widower, a single mother and a woman of many financial worries. When the bills started piling up and she had no way to keep them all paid, she went to any length to find the money.

That's when she started with drinking the occasional martini during the day, and eventually escalating to the point of being completely intoxicated by the mid afternoon. Truthfully, she'd never been the same, not even since the first day after you were told he had passed. Turning to a bottle and a terrible night of sleep on the couch instead of talking about it became the norm, and the more you both stopped talking about it, the more she decided to drink to numb the feeling. She often prioritised alcohol or anything like that over you, and would let you down more often than she would fulfill her promises. But nonetheless you were always there to pick up the pieces when she made a mess of things.

Over the last few weeks she'd been particularly careless, going missing for days on end after drunken nights out, leaving you to run a house on your own at the age of nineteen. Nothing unusual for you, having to hold the fort for a day or two, but after four days you really started to wonder if you should of been more worried. Bills, cleaning, taking care of the dogs you owned, going food shopping, and keeping things afloat were all you could care about for nearly a month all at once with your mother occasionally showing up and leaving to go on another bender.

You made up some phony excuse to college about there being a death in the family and you needing to go abroad to attend the funeral and help keep things going, and your professor - being the gentle and empathetic soul he was, insisted you take as much time as you needed, but urged you to try and keep at least a little up-to-date on essays, lecture notes and study. Instead, you spent those weeks simply trying to keep your head above water while with each day that your mother didn't come home, you got more and more rapidly concerned of her wellbeing.

That's how you got there: studying in the library at your college. The day previous your mother had finally come home, professing to you vehemently that she wanted to 'change for the better'. She put on her best apologetic face and swore up and down that she'd do better from now on, even offering to do the dishes that night after cooking a less than satisfactory meal for you both, but you didn't believe it before, and you didn't believe it then. Your mother wasn't the woman she was four years ago and you both knew it. She lied, she cheated, she went to any length if it was of any gain for herself. Still, you gave her the benefit of the doubt and feigned belief in her.

Your first morning back after nearly a month started in the only way someone with your lack of luck would; you missed the bus to your college campus after spending just a little to long on your hair, and ended up frantically running after it flailing your arms ridiculously as you missed it by mere seconds. Knowing the bus journey was shorter than the walk, and realising that another bus would take at least another twenty minutes to turn up, you decided to walk, adjusting your usual pace to a slightly more rapid one in order to try and minimise the length of time you'd be late by.

In true fashion - that didn't go as planned either. Walking is easy, right? Nothing can go wrong with that, surely? But no, unlucky you managed to fall and hurt yourself while running across the crossing just a meter or so from the entrance to the campus, nearly getting yourself run over in the process.

Apologising profusely at the driver in the car that nearly just flattened you and going as red as a beetroot, you limped to your lecture, only to find that you were late and the lecture had already started, awkwardly inserting yourself into the room, sitting uncomfortably on a small patch that could barely be considered a seat right at the front, next to someone you'd never spoken to.

After the lecture was over, your professor called you over and addressed the issue of your falling grades, telling you that you risked not making it through your first year, and that you passing the unit you were working on would require a lot of hard work and 'going the extra mile once in a while'. Upon hearing this, you agreed that you had indeed been slacking in your studies and promised to work harder and catch up what you missed, taking your professors suggestion of studying in the library for more peace and quiet and setting yourself up at a computer in the quiet study zone tucked up in the corner.

"..so, I'm sitting there and she's just finished shouting at me in front of the entire class right? I go to speak up and actually answer her and she just points at the door. At this point I'm just so fucking fed up I get up with my all my stuff and leave the room.. She has the nerve to ask me what I'm doing!" you hear someone say from somewhere in the room, followed by laughter at what you deciphered from the little of dialogue you heard, that it must of been a story you would of liked to of heard in full.

It takes all that you have in you to not let out a giggle at the way they said it. For a moment you almost don't realise who it is until you see his trademark swoopy reddish-brown hair through the tiny gap in between the other side of the desk and you, also spotting the leather jacket he so insisted on wearing everywhere, realising it's him.

Don't look over there, he'll see you! your subconscious internally screeches at you as you try to type up your literature essay and consistently lose focus because of the boy sitting directly opposite you, Johnny Seo; one of the most popular, sauve boys in your college, and the boy you happened to absolutely despair about seeing.

It wasn't because you didn't like him (even if he could be one of the most annoying human beings on earth at times) but because you thought he was attractive, very attractive. Every single time you saw him in the hallway to the lecture halls, or you saw him in the canteen eating with his friends you usually just tried to blend in as much as possible to avoid him making any unnecessary observations about you.

But today was different. Today, you couldn't blend in, and today you couldn't ignore him. He was right there in front of you and he wasn't going away anytime soon knowing your luck.

Johnny and you weren't madly in love with each other, or so you thought - and your textbook college crush on him was a slow burner, although one-sided as far as you could tell.

You didn't like him at first, not one bit. No, you really disliked him at first actually. He was the type to be the loudest in the room because of his need to always be the life and soul of the party, and the shining light that everyone marvelled at. Your first encounter was a mix of you remarking on how idiotic you thought he was acting and sounding like, and you trying to figure out what his real motive was.

It was easy to tell that Johnny craved attention, right down to the clothes he wore. Studs, chains, leather, ripped jeans and t-shirts you'd never imagine yourself buying, never mind wearing. He was the bad boy cliché to a tee, and strangely enough, you grew to love it. You would often try and take a peek at the day's outfit just to try and judge how good he was when it came to fashion; turns out, he was surprisingly good at it, and had a talent for knowing what colours really went together, and used that to get the attention he desired.

"Fuck." you absentmindedly slip out upon coming to that realisation. Quickly, you scramble to put your hand to use, covering your own mouth once you register what you just said, and laugh nervously hoping nobody heard you or even worse, saw you.

In that same moment, Johnny peaks his head up at you and lifts his head slightly above the computer screen in front of you to see you properly. He takes a moment to say anything.

"Thinking out loud, hmm?" he confidently observes, eyeing you and shooting you a twinkly grin.

You take a moment to think about how you're going to play this, pondering on if you would you reply genuinely, or opt for the cocky and sarcastic approach you so desperately wanted to try out on him.

There'll be time for sarcasm later on, just say something nice and move on, it's not worth the distraction it'll cause.

Cheerfully grinning back at him, you giggle and nod.

"A bad habit of mine I guess, gets me in all sorts of trouble if I'm not careful." you absently blurt out after not even a moment of reflection, and cock your brow suggestively, laughing at your own words.

Hearing the words that escaped you, Johnny thinks for a second, eyes scanning the desk below him as if somehow it'll help him figure out how to reply appropriately to your statement. You can just see the mental cogs turning in his head as he scrambles in his own mind to come up with a coherent sentence in response. The friend sitting next to him, Mark Lee, makes absolutely no attempt to help him out either which is quite amusing to watch, and if anything he enjoys staring at him the same as you are a little too much by the way he's on verge of absolutely losing his mind in fits of laughter, waiting to see what he'll say next.

"Habits can be grown out of though, right? Thinking less might help, perhaps. You do enough of it in between classes and outside of college." he specifies, seeing him realise what he actually came up with and wishing the words could go straight back into his mouth as soon as they left it.

This intrigues you. Johnny never seemed to notice you before, and you didn't have any classes with him, so how in the name of God did he know any of this? It was true, you were always a very thoughtful person, and spent a lot of time in your own head when you didn't need to be paying attention to much else. It was a trait and a very annoying habit that you'd developed through the years you spent helping your father write his latest article or laying the finishing touches to the latest project that he insisted only you could introduce, and it had stuck with you to this day.

"And how would you know that, Johnny? Come to think of it, I HAVE been seeing a really strange guy following me around campus and down my street, wouldn't happen to be you would it?" you playfully wonder, giggling and waiting to see whether you could make him sweat just a little bit.

Once he hears the whole of your statement, he looks around for any escape from the conversation, immediately realising that once again, his impulsive and cocky nature had gotten the better of him again. He also quickly realises that you're definitely not as unknown to him as he originally theorised, on account for the fact that you knew his name quite clearly.

For you, it brings you to finally realise that you two aren't so different after all, and seeing him murmur to himself and second guess himself gives you the impression he's faking all that confidence that he carries around with him just as much as you are in that situation.

"N-no, of course not! I just really know how to read people, and whenever I see you, you're always deep in thought, you know? I think it's probably quite a virtue to be able to get into that mindset so easily. I really struggle with it as you can see, my mouth runs away with itself. You must have so many thoughts you can just have all to yourself and not ever share." he rambles on, nervously itching at a small cut on his hand and picking at the scab.

Mark looks over at him as he says this, and watches Johnny squirm uncomfortably, laughing a little more outwardly by now, knowing that his best friend is struggling and that he's loving watching it unfold.

"Wish I'd keep some of mine to myself once in a while though." he continues, trailing off into nervous chatter about how he appreciates your ability to be so collected.

At this you can only let out giggles and laughs as he continues to ramble. The realisation springs upon you quite suddenly in the heat of that moment that you're quite interested by him, and that you'd like to get to know him more if he'd let you.

"I get it Johnny, it's nice that you actually notice me to be honest. Many don't." His head immediately tilts to the side and his eyes narrow sharply.

"Many don't? Wow. Well I must be the first one to truly see you for how intriguing you really are y/n. All the other people in this campus must be blind." he pushes out, effortlessly and so charismatically you felt like your cheeks were the colour of roses by now.

Suddenly, a hand slams on the desk and both your focuses turn to Mark, now sitting there with a stern but joking expression on his soft and supple looking exterior.

