#Harry's House speculation
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there is an interesting tension to be had when both the malfoy and weasley families have been sorted into their respective hogwarts house for generations upon generations, and we come to find that despite surface-level appearances: draco isn't the most slytherin of slytherins, and ron isn't the most gryffindor of gryffindors
#draco after listening to one of ron's long-winded speculation/theory rants: you know what you're actually pretty slytherin#ron after having witnessed draco's social ineptitude for the 37th time that month: you're actually pretty not#draco malfoy#ron weasley#dron#golden trio era#this will make an appearance in inspiral#completely correct draco characterization#completely correct ron characterization#malfoy family#weasley family#harry potter#gryffindor#slytherin#hogwarts houses
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BYLER GATES: A GUIDE
(A masterpost explaining all the different theories, for anyone who is also lost with how many there are)
THE BIG 4
Flickergate: This theory involves a lot of time shenanigans and is connected to the Will having powers in s5 one (possibly manipulation of time or electricity). Theory claims Will and Mike will kiss in the UD, specifically outside Mike's garage, paralleling 1x01. Will is going to tell the truth at the same time his s1 self is ("it was a seven"), causing the garage light to flicker on Nov. 6th 1983.
Birthdaygate: This theory suggests that the Duffers didn't actually forget Will's birthday is March 22nd (the day of the rink-o-mania incident). It claims that Vecna is actually manipulating the characters' memories (possibly even Will's), making them forget his birthday in the process, maybe in an attempt to make him feel excluded/lonely and making him vulnerable. (Similar to the beginning of Harry Potter and the chamber of secrets, which happened to be on the inspo board for S4)
But also the Creel murders themselves happened on March 22nd.
Churchgate: More UD kiss related theories! This one claims Will is going to get Vecna'd or possessed in the Upside Down church (and that he's going to hurt/choke Mike in the process). With a crazy amount of religious symbolism, Mike would be the one breaking him out of his trance, through a kiss or a confession.
(More thorough explanation here.)
Lettergate: This gate's truthers believe that Mike did actually write to Will in the time period between s3 and s4, but never sent the letters. Said letters (signed "Love, Mike") are going to make an appearance in s5, revealing his true feelings. (Great post that has to do with this gate here)
Also related to:

OTHER GATES
Pocketgate: Very connected to Lettergate™️, this theory has to do with Mike's infamous triangle shaped pocket in S4. It suggests that the letter signed Love, Mike is hidden in said pocket throughout s4, since it very closely resembles an envelope. Triangles have also been used in ST as a queer symbol (with Robin) and Mike's pocket consistently points to Will like an arrow.
Phonegate: Kinda similar to the previous two, this gate claims Mike did actually call the Byers in Lenora. For some reason, the calls didn't go through, either because of Joyce's telemarketer job OR because of Vecna manipulating things again (cough, birthdaygate, cough).
This is backed up by one of Dustin's lines, saying that the Byers' phone line is always busy and Mike won't stop complaining about it. We know he must have been calling WILL, since the whole reason he was communicating with El using letters is that they couldn't talk on the phone.
Loverslakegate: Related to Lovers' lake (obviously). The lake is shaped like a heart, tying into its name, but it was split in two after the gates opened, now resembling a broken one (and Mike is ofc referred to as "the heart" so it could be a reference to him).
According to this theory, Mike and Will are going to kiss/become lovers near said lake/Reefer Rick's house.
Heartgate: To put it simply: Heart reflections EVERYWHERE. This one is better explained through pictures:


Also: Different heartgate but really interesting
Colorgate: I don't think I have to explain this one tbh but anyway
Blue meets yellow in the west.
Mike and Will have been HEAVILY associated with blue and yellow respectively since the beginning of the show (even wearing eachother's colours in both of their arguments). There's an insane amount of evidence that backs this one up.