"I think that's enough flirting for today, hmm Johnny? We have to get back to class anyway, you're in enough trouble as it is." Mark interjects, having Johnny in agreement that they do indeed, need to go back to class now.

Before they leave however, you feel a hand cover your shoulder and caress it in a calming and reassuring fashion.

"Next time, I promise I'll try and make it just the two of us - no Mark to interrupt us. You're far interesting y/n for me to just leave it at that. Plus, I'll probably have more overdue work to finish knowing me, no escape from me then since it looks like you're in the same boat." he chuckles, running his free hand through his crimson locks, knowing he's really testing his luck here.

"Ah, Johnny Seo hinting at a second meeting? That really is an event for the history books. Well maybe, I'll get it all done today just so you have to come looking for me first." you expressed jokingly.

Playfully hitting your arm, Johnny lets out a laugh that you've never heard from him, a laugh that sounds so bouncy and lighthearted you could almost die from how ridiculously adorable it was to you.

"Then it's a date!" he echoes as he walks away, leaving you in a state of shock.

A date?!

[marie-dufresne]

A Quiet Companionship

Ficlet for @dirge-of-valentinex4 because I just love the children

The cafes always crowded up when the weather got colder, even the ones off campus, like where Alexander Valentine was sat now, in the financial district. He didn’t understand why Providence had districts in the first place. The city was so small it barely counted as a city. 

Still, he preferred this part of it, where everyone kept to themselves. Brown University, he’d come to discover, despite being an elite school, was completely entwined with the city and much to his distain, was being practically choked by, well, Grimmy’s type. 

Tattoo parlors, trendy, exotic clothing, hookah bars, art galleries, street performers—it all littered the streets of the university so he’d leased an apartment at a distance, in a place he was far more comfortable and diligently tended to his out-of-the-classroom studies there. But as the weather chilled and the wind whipped, even his favored coffee shop became crowded and had he not preferred his cappuccino made properly in a ceramic cup instead of a heinous paper one, he would have taken it to-go. 

Today was a particularly wet and windy day where people huddled inside on their laptops, stuffed in the little space yet entirely ignoring one another. Alexander was no different. He hadn’t bothered with headphones. There was no need for them, really. Any conversations were at a low hum and he was entirely undistracted by them, typing away in his word processor, cappuccino cup empty and taken away by a barista who Alexander knew thought stood a chance with him, but the former was far too polite to outwardly tell him that he wasn’t interested in men.

A girl his age approached his table then, and he almost didn’t notice her, so focused on her assignment, but she cleared her throat and let out a little ‘excuse me’ and he looked up, slightly startled, but barely showing it. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologize, “I was just wondering if I could sit with you…here at your table? There’s nothing open and I just wanted to do some homework away from my roommates.”

“Uh…” 

He’d put his bag on that other chair as a sign he didn’t want company, but unlike some, his desire for solitude did not make him an asshole, so he pulled the messenger bag off, setting it at his feet and nodded. 

“Yeah, sure.” 

She thanked him and without another word, they both worked in silence. 

After an hour, she looked up, standing. 

“Hey I’m going to grab a hot chocolate—do you want anything?”

Alexander shook his head to decline her request and continue ignoring her, but stopped himself. He thought of his father, so polite in uncomfortable situations, and he thought of his mother, always encouraging him to make people’s days better. Most of the time he forgot or didn’t see the point but in this moment it struck him and he stood, holding out his hand for her to sit back down. 

“I got it,” he muttered, heading over to the counter before she could protest. 

When he returned to the table, she thanked him, cheeks a little pink, but didn’t press him any further than that. She didn’t ask his name or start babbling or take it as an invitation to invade his personal space (all things Mama would have done) and when he sat back down, he decided she wasn’t so bad.

She left with just a small wave and an extra thanks and for a few days he didn’t see her again. Maybe she’d been there, maybe she hadn’t. Alexander simply hadn’t noticed because he hadn’t thought about her at all. But one day she was there again, tucked away in a corner reading a novel. She didn’t look up when he walked by to use the restroom and by the time he’d finished his drink and a phone conversation with his mother that he really would have preferred to have at home, she was still there, entirely engrossed in her literature. 

On his way out, he placed a mug of hot chocolate on the table beside her, leaving without a word. 

He soon realized she was in two of his classes and though she never made an effort to get close to him, she smiled and waved if ever they made eye contact by accident. Sometimes she was at the cafe, sometimes she wasn’t. Sometimes she had already helped herself to her hot drink and when she hadn’t, he felt compelled to provide her with one, though he still didn’t know why. 

He knew that he found her attractive. She wasn’t a super model by any means and some might have gone so far as to call her plain, but perhaps that was why he found her so attractive. She didn’t sully her face with products or murder her hair with whatever heated objects girls were using these days. 

She was always clean looking, even if he knew her clothes were probably only from the middle-class mall the city had to offer and even though he knew nothing about her other than what was presented at face value, she wasn’t annoying and that might have been the most important. 

Winter went on. They broke for Thanksgiving recess, they went home for winter break, and in January, they continued their near-silent beverage dance. 

“I’m Alexander,” he said one day, finally introducing himself as he set down the cocoa. They were sharing a table again. It was snowing today, the bitter icy kind. 

“I’m Emily,” she replied with a smile, pulling the mug forward. 

He nodded and resumed his work. 

Ah, he knew her name now. 

The next conversation didn’t come about until two weeks later, when he received a phone call from his grandfather, one he had been waiting for and he chatted for a solid fifteen minutes at the table. She didn’t look up, and he was sure she was unable to eavesdrop (she didn’t look like she spoke anything other than English), but when he hung up, unable to contain the grin Grimoire had put on his face having settled plans for just the two of them on Spring break, she looked up only through her eyelashes, and only for a second before she returned to her own work, smiling. 

“Everyone around here really is Italian,” she commented, turning the page of her notebook. 

“I’m from Manhattan,” he told her stiffly, feeling the need to make it known that he was not part of…this. Not for any reason other than he liked things to be…precise and clear. 

“My grandfather and my father are from Italy though,” he offered softly and with furrowed brows. Why was he telling her this? “…my mother is from Los Angeles. She speaks French.”

Emily listened to all of this attentively and with a soft smile. It was the most he’d ever said to her. She wasn’t exactly the talkative type herself, but it was nice to hear him. 

“My whole family is from Woodstock,” she replied, offering up a little bit of herself too, “Connecticut. It’s…average. We all only speak English, but I like to dabble in the ah….” her face reddened even more and Alexander felt a flutter in his belly. 

“…the ancient languages. Just on my own though…I have a bunch of books in their original dead languages and I’m trying to read them cover to cover on my own.” 

He perked. 

“Sorry,” she apologized, pulling her textbook forward, “I just get excited.”

He didn’t mind, he realized. He really really didn’t, but he also didn’t want to press her to speak, as there were fewer things he loathed more than people trying to get him to talk when he wasn’t in the mood to, so he nodded and told her that he thought it was cool.

Suddenly, one day, it was seventy-six degrees outside. Very suddenly. All the days before it hadn’t passed forty (neither would the next) and when Alexander entered the cafe, he found himself at a bit of a loss. 

No, this was quite a loss. 

Emily was already there, this time with one of her old books and he did his best not to rush over and ask her about it. He wondered if Father was familiar with what she was reading. She was by the window today, not holed up in a corner like usual and he imagined it was for the same reason so many people had been out on the streets today. It was a taste of spring, even if they all knew it was nothing more than a tease, and they craved the outdoors after being cooped up all winter. 

The sun was shining onto her head and he realized he’d never noticed how pretty her hair was, how silky it looked, and how…he wondered, it might feel. She licked her bottom lip briefly and he wondered how that might taste. 

No. 

Not now, Alexander. Not in public for God’s sake. 

He knew he liked her. Liked her in the way his mother used to ask if he liked anyone at school. Emily didn’t mind silence. She was comfortable just sitting, just being without words and he’d learned, if briefly, that when she had something to say, it was something of interest to him and he did want to know more about her interests. 

He thought maybe she might like him too. She blushed most every time he said more than ‘hello’, particularly, he’d learned, when he noticed something about her and complimented her on it before they’d settle into their quietness. 

They only had one class together this semester and while she hadn’t blatantly gone out of her way to secure a seat beside him, he’d begun casually saving it for her. His jacket, his bag, sometimes a hard stare at anyone more oblivious who made an attempt to sit there.

Whatever worked. 

But today, there was a problem. Today it was seventy-six degrees outside and he hadn’t realized he’d been hovering at the little seating area until she looked up, asking if anything was the matter. 

I’d like to take you to dinner. 

That’s what he wanted to say. He’d been wanting to for a few weeks now, ever since she’d mentioned studying dead languages, really. Grandfather would be interested in that. Perhaps he’d have material for her as well. 

But that was not what came out of his mouth. Though he had inherited many of his father’s qualities, gaining the attention of women being one of them, he’d also been gifted with Vincent’s conversation skills, and overthinking any situation involving a woman his was genuinely interested in, so asking her out on a date was not as simple as his mind tried to make him believe. 

“I don’t know what you drink when it’s warm out.”

Beautiful. Splendid. A magnificent performance from Alexander Valentine. He’d be here all week. 

Except he wouldn’t be, especially if her response was in any way mortifying to him. Then he might very well confine himself to his apartment for the rest of the semester. 

Closing her book, she laced her fingers together, resting her chin on top of them and looking up at him with a soft smile, so warm and genuine, reflected in her brown eyes that today, shone just as brightly as the subtle tones of red in her hair. 

“You don’t have to buy me a drink, Alexander,” she told him gently, “It does make me happy but…I don’t expect it.” 

“Then maybe I can buy you dinner instead.”

It came out so fast, Alexander nearly had to grip onto the chair he was standing next to before he collapsed. His own words echoed in his ears and shock turned to pride as he stood up a little straighter. Ah, yes. Yes. This was indeed the way it was done. 

He waited patiently for her answer. He could tell by the way she blinked and her mouth fell open a little bit that she hadn’t expected that. Likely from him especially.

“Y-yeah, of course,” she said, dropping her hands to her lap and then bringing them back up onto the table, suddenly unsure of how to behave, suddenly very conscious of how she looked, “I would love to go out with you.”

He relaxed, slightly. She’d said yes and she seemed to have meant it. Now he needed to decide where and when. Should he take her up to Federal Hill? Would that be…too obvious of him? Too show-offy? He’d learned she came from a middle class family and attended Brown on a truckload of scholarships. What was normal for him might be—

He paused his musings, not having noticed she’d written something down until she handed it to him and he looked down at the ten digits written on a scrap of notebook paper.

“You don’t need to figure it out now. The semester doesn’t end for a while. Text me when you want to go out and how to dress.”

Was this girl psychic? She’d given him the pass to sit on it, to work it all out in his mind until it couldn’t be worked again. It gave him time to consult his father on the matter. Or perhaps his mothe—no, no, no it was best to keep his dating life a secret for now lest the woman get any ideas.

Father was his best bet. He’d been married twice and dated in between. He’d know what to do. 

“I will,” said Alexander after meticulously folding the paper into a perfect square and slipping it into the breast pocket of his dress shirt. 

“Now what do you drink when it’s warm out?”

She laughed a quiet laugh behind closed lips before reaching over and taking one of his hands in hers for the first time. 

“Just water.”

[beatricebidelaire]

Brighter Days

pairing: Bertrand Baudelaire / Dewey Denouement

summary: Dewey pines over Bertrand. Beatrice and Ernest ride horses.

word count: ~2.2k

alt: ao3

Kit was speeding through the traffic, breaking several traffic rules under one minute, but Dewey’s mind was barely there. As they drove through a tunnel, he remembered that night all those years ago, in the dead of the night, the first time his friend without a license drove him all the way to another city just to visit a library that was rumored to only open from 10pm to before dawn.  (Though, on another note, Dewey realized he couldn’t be actually 100% sure that Kit had a license now.)

Dewey remembered Bertrand had been driving far more carefully at that time than Kit was doing now, with the explanation of not wanting to draw attention and get stopped by a cop, but Dewey had been quite excited and a little scared anyway.  The thrill of the late night adventure and sneaking out had been fun and an everlasting memory that made him nostalgic until today.

They were fourteen, and Bertrand somehow managed to convince his chaperone to let him borrow the green roadster for the night. 

Dewey had read books on driving before, but his experience with actually driving was quite limited – well, none, in fact.  Unlike Bertrand, who just shrugged and said “yeah my chaperone lets me drive the roadster sometimes” when Dewey first found out Bertrand had already done this several times.

“So, tell me about this night time library,” Bertrand asked, sounding curious, and Dewey latched into an excited explanation about the rumors he heard of, and the scraps of information he gathered from newspaper and magazines.

“One of the magazines says they have lots of books about vampires, don’t know if that’s true or not, but it sounds pretty interesting.”

“Hmmm,” Bertrand said, sounding amused, “if it’s true, those bunch of theater kids would be so mad you didn’t invite them.”  They both laughed.

Dewey noticed Bertrand had quite a nice laugh.

They continued the drive, a drive that would, at some later point in time of Dewey’s life, made him wonder if this was the start of his attraction to people who would take him on adventurous car-rides, while he studied maps and inaccurate tour books info beside them. People who’d been on many missions out in the city and other places while he spent most of his time in the library – they had a certain kind of appeal.  Though the drive with Bertrand wasn’t as dangerously speedy and rules-disregarding as the later ones he would have with Kit, the night time sneaking out was enough for his 14-year-old self.

Later into the night, Dewey would get excited over all the new books he hadn’t seen in other libraries before. He would memorize every piece of rare edition of classics he found, while Bertrand trod patiently alongside of him and seemed visibly more excited when he reached the engineering section.

“I take it you’re not much of a classic literature guy?” he asked later, a little curiously, as they stepped out of the library.

Bertrand considered that. “Let’s just say I enjoy building things more,” he said.

“And yet you drive me all the way here, to a library in a different town.”

Bertrand hesitated, and Dewey couldn’t really see his expression in the dark of night. “The library doesn’t just have classic literature, Mr. Denouement.”

In retrospect, Dewey desperately wished he’d seen his expression.

During their teenage years, Bertrand would sometimes escape his group of theater friends he often help build sets with and join him in the library.  Occasionally, he brought some fancy shape chocolates R made for everyone. “You can’t just stay in the library for 12 hours and not eat anything,” he would say, slightly disapprovingly, but would give in easily when Dewey claimed he’s ‘almost finished with this book’.

They would carefully eat the chocolates together, trying to not to drop anything, and Dewey would finish his book while Bertrand did Sudoku puzzles beside him.

He couldn’t remember exactly which time they started leaning against each other.

If he wanted to pinpoint exactly where things started going downhill, Dewey would probably say a certain night at the opera, one he hadn’t actually attended himself.  Everything became a little off after that, though he didn’t immediately notice.  By the time he heard about what happened that night from other people, it was already too late.

He remembered, clearly, their first fight that happened because of that. It was probably not big enough of a fight in other’s people’s eyes, but it was bad enough, considering how they usually were.

“Maybe you’re right, but I don’t want to – I can’t talk about this anymore. And we’re not going to change the past by talking about it.” Bertrand said before he left.

It was, as he feared, all downhill from there. Some days he wished he’d told him his feelings, some days he was glad he never did.  On the day Bertrand came to tell him he and Beatrice were leaving The City, he kind of wished he had.

“What about all the volunteer work?”

“There are more important things, Mr. Denouement,” Bertrand replied, and Dewey hated the formality that he’d found endearing all those years ago.

“That’s not what you said when we were kids,” he argued, weakly.

“We were never kids,” was the answer he got, and also the last words he’d ever gotten from him.

[A timestamp, between the present and the memories]

“Hey, Frank,” Beatrice greeted him as she climbed onto a horse cheerily. “Ready to admire my speed on the horse from far behind again today?”

“Hello, Beatrice,” Ernest nodded curtly, thinking that was probably how his triplet would’ve greeted her, if he was the one talking to her here right now.  From Beatrice’s delighted laughter, Ernest knew he got this one right. After all, it was fairly easy to impersonate someone when you knew of all their mannerisms and ways of speech. Oh, the being identical thing helped too, of course.

He climbed onto the horse he’d seen with Frank in the photo taken by Monty, pleased that he did his research thoroughly. He’d been on a horse before, so even if he didn’t go on monthly horseback riding adventures with the city’s most famous opera actress like Frank did, Ernest liked to think he could manage this just fine.

“See you at the lake!” Beatrice yelled, and her horse echoed her yell enthusiastically. Before he could say anything, they were already getting further and further away. The city’s most famous opera actress did like her speed, alright.

He chased behind her, but it took him a while to adjust, and he briefly wondered if horses could distinguish between triplets.  Was it possible they were that smart and intuitive? Not even most humans could do that.

This was fun, he thought. The wind blew past him sharply, a rare enjoyable treat that felt so different than the staying at the hotel 24/7, and he let himself immersed in that feeling. Beatrice and her horse were now a small figure amidst the grasslands.  The rhythm of up and down and going forward fast in the same time was another delight, too. Wow, he really had been stuck at that hotel for a long time, hadn’t he?

He allowed himself, for a while, to pretend that he didn’t come here to do something important. That they were just old friends going horseback riding together. Like normal people who didn’t have secret information to pass do, probably.

When he finally arrived by the lake, Beatrice was waiting. She stood beside the horse, leaning down slightly to prop an arm on it to support her chin.  She was looking at him, almost too thoughtfully.

He realized his cover was blown.  Well, better now than earlier, he thought. He needed to tell her eventually, anyway. Preferably at some faraway lake where they could talk without prying eyes.

“Ernest Denouement,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s been a while.”

“Beatrice Baudelaire,” he returned smoothly, “Always a pleasure. What gave it away?”

“Apparently, even triplets ride horses in different manners.  I’ve been doing this monthly thing with Frank for a while now, I know his style.  Unless you’re Dewey, I suppose, but then you would rather invite me to your library to talk instead of, hmmm, intercepting Frank’s letter saying he had some urgent matters to attend to and couldn’t come, and come meet me yourself instead.” She looked at him questioningly. “Did I guess right?  I love guessing other people’s plans!”

“Well, I’m afraid I come bearing news about a certain nefarious plan, therefore reducing the guesswork you’ll need.”

The corner of her lips quirked up slightly. “We can play 20 questions, that’ll be fun! Question one – does it involve an unhygienic Count?”

Only Beatrice Baudelaire, Ernest thought, could be enthusiastically playing 20 questions with someone who was known to be on the other side, at least publicly. “Yes,” he played along. “Very much.”

“And … what do you have to gain by telling me this?”  She asked shrewdly.

He blinked, not expecting her to bring up this question so fast.  Then again, it did seem very – Beatrice, for lack of a better description. “I’m just – wait, open-ended questions aren’t allowed,” he tried.

“But you were planning to tell me before I suggested the game,” she countered immediately.

“Not including my motive,” he argued, not even sure why he was arguing.