It's speculated that the Russian code in s3 was foreshadowing for s4 ("The silver cat feeds when Blue meets Yellow in the west") Silver cat: Vecna who started killing when Mike (Blue) met Will (Yellow) in the west (California, literally west of Indiana)
Curtaingate: "They don't spent their lives trying to get a look at what's behind the curtain [...] They like the curtain. It provides them comfort, stability, definition" -Murray 2x05
Mike and El are pretty consistently framed in front of CLOSED (and more often than not, yellow) curtains, or ones that have closed blinds. According to this theory, closed curtains represent not being honest with one's true feeling. So, the truth about Mike's feelings is beyond the curtain and in s5 he will open it (and come out)

Motelgate: This one has to do with the dreaded two day time skip at the end of S4. Theory claims the Cali crew stayed at a motel during that time skip and the scenes were cut for time, but we'll flash back to them in s5. It's based on a photo a production assistant posted from the New Mexico filming, as well as some bts pics of the Cali Crew playing board games in a motel.
Shoegate: In S4, we see a pair of Will's shoes in his bedroom. In s5, Mike seems to be wearing that exact pair. This, in addition to the fact that they wear the same shoe size (a 10 according to their rollerskates from 4x02), lead people to theorize they will share clothes/shoes in s5. More importantly though, this theory suggests Mike is figuratively being put into Will's shoes (maybe pining?). Also, both of them wear the same shoes they wore in s2. Interestingly enough though, even though the design is the same, the colors are reversed (so their roles will be reversed too).


Possessiongate: This one runs DEEP so I'm going to link a bunch of posts
To put it VERY simply: this theory claims Vecna somehow attached himself to Mike (maybe when the vine grabbed him by the leg in the S2 tunnels- right before he started acting weird in s3 and s4) and he has been influenced/possessed for some time now.
He's not the dungeon master anymore, he's not in control. Both in s3 and s4 someone ELSE is the DM when they play D&D (Will and Eddie respectively)
More here and here
Victimgate: Very closely related to the previous one, this one suggests that MIKE was originally supposed to be Vecna's 4th victim instead of Patrick. Since Max escaped the first time, SHE ended up being the last victim but the original plan was for it to be Patrick. However, Patrick's curse doesn't fit the theme of all of the previous ones. We only see one of his visions, he gets cursed for ONE DAY, as opposed to the other 3 that are cursed for almost a week and we also know very little about him, even though we gradually knew more about the previous victims. Chrissy (no relation to main characters) -> Fred (friends w/ Nancy) -> Max (main character who we've known since s2)
More thorough explanation here
Twelvegate: This one is not really Byler related but i wanted to include it anyway
Theory claims Will was one of the lab kids (specifically 012) and him and El are actual twins. There are mentions of Will and El looking similar since s1, and a lot of twin imagery.
This theory obviously ties in with the Will having powers one and some people believe he wasn't 012, but him and El have a deeper connection/may be actually related. It could theoretically explain Henry's connection to Will, as well as things like El seemingly recognizing him in s1.(Alternatively called rainbowshipgate, because of the rainbow ship drawing Joyce mentions in s2 and the rainbow room)
Eightfifteengate: Again, not explicitly Byler but it's quite crazy.
TL;DR: The time 8:15 seems to have great significance in the show and it's mentioned all the time, if not by the characters themselves, (Eg. "It's 8:15, you're late"- El s2) then by small details in the background. There's even a whole track named after it.
Will left the Wheelers' house at 8:15 and it's the EXACT timestamp of his disappearance in 1x01. It's also the time in which most of the UD related weirdness happens and so it's very likely the UD is stuck on 8:15. (Also you know, 15-8=7)
Radiationgate: Related to the previous one! Clocks in Chernobyl are stuck on 8:15 and Hiroshima has been described figuratively as being frozen in time. Henry has burns identical to Chernobyl victims and almost all of his + his victims' symptoms can be explained through radiation exposure. As this post explains, for radiation levels between 8.3-11 Gy (SI unit for absorbed radiation), symptoms start with headaches and disorientation, move on to unconsciousness and bleeding (the exact symptoms of his victims) and finally, death happens at around 7 days (which is about how long Vecna's curse lasts AND how long Will was in the UD for)
Whiterabbitgate: The song "White Rabbit" is the first song in the show and it plays when we first get a sense of El's powers. Theory suggests it will also be the last song in the show (coming full circle) with either Will using his powers, or Willel using their powers together.