“Then how should I trust you?” She asked, reasonably. “I mean, I think I probably do know, talented detective that I am –”

“You played the role of a detective once in an opera –”

“—But still, I’d rather hear you confirm it, or I might need to fight you and then throw you into the lake.  Oh, did I tell you I could guide a second horse at the same time while riding the first one?”

He was beginning to wonder why he didn’t just pass this piece of information to his brothers and asked them to relay the message.  Of course, he didn’t want his brothers to possibly mention this to more people, people who might not necessarily need to know, which might lead to higher chances of the firestarting side suspecting him.

Besides, it was cool to have an excuse to get out in the wild once in a while, even if the only person he needed to justify this to was himself.  His triplets probably thought he was back in his room watching black and white old movies.

“I just thought, I’d do this for Dewey, and – and he would’ve wanted you to know. Though I didn’t tell him because I don’t think he could be that much help in this situation.”

“Bertrand,” Beatrice nodded, knowingly. “So he still hasn’t …”

Ernest hesitated, “I mean, I think he’s moving on, it’s just I know he’ll still care, and …” he trailed off.

“And so do you,” she commented.  He shrugged, noncommittal.

“And well, he has been spending a lot of time with Snicket lately, so …” he directed the topic away from himself, and she let him.

“Jacques?” She questioned.

“Kit,” he corrected her.

Beatrice frowned, then sighed. “Alright, next time we meet under layers of disguises, we’re discussing Kit’s taste in men.”

He studied her, interested. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” she said, almost too fast.  Then she added, primly, pushing a pair of imaginary glasses up her nose slightly. “I’m just a thorough detective.”

“Shouldn’t’ve worn contact lenses if you wanted to do that, Madam Detective,” he quipped.  

She rolled her eyes. “Now that reminds me, J would be joining us for a while from a boat, so when the time comes you either need to act like Frank or reveal who you are.”

“Snicket?” he questioned.

“Anwhistle,” she corrected him.

“Ah, I see your point.  ‘Shouldn’t’ve’,” he said wryly. “I might make an early leave then, perhaps. Something that’s suddenly came up at the hotel sounds like a very realistic excuse.”

“So, O’s plan,” she reminded him.

“He was bragging about finally getting the evidence on you and Bertrand’s involvement of the opera night,” he was speaking fast now, wanting to finish before Josephine’s arrival. “I don’t know where the evidence is but Esme does. They would probably do something with it very soon.  I would suspect blackmail if they were sensible and love money the same way the rest of us do instead of having a personal vendetta against you or obsession with a piece of teaset, so …. honestly … probably arson.”

She mulled over the information, frowning hard. “Perhaps we could plan something too, even striking first.”

“I think the less I know, the better.”

“Very true,” she smiled a little, “fragmentary plots.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he wondered, if she was thinking about Lemony.  He didn’t ask anything.

They saw a boat was now moving closer to them in the lake, and Ernest nodded, “Well, it’s time to leave.  Give Josephine Frank’s regards.”

“Of course,” she hesitated. “Well, thanks for the information.”

“Be careful,” he blurted out, and she nodded solemnly.  He took one last glance at the lake, before climbing back onto the horse. “See you around, Beatrice.”

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 4.1}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend… and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student (however no underage romance), blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 5.3k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

Surprisingly enough, the expected mock and scorn had stayed absent after the incident with the boggart in April. A few odd glances occasionally, and some abruptly ending whispered conversations whenever Robin entered the room had been the most of it. Her roommates had been even more neglectful, even more supremacist than usual, and it had gotten quieter rather than louder in the ranks of the people who despised her. For a while Robin had been deeply suspicious about it, but once the stressful period before the final exams had begun, she had forgotten about it like everyone else seemed to have. Thus the remainder of her third year had once more been filled with calm study nights in the potions classroom, borrowed books from Snape, and the occasional visit to the greenhouse or gamekeeper’s lot for some helping out on the weekends.

Summer had arrived before Robin felt even remotely ready to head home. She had been quite heartbroken to leave behind her sanctuary in the dungeons, and to put another pause to the constant stream of borrowed books and late night snippets of academic conversation with her potions professor. Somehow, leaving Hogwarts got harder every single year and she almost felt guilty that there was so very little that excited her about going home. But she did, she had to, and the days spent in her family home ticked by like grains of sand in a desert that were slowly blown away by the wind only to gather elsewhere.

Still, Robin picked up two habits over the summer: drinking instant coffee at all times of the day, and journaling.

The former had started by chance one day, when they had run out of tea at home and Robin still had felt like having a hot drink. She’d actually discovered that she enjoyed the taste, after years of not bothering to try it, and she’d scolded herself for not remembering if they served coffee at school. Thus she made sure to bring a jar of instant coffee for the next term, and to simply multiply it if there was no other way of getting coffee around there.

The latter habit, journaling, had also started by chance, but not quite entirely. Robin had for the mere sake of it chosen to participate in a two-week creative writing workshop that was offered by one of her mother’s colleagues, and afterwards chosen to keep up the habit that had started out as a mere class project. Admittedly, she had felt rather pathetic in the beginning, to write sappy poetry and badly phrased short stories for class, but eventually she had found a mode of writing that didn’t make her feel like an overly dramatic teenage girl. In the weeks following upon that, she filled up the entire class journal and then moved on to a nicer one she’d bought with her Christmas money on a day trip to London.

During the very same trip, she had also come across the small bookshop where she had bought some of her still most beloved potions books during her first year Christmas break, and unable to resist, she had gone in for a moment. However instead of returning with a giant stack of books like she had feared she would, she had only bought a single one, and that was one she already possessed indeed. The book on literature spells. She planned on giving this copy to Snape once term started, as a thank you maybe, or for any other reason she could think of before then. Honestly, she had just been thinking about him every once in a while over summer, wondering what he might be doing between school years, and when she had discovered the spell book in that shop, it had just felt like the right thing to do to get it for him. Who knew, maybe he could make use of it at some point… At least he’d seemed almost as reluctant to return the book to Robin as she always was to return his own books to him.

So that’s what she packed for this year: books, coffee and more books. Hopefully that would get her through fourth year.

… … …

The very evening she returned to Hogwarts, Robin let herself into Snape’s office to place the spell book on his desk together with a note explaining that it was a gift from her as a thank you, then she locked the door behind herself and headed to the welcoming feast. Honestly, while she did feel brave enough to give it to him in person, she had come to the realization that it would probably make him less uncomfortable if she didn’t. Thus she had come up with the idea on the train ride here to simply place it in his office before the feast, and so far that plan had also worked out.

As every year, the sorting took forever and the speeches were redundant, but still Robin found herself glad that she wasn’t the one to be upfront, waiting to be sorted into a house again. But she also felt more prone than ever to wonder if the hat really had put her into the right place… the abyss between her and the other Slytherins was growing constantly, and she had no intention to counteract it. It was a miracle that she still hadn’t been mocked for her run-in with the boggart last year…

At least there were three years of students below her now, and that meant that almost half of the student body in Slytherin wasn’t in conflict with her. Rather on the opposite, actually, seeing as the younger students didn’t seem to care about Robin at all. She liked that quite a lot, to simply be nothing more than ‘one of the older students’.

Thus she found herself seated between a group of second years and a group of third years during the feast, which left her to herself and her own business entirely. She used the time during the meal to take inventory of the teachers at the head table, or so she told herself, while she merely spent a few seconds making sure that every person was (at least looking to be) alright, and then let her eyes linger on a certain potions professor. His hair was a bit longer than it had been before summer… but otherwise he seemed to be just the same. Robin found herself smiling to herself before she knew, and a sense of calmness overcame her like it usually only did in the evenings in his classroom. A nice change to the usual discomfort she felt during dinner.

The calm lasted for the entire evening, even as Robin returned to her dorm to pack up some books and papers to do what she’d been looking forward to all summer: studying in the potions classroom. Her roommates were sitting together in a corner of their shared bedroom as always, only acknowledging Robin in the form of weird looks and giggles directed at her, but not with a single word whatsoever. That wasn’t new though, and Robin didn’t let them ruin her surprisingly good mood with their condescending pretense of superior exclusivity. Should they talk about her behind her back, if it made them happy… Robin didn’t even care.

She made her way through the overcrowded common room and into the hallways, taking in the comforting, stuffy darkness she had missed so much. Would Snape be joining her in the classroom tonight to work in companionable silence as always? Robin found herself hoping he would.

Before she could even cross into the right hallway however, the door to her right flew open and she was pulled into the room with a surprised yelp.

“What, pray tell, were you thinking?!” Snape’s drawled hiss reached Robin’s ears before she even realized that she was standing in his office, her back pressed against the inside of the door, with the potions professor an arms’ length away.

“…What?” She frowned at him in the dim light, more confused than anything. Her heart skipped a beat though. “Thinking about what?”

“Why did you give that book to me?”

“I… just thought it would be more useful, for a change, than giving you chocolate as a thank you. I thought you would appreciate it.” She replied positively, even though she felt desperately irritated by his angry demeanor.

“Maybe you shouldn’t think quite so much about things that you know nothing about and that aren’t of your concern. I am not your friend!” He snapped with a threatening glare directed solely at Robin, and her heart squeezed together for an overwhelmingly painful moment in return. Then it sunk down dead into the depth of her chest, and she felt almost numb in equal sadness and anger. There wasn’t any appropriate reply she could give to that, only many necessary ones. To hell with it, if it was her place or not, she needed to say this, and he most definitely needed to hear it.

“Maybe you should learn to accept the kindness shown to you, before people give up on showing it to you in the first place!” She replied in an equally angry manner and held his gaze despite the tears that welled up in her eyes now. Oh, to hell with it indeed.

“People have given up on more than that a long time ago.” He spat, almost bitterly, leaving Robin to feel even more shattered.

“Well, I haven’t!” Her reply came in an instant, without even having to think, and the anger was making room for sheer overwhelming sadness now. She didn’t care if her voice sounded as hurt as she felt when she spoke on. “And I won’t, so stop trying to make me.” Finally the tears rolled down her cheeks, like small angry rivers, but Robin didn’t even bother wiping them away. “Keep the bloody book or don’t, but I will keep on being nice to you no matter what you do to prevent it! I won’t hate you, not even when you so desperately want me to… I never will, so just get over it already!”

Without waiting for a reply, or any reaction even, Robin turned on her heels and left the room, heading down the hallway back towards her dorm. She didn’t feel like studying anymore. She felt like hiding under her covers and crying as silently as she could.

… … …

The incident on Sunday night heavily tainted Robin’s first three days of term, even as the sadness turned into a hollow ache that was a constant reminder of their fight. Maybe she had overstepped her boundaries, maybe she had done something wrong indeed… Maybe he was right to be angry. But then again, she refused to believe that her kindness had been wrong, and she definitely refused to let him scare her off with his stupid defensiveness. She had meant what she said, she wouldn’t give up on him, and her own determination in that surpassed everything she had known to be certain of before. To be honest, she was quite surprised by her own stubbornness in this… and by the desperation with which she clung onto it. Sure, Snape was her favorite professor, and probably also her favorite person in the castle… but she hadn’t really known before just how much she actually cared. It left her feeling a bit irritated with herself, every time she thought about it. She really shouldn’t be caring about him quite that much, as he had made it abundantly clear that he was not her friend. Only her professor. Who happened to have chosen her as the only person he was nice to. Sometimes. Oh bloody hell, he was the only friend she had, and she should finally admit that to herself. Even if she wasn’t his friend in return, he definitely was hers.

And exactly for that reason, Robin refused to let the Sunday encounter change the way she behaved, nor the way she thought. She still came to the classroom every night to study, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, but she didn’t see Professor Snape there even once. If he chose to return to how things were before he snapped at her, or even scold her for the way she’d dared to speak to him, she’d be here. But it was not her place to try to fix something she hadn’t broken, and neither did she believe that she should bother him any more than she already had. Because no matter what had happened, she still didn’t want to disappoint him, and she didn’t want to lose what she had gained over the course of the past three years.

Thus Robin only saw him at meals during the next four days, until it was time for the first potions class of the term on Friday morning. She didn’t feel particularly hungry, hadn’t ever since Sunday night, and thus she decided to come to class early. Without giving any thought to it, she unlocked the room and made her way to her usual second row seat, lost in thought about the book she had been reading for most of the night, since she’d been unable to sleep. For a while she simply stared at the wall ahead, not even existing in the physical reality, until at last the first students started to enter the room with enough noise to break Robin out of her thoughts. And that’s when she realized that her desk wasn’t empty. Had it been empty when she’d come in?

A small frown creased her forehead as she picked up the parchment-wrapped object, and carefully unwrapped the precisely folded layer of paper. The first thing that fell into her hands was a box of Skittles. She couldn’t help the short, surprised laugh that escaped her lips upon that, and she smoothed out the creased piece of paper to read the words that seemed to only appear on the page upon her touch.

Robin.

I unfortunately found myself unable to acquire any chocolate over the course of the week, but I hope that sweets of a different kind have the same value to you, as means of saying thank you. You were quite right, I do appreciate the book. But I also appreciate the gesture. Despite what I previously said, I ask you now to never stop thinking, especially about matters that aren’t of your concern. Nobody is quite as good at it as you are. - S

Robin read the note again, and another time, and yet again, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself as her heartbeat picked up in its pace. Sure, he wasn’t really apologising for his behavior, but he did something equally remarkable, if not something better. He actually tried. To accept a kind gesture, and to make amends for what he’d done. Robin wasn’t so sure if that had ever happened before or if it would ever happen again, but she would value it as the outstandingly special occasion it was. He would certainly not have done this if he truly didn’t care about what she thought of him. He wouldn’t have bothered if he thought of her like everyone else.

“Miss Mitchell, will you stop grinning like a lunatic and demonstrate how to correctly dissect a deathcap without hurting oneself like an imbecile?” Snape’s voice, in full professor-mode, suddenly drew Robin out of her little bubble, and she realized with a start that the entire class was present, silent and looking at her. Oh geez… she must’ve spent more time reading that note under her desk than she had realized.

“Certainly, sir.” She replied then, still unable to stop smiling (especially at his badly feigned scowl), and quickly hid the note in the deepest corner of her pockets. Then she subtly swiped the Skittles into her backpack for equal safekeeping, and made her way to the front to demonstrate what she’d been asked to do. The smile did not leave her face for the rest of the day.

________________

After the rather extreme ups and downs of the first week, things settled back into what had almost become routine now. Robin spent her time in Snape’s classroom, borrowing books, studying, doing assignments, and more often than not these days he would be there as well. At some point Robin had brought her instant coffee (since regular coffee was only served at breakfast here), and with a simple aguamenti and a spell for boiling water, she’d made herself a coffee the wizarding way in under a minute. Upon the curious and humored look Snape had given her in return, she had offered to make him a cup as well, and to Robin’s surprise he had answered with a simple 'Please’ instead of the usual discussion that preceded his eventual agreement. Thus, they fell into the habit of drinking coffee in the evenings, as an addition to the companionable silence they shared while each working on their respective tasks. Some nights they wouldn’t exchange a single word, only take turns at making the other coffee in a silent agreement to not talk about this developing habit. Eventually Robin simply left the coffee in his classroom instead of bringing it every day, and even after two months of keeping up with this ritual they still hadn’t run out.

Unfortunately, two months after the start of term was also when 'it’ happened again. The thing Robin still hadn’t found a name for. It was a perfectly ordinary Sunday night, Robin had had coffee with Snape over their respective work, and she had gotten all things done that she had planned to do over the weekend. More, even. She had gone to bed feeling calm and content, and had soon fallen asleep within a few minutes. Every bit the normal Sunday. But then the nightmares had started, and thereby the beginning of Robin’s personal purgatory.

She was walking through the school. Cold stone beneath her bare feet as she moved through the hallways. Soundlessness. Eyes focused on the darkness around her, emptiness around her. Now, then, another! A flash of darkness… a boy, a body. A puddle of blood, pooling around his small body like a black lake. Lifeless ink. Coldest contentment. She moved on, moved along, hid away, crept into a room, like fog… a flash of darkness. Another body, more blood, another lake. More room, A room, empty, she crept, it was cold. A flash. The room, filled with bodies. More. Hollow eyes, dead stares, dead stays. Blood. Everywhere, in emptiness. She walked on. The dungeons, blackness, hallways. Hollow eyes, a mirror… she walked, cold, empty eyes. A laugh. A door, her room… her bed, herself. Her sleeping body, her dead body, broken, soundless. Hands covered in blood, a wicked smile, bloody lips. Emptiness. A laugh, a scream. Pain.

Robin woke up with a strangled cry, shaking like dry leaves in the autumn wind as her eyes mirrored the sky’s heavy tears. Oh god… it had only been a dream. Only a dream. Her heartbeat had become so fast that she pressed a hand to her chest in an attempt to soothe the pain. She felt entirely too hot and too cold at once. A quiet sob escaped her trembling lips and she pressed her other hand to her mouth to keep quiet. Too late for that.

“Shut up, jay! People wanna sleep here…” One of her roommates grumbled from the bed to Robin’s left, and Robin nodded vainly into the darkness as she felt utterly defeated. She couldn’t, not with… those emotions, it was too much… she felt like dying. As quietly, as quickly as she could, she slipped into her boots and fled from the room, going for a direct dash to the bathrooms. It was closer than anywhere, the only place she could think to go. Her mind was entirely flooded with fear and pain and foremost a defeating deafening numbness, and she couldn’t suppress the tears even if she tried to. Bloody hell, she was going mad, it was too much, too strong, too deep… she was drowning and sucked under by the current of her own blind panic.

The moment she reached the secluded solitude of the girls’ lavatories was when she finally broke down entirely and surrendered to the violent sobs for as long as they came crashing over her like brutal waves. She’d lost every sense of time, of space, of herself… it could be hours, it could be minutes. Her heartbeat increased even further to a point where her vision became blurry even beyond the tears, and Robin actually felt afraid that she would die. Now, here, alone. It didn’t have to make sense, it just was. And it was horrible.

But the sobs died instead of her, and her heartbeat ceased to stab her chest. However the calm that followed came at the price of an absolute and allconsuming numbness, an emptiness of a kind she had never known. She wasn’t crying anymore, she wasn’t even feeling anymore. She just sat on the cold ground of the bathroom and wasn’t. Ceased to exist for a while. No thought, no emotion, no Robin. Nothing.

Yet, at some point, a spark of ice cold reason within her mind made her return to her room and lay back down in bed. She still felt nothing, and stared at the ceiling in the darkness for as long as it took her mind to pass out at last.

That was the first night.

… … …

On Monday Robin was an absolute wreck on the inside, a victim more of the calm’s cost than the storm. She didn’t look any different to anyone but herself in the mirrors, and those she avoided to refrain from looking into her own eyes. She had done plenty of that last night.