In general though, ST has a lot of similarities/parallels to Alice in Wonderland. The white rabbit constantly being late (Mike is late to something at the start of every season), great significance to clocks/ticking/time, a lot of hallucinations/visions, the overall similarities between the Upside Down and Wonderland. Henry's sister was literally named Alice Creel and there is SO much rabbit imagery throughout the show. There are also direct references to AIW with set pieces and paintings.
Soundtrackgate: This one has to do with the Stranger Things OST and the overall insane musical symbolism throughout the show. A lot of different theories talk about the show's soundtrack, but this one talks about 3 tracks in particular: Being Different, The First Lie, The First I love You
To put it briefly: "The First I love You" plays in both Robin's coming out scene and El's kiss with Mike at the end of s3 (Already a weird parallel). The three tracks not only share the same melody, but they also sync up perfectly. "Being Different" (s4 van scene) and "The First Lie" (Nancy and Jonathan's kiss in s2) especially, match up together to create an entirely new track, completing eachother. The scenes featuring those three tracks also share very similar themes at their core. (This post goes into a lot of detail!)
Playlistgate: Character playlists! At a certain point, every character's official playlist on Spotify was deleted, except for three: Mike's, Will's and Billy's. Songs were seemingly being added/deleted for no reason to the Mike and Will ones and people were struggling to make sense of it all.
Also, Mike's character playlist in particular is VERY interesting (so many byler coded songs, as well as "Smalltown Boy" a gay anthem, about a young gay boy forced to leave his home town to escape from their disapproval and homophobia.) There are three playlists on Finn's spotify that are very incriminating. "Love songs" (That has "BOYS DON'T CRY" on it, a song that Will literally has a poster of in his room), "drive" and the most recent one "STurn". These playlists feature songs like "Let her go", "Angst in my pants", "Me and Michael", "Gay thoughts" just to name a few. Basically a lot of the songs on all four playlists seem very relevant to some complicated feelings about Mike's relationship with El/Will but also with himself and his sexuality.
Scriptgate: Oh boy. Here we go.
On August 5th 2022, the byler fandom got #bylerscript trending worldwide on Twitter while waiting for the 8flix account (run by Nick Runyeard) to release some supposed s4 scripts (that people PAID for, mind you). These scripts dropped on August 8th, featuring lines like: "I hate who I am" from Will in the van scene, "His mouth dry, like a California summer" from the bedroom apology scene and also, Will seemingly recognizing Brenner at NINA, despite never meeting him in canon.
These turned out to be fake and the community was in shambles. Nick started calling people psychos, the Stranger Writers tweeted that everyone got scammed, Nick privated his account and the authenticity of some released s2-s3 scripts was questioned. This post explains the entire situation in detail.
Breathgate: This one is also script related and specifically about a Mike/Max parallel.
In the official van scene script, when Mike sees Will's painting "his breath catches." Then, when Lucas asks Max to the Friday movie date, "(her) breath catches" as well. People caught on that parallel very fast and since the latter is obviously a romantic moment, it boosted their confidence for both Byler and Lumax endgame.
Piggybackgate: This one refers to two different situations/theories.
One, the seemingly deliberate framing of Mike and Will inside the little bubble in El's piggyback drawing (and it referening to Byler). The framing is especially suspicious, because the bubble drawing was drawn two separate times (it's different from one shot to the other). In the second shot, they're framed directly inside of it.
Two, Mike in his monologue essentially piggybacking off of Will's van confession. His monologue was going off of El's feelings, but since they weren't actually El's, the speech was based on Will's feelings. It also ties in with the parallel/foreshadowing between the monologue and Suzie's house, with Will being paralleled to the "director" kid, directing a "choking" Tabitha and their dad (more thorough explanation here).