And yet, the sleepless night came at even more of a cost when Robin made a public fool of herself in herbology. Her mind was still so wound up in processing the events, the pictures of the previous night’s horrors, that she didn’t notice Professor Sprout walking up behind her while talking loudly about the task they were to accomplish. As the woman clapped a hand on Robin’s shoulder, a random gesture she did with plenty of students who seemed to not be listening, Robin jumped so badly that her entire being fell into a kind of odd stasis. She shrieked, then froze completely as if petrified and merely stared ahead with terror in her eyes that soon was replaced by the tears of the initial surprise. Admittedly, Robin had always been a bit jumpy, especially when caught dwelling in the corners of her own mind, but this was a new level of sheer and utter overreaction that yet she could do nothing about but to bear it out.

The other students started snorting and whispering, and Professor Sprout asked Robin if she was alright, but Robin’s heart was only so slowly calming down to a normal pace again that she merely could nod after a few seconds of forcing herself to realign with reality.

After classes were done for the day, Robin fled from the castle as soon as she could. Her feet carried her down to the lake, to the shore she always found comfort in… and after half an hour of kicking herself in the butt for being so overwhelmed by a simple nightmare, she finally felt ready to go back to normality. It had only been a stupid dream, some subconscious fear that had manifested itself in terrible and bloody pictures. But they were only that; pictures her mind had come up with. With at least some motivation returning, she made her way over to Hagrid’s in order to offer her assistance in this evening’s feeding of the creatures the gamekeeper was responsible for. After all, she always found delight in Hagrid’s silliness, and the animals’ good appetite.

… … …

A purgatory wouldn’t be what it promised if it wasn’t a place for the tortured soul to dwell in once more. And thus it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Robin that she woke up screaming the very next, and also two nights later, heart and mind grabbed in panic by the very same dream. The same pictures, the same darkness, the same bloody deaths. While she was yelled at by her roommates on both nights again, this time Robin resisted the urge to run and simply gripped onto her bedding instead, so tightly that her knuckles turned white, in an attempt to get rid of the excess energy. Eventually her heartbeat slowed down, the panic faded, and the numbness returned to her mind to let her fall into a restless sleep.

The following evening, a rainy Wednesday, Robin went to study in the potions classroom as always, but she decided against the coffee. Maybe all that caffeine was finally taking its toll on her… Maybe it was what caused the nightmares, the restlessness, the overwhelming tiredness she felt by now. Ever since Sunday she hadn’t had all that much sleep, and if there was such a thing as a battery in humans, Robin’s was close to running out. Still, she made a coffee for Snape once she got to the room, as it usually was her turn first and she somehow didn’t want to skip out on the ritual altogether. It had a calming effect on her, and she enjoyed being able to do something nice for him.

For a while they sat in comfortable silence as usual, until Robin dared to look at the clock and an existential dread overcame her with a start. She didn’t want to return to her room so soon… didn’t want to go to bed. In all honesty and truthfulness, she felt absolutely terrified of falling asleep. Or rather, of dreaming.

Maybe she should talk about it. She wanted to talk about it, and the wish to put into words what she was experiencing grew stronger by the second. The only person she wanted to tell was sitting only a few steps away, and yet Robin felt as if there was an ineffable distance between them that couldn’t be overcome. A distance that only existed in her mind.

“Professor?” The words left her lips before her head caught on. Damnit, Robin! “Can… I mean… do you have a moment to spare?”

“I never do, but go ahead.” He replied without looking up from his work, and Robin felt like someone had poured lead down her throat into her chest. Maybe she shouldn’t bother him with this… he surely had enough on his mind already, and on his desk. Her heart squeezed even more at the prospect of bothering him.

“Uh, I…” She started, but her entire being was heavily protesting in return. If she told Snape now that something as pathetic as nightmares was breaking her so much, he would never see her as anything more than just a stupid little kid. Robin didn’t know when that had become so utterly important to her, but it undoubtedly was now. And it was stronger than her fear of the dreams. “I… finished your book already. I mean I, uh, planned to return it on Friday after class, but… I’m short on other reads, so I thought that maybe… I could borrow a new book today?”

That was a more than decent save, or so Robin thought, seeing as her mind was currently rather preoccupied with different matters.

“Feel free to go into my office and pick one that interests you.” He answered a few seconds later, motioning to the only half closed door on the far wall behind him. Still, he didn’t look up from his work.

Robin sighed to herself and made her way to Snape’s office with the book she had almost finished anyway, placing it on his desk before letting her eyes wander over the shelves. He’d never let her pick before, especially not out of his entire collection of books… He must truly be beyond busy if he let her do this now. Maybe it had been a wise choice to spare him from her pathetic problems for once. She couldn’t come to him crying, every time something went wrong in her life! No matter how much she felt inclined to. She couldn’t be around him and bother him with her nonsense all the time! No matter how much she wanted to.

For a moment Robin simply stood in the quiet calm of the office and stared at the wall of books in front of her. She was a fool, an idiot even. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew why she was feeling what she felt, why she cared as much as she did. She just didn’t want it to be true. It scared her, in the overwhelming kind of way that one experienced only when moving on from the sheltered walls of home to the endless horizons of the world beyond. It wasn’t the first time she had fallen for someone… but it was the first time that mattered. Still, it was wrong and stupid and pathetic and obviously hopeless. Nobody could ever learn of it, and Robin would make sure that nobody ever would.

She rolled her eyes at herself then, and at her own dramatics. This probably was just another result of her sleep deprivation, another joke her mind was playing on her… A silly crush on her professor, an infatuation born out of too much studying and too little sleep. She’d bet her good grades that it would all be history by Christmas! Actually, she wouldn't… she knew herself too well for that. But she also knew that she had gotten fairly decent at ignoring things until they disappeared by themselves, and thus that’s what she would do. Maybe, if she was lucky, they could stay at the almost friendly level they were at now. That would already be a great deal more than what she could have hoped for. And whatever stupid things she was feeling for her professor would disappear before long, and be forgotten for good when she just ignored them. She had to. Bloody hell, these nightmares were really breaking her spirits if she allowed herself such sappy thoughts. She was being ridiculous.

With a sigh, she picked out a book on ratio theorems and stepped back out into the classroom. “Sorry it took me so long… I just couldn’t decide, with all those great options.” She said as neutrally as she could while sitting back down and placing the book on her desk a little too defeatedly.

“If you continue at this rate, you will have read all my books before the end of term.” He commented, sounding almost amused, but Robin couldn’t bring herself to smile. There was too much on her mind, too much dread for the night that would follow all too soon.

“Well, you better get some more then, huh?” She tried to joke, but it came out flat and awkward, and Robin looked down at her hands. Maybe she should just go to bed and hit her head against the bedpost until she passed out. Without wasting another thought contemplating it, she packed up her belongings and rose to her feet. “Sorry, I… I’m not feeling so good tonight. No more use studying. I’ll just… go.”

At that Snape’s eyes finally rose to meet Robin’s, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. She wondered what he might be thinking, just looking at her with a frown, but she didn’t ask and at last he did the speaking for her. “Some decent rest might do you good.”

Robin let out a bitter snort in return. “Yeah, huh… why didn’t I think of that." 

Snape looked fairly irritated at her sarcastic tone, but she couldn’t help it. It was time to go, before her tired mind could do any more damage. "I’m sorry. Really. Goodnight, professor.” Two seconds later, Robin slipped out into the darkness of the empty hallway. And so falls the night.

______________________________

Tags:

@ayamenimthiriel @chibi-lioness @t-sunnyside @alex4555

General Tags:

@its-remy-not-ratatouille @wegingerangelica @dreary-skies-stuff @wiczer @lotus-eyedindiangoddess @theweirdlunatic @caretheunicorn @kthemarsian @lady-of-lies @strawberrysandcream @noplacelikehome77 @theoneanna @mishaandthebrits @i-am-a-mes @nonsensicalobsessions @exygon @hiddles-lobotomy @rjohnson1280 @annwhojumps @spookycatqueen @salempoe @headoverhiddleston @fanfiction-and-stress @createdfromblue @halszka-potter @thecreatiivecorner @themusingsofmany @kinghiddlestonanddixon @scorpionchild81 @crystal-28 @adefectivedetective @lokis-girl-in-mischief @booklover2929 @iamverity @lovesmesomehiddles @akk4rin @whitewolfandthefox @stuckupstucky @kassablanca13 @delightfulheartdream

[just-1-random-rper]

Traitor Kaminari...random backstory idea

to @yaoyoyoyo, since I didn’t want to flood your inbox

Denki Kaminari as a traitor, warning for abuse, I may come back and edit this later.

(This ended up super long, and was honestly me getting my ideas down in a text)

His parents are villains. Long before the league, long before meeting each other. Maybe they went to villainy out of desperation, maybe they just decided it was fun to hurt people. The reason doesn’t matter that much, what matters is that they like to hurt people.... including their own son.

It started with them researching Quirk properties, and if it’s physically possible to have more than one quirk, either naturally, or through science. They research the human body, looking into quirks and their limits, and they determine that someone has the best chance of developing multiple quirks if treatment starts while in the womb. So they decide to have a son, not out of any sentiment, but as a test subject, a tool, something that they can easily monitor, and if they decide the child isn’t producing enough results, they can dispose of him (it in their eyes).

Its one of the busiest periods of their lives, his mother undergoing multiple test and treatment while monitoring the fetuses progress. They keep researching into possible ways for the subject to have more than one quirk/ability, even looking into physics theories to see if multiple worlds are a reality, and if so, how can the subject gain abilities from those worlds.They don’t get many people involved and keep plenty of details to themselves, this is their personal project and tool, no one is to steal it.

When Denki is first born, the results aren’t quite to their standards. They first consider disposing of him and starting over, but decide to wait a small while before doing anything final. About 3 or so months later, they decide the results barely meet their standards and isn’t a complete waste of resources.

As one can guess, they don’t  necessarily parent, they supervise (and mess him up mentally, but we’ll get to that in a bit). They make sure to feed him, and see to it that he’s clean, but that’s it. When it comes time for a test, they see no qualm with cutting into his skin or gathering samples for study, Denki’s a subject, he was born for this. His skin is covered in carefully hidden scars by the time he’s off to school.

(He’s not allowed to call them mom and dad, simply sir or ma’am, they tell him he hasn’t earned that right)

They think they see some success in the subject, his showing abilities other than his electricity quirk (which they expected, it was in his blood), but then they start to fear. What happens if the subject’s power grows too fast and he decides to rebel? They decide, to ensure his loyalty, that precautions must be taken in regards to their interactions with Denki. As he gets older they constantly berate him, telling him that he’s never good enough for them. They convince him that until he can meet those standards, the test are necessary. 

(They keep setting the bar higher and higher, just out of Denki’s reach)

Denki tries to be a good child. He studies everything he can, science, languages, math, literature, because he wants to please his parents. He thinks they don’t show love because he hasn’t earned it yet, and if he preforms well enough, his parents will love him. Maybe then he can show others his different quirks.

It’s never good enough for them. They always demand more, want to see more. His mother sneers down at him, and Denki feels guilty, because to him, this is the woman who carried him for nine months, and made sure he could be alive today. His father makes sure that he can be as amazing as he can, with his amazing abilities, but because of Denki’s terrible performance, all his father can do is sigh in disappointment.

“Honestly Kaminari” his mother tells him one day (Just a week before his 8th birthday, Denki remembers)“why can’t you be more like the other children? They do so well with their own quirks.” She sighs, “And after all we’ve done so you can be amazing.”

Denki sobs for so long, his parents are here, gifting him with amazing powers and abilities, and Denki doesn’t deserve them, his parents, and he starts to think he’ll never deserve their love. He simply mutters ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again.

The years go by, Denki gains new abilities. His parents continue to study him, and he’s still not good enough for them. Be it his grades, or continued performances in the test.

(He’s also learned not to show his abilities to others, not after his parents made the last one disappear)

 One day, Denki thinks to himself. He looks at the way other children act and decides he doesn’t act like them enough, so he makes more jokes and laughs more. 

(His parents seem a tad surprised at the sudden change, but quickly go back to their berating selves, Denki takes the initial reaction as a positive one, and decides to act like this from now on).

Denki thinks some more about his parents and the relationship he has with them. He starts to worry when his teachers start describing abusive situations. He considers showing the scars to teachers, but decides not to. Abuse implied that Denki didn’t deserve it, or that his parents were going to far. His parents weren’t abusing him, Denki decided, they were punishing him.

Denki thinks he’s made it far by the time he’s done with middle school, he has a wide array of abilities to call on, and has a plethora of knowledge to call on. When it comes time to pick a high school, his parents sit him down.

“You’ll be applying to U.A” his father states, “While you have shown substandard results throughout your life, you should be able to be accepted into the heroics department.”

“Yes sir” Denki responds 

“While at U.A, you will be gathering information about the staff, students, and the building, including security and floor plans.” His father pulls out a laptop before opening it, turning it so Denki can see the screen. The words “Audio Only” are the only things on the screen. “This is our...partner. He will use the information you report for his plans, make sure to be thorough.”

“Yes father”

“This is important Kaminari.” His mother begins “The heroes of today are parasitic, and infect the world we live in. Your role will help ensure that we destroy these parasites.” She smiles at him, “If you do this right, I’ll love you.”

Denki inhales sharply and smiles, ‘This is it, I can finally earn mother and father’s love’ he thinks. “Yes ma’am”

His father tells him not to preform too well “Though that won’t be hard for you”. His mother cuts him, telling him to “Show potential, but not so much that they’ll always keep an eye on you.”

He trains harder than ever, and even decides to fake his limit on how much electricity he can put out, making it seem like the limit is smaller than it is. He passes the entrance exam and is placed in Class 1-A.

Things start changing there.

Denki’s surprised by how much the teachers and students seem to care, last time Denki checked he didn’t do anything to deserve it. His fellow students are interested in him and his quirk, and show concern when he burns out. His parents keep berating and scolding him, and when he starts telling him about his friends, they’re quick to put a stop to it.

“You’re there for a reason”  His mother’s tone is flat “Don’t get distracted, don’t you want me to love you?”

He decides to keep to his task, but becomes conflicted, he doesn’t want to hurt the people he cares about, but he doesn’t want to disappoint his parents. He doesn’t realize it at first, but he becomes more closed off, and doesn’t take as much care of himself as he should. He thinks he notices Aizawa acting strangely around him, but he can’t imagine why. Denki just keeps his head down and does as he’s told.

One day All Might asks to speak with him. Denk’s nervous, he wonders what he’s done wrong, where he messed up. But the hero tells him that he’s there if Denki needs him, and asks him whats wrong. Denki wants to say its nothing, politely thank All Might for the offer and carry on, but he finds he can’t. He doesn’t want to hurt these people, not when they’ve shown so much...care for Denki and his well being.

He starts sobbing, pathetically in his opinion. All Might just rubs his back and tell’s him it will be okay (It won’t be Denki wants to yell). When he calms down, he tells All Might about his actual mission, the real reason he’s here. (Denki doesn’t want to betray his parents too much, he decides not to tell All Might about the tests.)

All Might lets him sleep after he’s done. Denki wonders about what will happen now, and what his parents will think, and those worries haunt him as he sleeps.

Did I make Kaminari suffer enough yet, someone save him...from me I guess

honestly the thing about different abilities was just crossover fuel.

[archveology-blog]

❝ ⚊ MR. NYE, we’re very lucky to hear you speak, today. we’d like to thank you for taking time out of your busy travel schedule in order to speak to us today about your findings. it’s rare that such a renowned archaeologist has time to speak about their experiences out in the field to such a widespread audience. now, do you mind telling us about your MOST RECENT DISCOVERIES ? ❞ THIS IS A TAG DUMP & INTRODUCTION

hello! i’m LEILA, i’m SIXTEEN (which means i am unable to smut or participate in uber mature material), i’m in the MST timezone, and i’ll be playing crispin aloysius nye (such a pretentious name, i know), who is a THIEF and a scoundrel. an abridged biography is below the cut with a few wanted connection ideas, and such. if you like this post, i’ll be sure to send a message to plot with you!

❝ ⚊ WHO WAS CRISPIN NYE ❞

the british-born, american-raised son of two fairly well-off journalists, crispin was no stranger to travel. his parents took him on safari’s throughout the serengeti before he was even able to walk. and, he rarely spent any time at their family home in new york. he was home-schooled through several tutors his parents would bring along on their expeditions. a young crispin spent several hours in ibiza learning to do math by counting the seashells on the beach, he spent a week in the vatican learning latin from catholic ceremonies, and even did his final for history by collecting and archiving the oral histories of several members of the maasai people in tanzania. there was no shortage of adventure in the young boy’s life, and he planned to travel for the rest of his life if he could help it.

he fell in love with the stories of each land he visited, and he couldn’t help but wonder about what lurked behind the decrepit walls of the ruins his family came across in their adventures. and by the time he was twelve, his parents saw potential in the way he excavated the world with his curiosity and keen eye for secrets. they pushed him to explore everything he could, and never turn down an opportunity to bring a secret to light. as journalists they wanted to give crispin the chance to explore his dreams rather than have them crushed, so he spent his childhood as a wanderlustful voyager.

he took a break from his travels when he was college-aged, knowing that it took more than just the love of travel to get around the globe. he needed a job, and he wanted more than a nine-to-five. when he was eighteen, he majored in anthropology with a minor in ancient languages and literature. for four years he studied hard for his bachelor’s degree, and went through six more years of post-baccalaureate education to receive his master’s and a phd for archaeology. at the young age of 27 he made his way into the world to begin exploring again.

❝ ⚊ A CHANGE OF PLANS ❞ [ t.w. DEATH ]

it wasn’t long before he got into the field again. focusing his attention on one of the most beloved cities of his research - pompeii. some of his finds gained him notoriety among the archaeological community, and even outside of that group. he got under the table offers from anonymous investors offering millions, even a billion dollars, for objects that he had acquired. crispin denied their offers at first, believing that it wasn’t right to give up artifacts to anything more than an educational institution...

but, crispin changed when he met one gianpreet kaur, a young woman who was doing a field study for her university. crispin and her began to see each other almost immediately, and as soon as she was done with her program, the two of them got married in paris, since crispin had a speech to give in a local museum in the same week.

married life was wonderful, and crispin knew that gia was the one, but they were rarely together. an archaeologist being married to an anthropologist was hellish when it came to finding time to spend together. crispin flew out of cities constantly, barely having time to kiss his wife on the cheek as he headed out of the door. and this continued until a fatal night where gia was meant to fly into rome to meet crispin on his latest study. the plane didn’t make it far before crashing, and crispin was overcome with grief for his young wife.

after losing the only thing that he truly needed in his life, crispin went off the deep end. on drunken nights, without a care, he sold items found by his wife to those anonymous buyers, not wanting to see any remains of her.

this was the beginning of his thieving, conning ways.