Footballgate: On December 25 2024, the vast majority of the byler community spent their Christmas watching hours of NFL football, in the hopes we would maybe get a teaser or at the very least a release date for s5. This started from leakers saying we would most likely get something during the game.
We got nothing.
People were disappointed they wasted hours of their lives watching a sport they neither cared for or knew anything about, and the only thing we learned is that we would probably get something before the end of January 2025.
THE SILLIES
(aka the joke-theories/memes)
Miniongate: Mike and Will are secretly minions. (Because you know, minions are primarily blue and yellow)
This information will be revealed to us in s5 and they will have a magical girl-esque transformation where we see their true minion form. (Original post here)
Localvillagegate: Related to the leaked Mike and El rooftop scene.
Basically, a mlvn used AI to lip read the scene and try to figure out what Mike is saying (and then posted the video on Twitter).
According to them, Mike was telling El they were going to leave the local village (AKA Hawkins) together and travel to a beautiful faraway land with "like, three waterfalls or something" (and also that she has to "improve her motivation", whatever that means).
People thought it was hilarious and started making a ton of memes based on it.
Parrotgate: This is directly connected to localvillagegate™️ and it was created by @cloudycleric in one of his streams.
Basically, the parrots are gay and represent Will and Mike, who in s5 will kiss under the three waterfalls depicted on the image.

Backgroundguygate: People making headcanons and creating backstories for random extras. The star of this gate is Barrett, an extra from the Lenora high school, who wears a barrette, bright red pants and a shirt that says "Hell".
According to this gate, he's actually gay and in love with Will. He has a goth best friend named Claire who is a lesbian and in love with El.
Chancegate: The theme of shipping Will with random extras continues on strong
Chance is one of Jason's friends and part of the basketball team. People thought he was attractive and somewhere along the line started making headcanons for him and shipping him with Will (Bychance). Basically, they're gonna date and Mike will be jealous.
Mikhailgate: More shipping Will with randoms! (I'm beginning to see a pattern here)
Originally created by @paladin-n-cleric
Enzo in S4 mentions his son, Mikhail Antonov. Mikhail is the Russian name for Micheal.
People started making jokes that Mikhail would arrive to Hawkins from Russia in s5 and shipped him with Will (Willhail), since he's like Mike but Russian and cooler. They made fanart, edits and posted pictures of Finn as Boris in "The Goldfinch" claiming it's Mikhail.
@will80sbyers then begun to ship Mikhail with El and thus the ship "Jail" was born.
Pastagate: On January 2nd 2025, Noah posted a 2024 recap on IG, which included a photo of a trailer door labeled "Rigatoni". People then started joking about Rigatoni being Will's new bf and the ship "Willoni" was born.
In reality, Rigatoni is a nickname for Noah and that was his trailer. But where's the fun in that?
Baldmikegate: Did you know Mike is actually bald and is bullied for it? Well, now you do.
In 2022, a cult was born and the byler tag was filled with edited pictures of Bald!Mike. Terrifying honestly.
Some people made posts about how the rest of the party feels about Mike's secret baldness and some even wrote FANFICS.
Gridgate/whiteboardgate/pixelgate: The Stranger Writers posted a picture of a pixelated/blurred whiteboard that had the entirety of s5 mapped out. People were desperately trying to decode it and figure out what was written on it.
On the space for episode 7, there was a "big black hole" that people went crazy trying to make sense of, only for it to be revealed as a pen holder.
Babygirlgate: The babygirlification of Mike Wheeler. That's it. That's the gate.
I think pretty much every line Will has ever said to Mike has been posted with the word "babygirl" replacing his name (it's hilarious and I love it)
Some examples here and here

Mattduffersbasementgate: Finn and Joe made up a third Duffer brother named Pete, who has no hair for some reason and is the actual writer of Stranger Things, while Matt and Ross are just the faces of it. Pete lives in a shed/Matt's basement and that's where he writes all of the scripts.
Finn and Noah are both also being held in Matt's basement however, and they're not allowed to leave so that they don't spoil byler endgame.