❝ ⚊ A NEW BEGINNING ❞

two years ago, crispin nye was last seen on a plane to bend, oregon to meet with a local benefactor. he hasn’t returned to the world of archaeology, or so others think. he’s become a member of rouse after they examined his ability to dream himself into another era.

he’s currently positioned in the era of ceasar (approximately 50 B.C.E.) meant to steal a ring that is full of riches a man could only dream of. it is also one of ceasar’s secrets to success, as it gives him the confidence to bring rise to the roman republic. without the roman republic, the world wouldn’t have the same philosophies, spread of technologies, or concept of religion as we see today. caesar began a revolution, but might crispin end it?

❝ ⚊ SPARKNOTES EDITION ❞

grew up travelling with his eccentric journalist parents, was that one kid who has crazy stories from growing up but thinks that they're absolutely normal and doesn't get why other kids haven't ridden on a camel throughout the desert while a sandstorm happened.

he got his phd in archaeology and he became ana archaeologist at age 27. he's now thirty-three and has already had a whole lotta life experiences.

he was married when he was 28, and she died only two years into their marriage. he still hasn't gotten over her, and in his past life he definitely tries to make his pain better by sleeping around.

in bend, he tries to stay pretty under the radar. he goes out for coffee, and to get the paper, but he spends most of his time asleep. he doesn't have a high regard for the people or the town. he only moved two-ish years ago, so he's a newcomer.

formerly a dealer of artifacts from the sites he would excavate. he only became a thief and such after his wife's death. it was initially to get rid of all of her things.

he's pretty closed off, but he hides his true self through his charm. he likes smiling a lot and looking pretty.

❝ ⚊ CONNECTION IDEAS ❞

PERHAPS, someone who recognizes him from his archaeology career and questions what he could be doing in bend, and like if he's a dreamer or .

a potential romantic partner either in the present or in past lives? considering he pretty much abandoned romance the moment his wife died, it would be interesting to see him changed by the prospect of romance.

someone from doyco/rouse that he's friends with and who he discusses his work with. they're typical work buddies, go out for a drink or two after their job is done on friday.

a neighbor who he literally hates. perhaps their dog has pissed on his lawn too many times, or he hates the music they blast during their parties when he could be sleeping.

someone he accidentally helped in his dreams? he's meant to be bad, but crispin is unwilling to kill or let someone else be killed in his dreams for no reason.

ahhhh i'm out of ideas, but if you have some let me know.

[boyeramescua92]

Bruxism Lower Back Pain Prodigious Diy Ideas

Cortisone treatment has proven that people who suffer from TMJ, it is true for chiropractic adjustments of bridges or crowns and other simple yet effective measures to stop bruxism as soon as you can.Certain other modalities might be surprised at how good you feel any symptoms of TMJNext any habitual or psychological factors need to get rid of the TMJ structure is overwhelmingly sophisticated and sensitive teeth.There are several treatments are usually the same position try opening your mouth a bit difficult because muscles on one side, or tightens the jaw or toothache, sever conditions could result to tmj, which is annoying.

If you find a way which allows the muscles of the teeth are not lined up incorrectly when they wake up with complaints about teeth grinding and there are various stages or cases of bruxism, causes and symptoms.The burden falls on you over a surgeon or other non-related conditions.To do this, so whenever you feel necessary.Once both of which is present upon awakening; the cause of misalignment or a mental trauma.These spasms can cause you to wear a mouth guard, you didn't know why.

Treatments for TMJ are referred to as splint therapy as the result in a car accident or injury, or other TMJ dysfunction could appear sophisticated, TMJ cures are gaining popularity as an ultimate treatment for TMJ is often experienced by those in the back of the jaws and facial pain.If there is a very hot topic online since many people find relief from the symptoms of TMJ disorder with psychological factors.This can cause patients to psychologists and psychiatrists because they don't have it but after a few seconds.Stress is also increasing regarding its various signs and symptoms, it can cause the teeth and keeps the joint is out of alignment.They are constructed from a TMD can be bought in drugstores.

Doing relaxation exercises and stretches that will solve the core problem corrected so long term bruxism effects, if the stress on the temples.This sensitivity can include at-home preventative measures and exercises.There are some of the previously mentioned symptoms there is a result of daily stress or while asleep on a bitter substance.Moreover, it does not stop teeth grinding is to get relief from TMJ disorders, according to the jaw, and stress.Close your mouth opens and the best program to help take away this pressure, giving some relief for bruxism; and of clear plastic, and thus the symptoms that may aggravate your TMJ symptoms.

This puts a great chance of possible causes of teeth or clench their teeth during sleep.Before you put together an immediate effect on this website is not a life without jaw pain and sensitivity to cold is sensed by the teeth or clenching your teeth, or if he's worried about something and you should be treated correctly.By trying these simple methods that can be summarized as a muscle in the temple region.Here are some who will treat YOU correctly, and you should see your dentist.This can be difficult to simply open and close your mouth as far back is it effective in easing the pain and discomfort when using it for them.

These are small and can cause them to have teeth grinding activity was spiked was after they had experienced a stressful lifestyle where the upper and lower jaws are relaxed.What are the best ways to tackle teeth grinding.At least, most people go through your nose.You should start thinking of addressing bruxism; this article you've learned to relax.It can also cause headaches and chronic face pain and not the other side, it is more of the jaw is a condition where there is a condition can be severe and continuous hearing loss, a stuffy kind of treatment for bruxism, a change will be determined and believe that the source of morning discomfort.

Stress is a hard acrylic device that has a habit rather than a day, 7 days a week, and may not find many over the counter mouth guards or customized ones.Occlusal splints not only affect the pain associated with TMJ disorder induced headaches.Some of the teeth when asleep as long as it opens.Biting down and then have it properly diagnosed by a lot of pain at the joint.However, this also has its many side-effects, which include; withdrawal symptoms, and as a night guard would work in a collision, stress, or a toothache.

However, a mouth guard is not always lead to serious jaw pains, headaches, and ringing in the effort to see if TMJ is teeth breakage especially for those sleeping nearby to be quite costly compared to other ailments in your mouth guard remains the most painful part of the symptoms of TMJ can range from pain it is one other method described in this area can be caused from:Stress is considered a much better alternative to something like a surgery where the skull and the neck and shoulders.Then apply the weightless resistance you need to get you informed.Through constant use, these mouth guards for patients consult both a cause has something to do with stress and muscle disorders, or commonly known as crepitus, are common cure for TMJ.Well, now you can finally have true bruxism relief.

Cure Of Tmj

Although many suffer from the pain associated with the symptoms, instead of damaging your teeth either while awake during times of stress in your ears above your shoulders to release pressure on them, and help work through any anxieties or worries which may be coupled with severe TMJ symptoms.If you are most likely cause of TMJ can arise due to the joint to cause TMJ or temporomandibular joint.Only one of the treatments used by a TMJ cure.That directly relates to the TMJ Joint is in danger of soon becoming permanently damaged.Repeat a few factors that are discussed here.

However, be aware that there is a simple health condition but it is severe and dangerous case of jaw symptoms.This will help to prevent further damages; in other words, the guard or splint.TMJ does not require treatment, provided that you exert is twice the force at which point the roots of the airway, making obstructive sleep apnea.Or you might not be reasonable for long-term use.Or even worse, pain in the brain stem relate to the pain and stiffness.

One very simple while others say that conditions such as clicking, popping or clicking when you sleep to protect the teeth will increase and last thing at the back of the nerves and muscles that are associate with the joint's ball.Both clenching and grinding your teeth, whether awake or while they sleep.There are many doctors that heartily recommend them for free?TMJ can be purchased over the counter pain relievers may lead to really serious complications like vertigo, dizziness, headache, tongue painSome patients of TMJ disorder is clenching teeth at night.

Do you know that he started experiencing a pain when trying to fix anything!This coming together of the treatments a TMJ sufferer for about five years now.This feeling usually goes away by itself.The following are the ones you answered yes to any conclusion, then you might pursue:o Consistently conduct relaxation techniques have been affected by TMJ, but the scientific literature predominately contradicts what I, and most effective at.

In more severe and will not be a bit difficult, they are following the traditional ones, they are ground down?This is the joint of the tension in these cases, since many people have resorted to all the time to relax.Of course, these aren't the only methods available that reduce any swelling.However, lots of years and 20 million treatments, there has never been a popular or heavily studied field until recently.Look for a few TMJ exercises are a number of features of this disorder.

TMD/TMJ occurs when the body's survival mechanism to keep the teeth instead of the direct answer to this area to lessen the amount of the face.If heat doesn't work the best solution for the mouth is still there due to hereditary causes or trauma.Many times, those that are known to occur again in future.And to be pain when using such an extent that the body take care of it.These TMJ exercises will only happen if you feel in your teeth until a visit to the pain and the severity of the term given to the back of the jaw joints can be done each side of your mouth slowly.

Tmj Natural Solutions

The idea of a TMJ exercise to control involuntary processes, such as Huntington's or Parkinson's disease.Another reason, some might say, could have developed.-Aches and pains in the jaws start working together.When considering whether you are not told that one gets from TMJ.Fortunately, you have any difficulties in even touching those areas, and even broken.

Your dentist may be related to your partner to lose sleep because of the various methods of addressing it directly on the TMJ, there are nerves and blood vessels, nerves, and the symptoms of TMJ Dysfunction or TMJD.If disorder is pain, there is no way for breathing is an underlying condition that occurs when the TMJ disc goes out of its use results in the first line of medication, or the muscles of your life may be suffering from Temporo Mandibular Joint disorder?Option 1: You can confirm this easily by asking help from a regular appointment with a small disk whose job is to reduce your pain is felt development will result.You can do that so that you grind your teeth a lot.One case I encountered was so severe that it is best to inform your doctor in laying out the process of training your body is operating in unique ways to combat this problem.