Lobegate: (This gate was officially named by @tripleatechie). In January 2025, a byler went undercover, sending asks to other members of the community pretending to be a Mlvn. In one of those, they accidentally misspelled "love" as lobe, which immediately became an inside joke. People starting speculating whether or not this was an actual Mlvn and an investigation ensued. On January 7th 2025, the identity of the undercover byler was revealed as @somewiseoutthere. The mystery didn't end there though, with people wondering if this was in reality a group effort with multiple culprits. Here is a list of all the possible culprits with a full timeline here.
Blankgate: On January 26th 2025, Atlantaspotting posted on Twitter a thread with controversial claims and gossip about the cast, but replaced all the names with BLANK, making pretty much incomprehensible, and impossible to figure out who it was about. Memes were then made, replacing every name and pronoun with BLANK.
omg this took SO LONG, but I will keep adding as more gates surface
#the amount of research this took holy shit#i myself didn't know most of these lmao#byler#will byers#mike wheeler#byler tumblr#byler endgame#byler theory#flickergate#churchgate#birthdaygate#lettergate#pocketgate#radiationgate#twelvegate#mikhailgate#chancegate#possessiongate#byler gates#victimgate#localvillagegate#scriptgate#byler evidence#bylergate#footballgate#pastagate
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Sweet Thing



Summery: You and Harry are best friends, despite your 15 year age gap. One night, when your blind date goes wrong, he wants to make sure your night still ends in pleasure. {Older!Harry}
Word Count: 3.8k
Warnings: smut, age gap (15 years), mention of alcohol consumption, fem!reader

“Oh, what’s wrong, pretty girl?” Harry asked, his voice warm with concern as you trudged over to him from the bar, exhaustion written across your face.
The music in the background blared so loudly that it felt like it was vibrating through your bones, drowning out everything else. Every Friday night, Harry rented a private room at the local club for your group of friends to unwind, drink, and let loose.
You collapsed into his lap, resting your head against his shoulder, letting out a soft sigh.
“I’m just so tired…” you mumbled, your voice barely audible over the thumping bass.
He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer with a gentle smile. He knew how alcohol always made you sleepy and affectionate, especially after just a few drinks.
“Poor thing,” Harry teased, his lip sticking out in a mock pout. He was used to giving you the same spiel every Friday—how he knew even a little alcohol would knock you out.
“I wasn’t even planning on drinking tonight,” you giggled drunkenly. “But then Eve and Clara dragged me to the bar, and I had one drink… and then two… and then three…it really wasn’t my fault.”
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll get you something to eat, at least. You need to balance out that alcohol.” He reached across the table to grab a small bowl of pretzels and nuts he had sent to the table the moment he saw you take your first shot, but the thought of eating made your stomach churn.
Despite the 15-year age gap between you—23 and Harry 38—you had always been close. You were just friends, of course, and had made sure to clarify that to everyone around you, but it didn’t stop people from speculating.
But could you blame them? You practically lived at his house, spent most of your free time together, and took care of each other like an old married couple.
You half-heartedly munched on a couple of pretzels, trying to settle your stomach. Just then, a waiter appeared with a glass of ice water, which you drank down in one go, the cold helping to ground you.
As your friends continued their chatter, some heading to the bar, others to the dance floor, you stayed in Harry’s lap, drifting in and out of sleep with your head tucked into his neck.
“We can head home if you want, bunny,” Harry murmured, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back.
“No, I’m okay,” you protested sleepily, keeping your eyes shut as you snuggled deeper into him. “Let’s stay for a bit.”
Eve, Clara, and a few others returned, laughing as they took their seats around the table.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever seen fall asleep in a club with barely any alcohol in their system,” Eve said with a teasing smile.
You managed a sleepy chuckle. “I can’t socialize without a little buzz,” you admitted, blinking your eyes open for the first time in a while as you sat up.
“As long as we get you on the dance floor later, I don’t mind,” Clara said with a wink, sipping on her margarita.
"Speaking of socializing," Eve began, eyeing you playfully, "Do you remember that guy we met at Jolie’s art exhibit? Elijah?" You nodded, though your memory of him was hazy.
"Well," she continued, "he kind of asked if I could set you two up on a date... but I told him I’d check with you first. It’s totally your call."
Maybe it was the alcohol, or just the idea of finally getting laid after months of dry spells, but before you could think it through, your words came tumbling out.
"Sure, why not? I think I remember him being cute. Is he nice?" You caught Harry’s gaze, his eyes narrowing slightly as his jaw clenched.
"He’s a friend of Jolie and me from University," Eve said, her voice light. "He was closer to Jolie, but he’s sweet. Really into art and music. I think you’ll like him." Eve’s tone was upbeat, though the surprise among the other girls was palpable. You'd been known to avoid dating for months, and yet here you were, agreeing to a date in the blink of an eye. Without hesitation, Eve texted Elijah to let him know you'd accepted.
The next hour passed in a blur of laughter and bad jokes that were 10 times funnier thanks to the alcohol coursing through your system. After a couple more drinks, you, Eve, and Clara decided to hit the dance floor again.
"You’re coming with me?" you asked Harry, slinging your arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his cheek.
"Not really feeling it," he bluntly replied. "But don’t let me stop you."
You pouted, leaning closer to him. "You can go home, if you’re done. We could go home together." Your lips kissed all over his face, guilt creeping in as your drunk brain wondered if you'd done something wrong.
"No, no, sweet thing, I’m good. Just haven’t had enough to drink to feel loose enough to show off my moves," he chuckled, planting a quick kiss on your head. "Go have fun."
With that, you strutted away, immediately getting lost in the rhythm of the music. You couldn’t help but notice each of you was drunkenly dancing to a different beat.
"Hey!! Elijah texted me back!" Eve shouted over the thumping music. "He wants to take you out tomorrow!"
"Sounds good!" you yelled back, not even pausing in your wild dancing. "Any time after five works for me!"
When your legs finally felt like they’d given all they could to the dance floor, the three of you retreated back to your private room.
"I can tell by your face that you’re getting tired again," Harry teased, his voice warm as he glanced over at you. You sat down next to him, leaning into his side. "Time to go home?"
You nodded, already feeling the weight of your headache catching up to you.
"Okay, let’s go, sweet thing." Harry helped you stand, offering you a smile.
As was the usual routine after a night out—one of you sober, the other tipsy—the sober one would drive the drunk one home. When you were both drunk, however, it became a game of scissor -paper-stone to see who’d get the front seat in the Uber.
He gently assisted you into his car, a sleek black Range Rover, securing your seatbelt as you leaned back, closing your eyes in quiet exhaustion.
When you arrived at his house, he was there again, unbuckling your seatbelt and guiding you to the door with steady care.
“I’ll grab you some water and Ibuprofen. Why don’t you head upstairs and get ready for bed?”
You nodded in gratitude, your body heavy with fatigue as you slowly made your way up the stairs. Once inside his room, you went straight to the dresser, where you always kept a few pairs of pajamas for nights like this.
In his bathroom, your extra face wash, moisturizer, and toothbrush were neatly arranged….maybe people weren’t wrong to wonder if there was something more going on between you two.

Your hangover symptoms the next morning are what woke you up, head pounding and nausea. You opened your eyes, seeing Harry sitting up next to you, reading his book, shirtless.
“What a beautiful site to wake up to.” You groggily joked.
Harry looked up from his book, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he marked his place and set the book aside. His eyes softened as he noticed you, his hand gently your messy hair away from your face.
“How’s your head feeling?” he asked, his tone low and soothing.
You let out a groan in response, your mind scrambling for some semblance of clarity. Slowly, fragments of last night came rushing back. The dim, pulsing lights of the club. The laughter. The dancing. You winced at the ache in your feet, a silent reminder of how long you'd been on your feet. And then, a sudden, jarring memory surfaced—one that made your stomach churn in a different way.
“Wait… did I really agree to go on a date today?” You asked, barely believing it yourself.
Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, his fingers still gently massaging your scalp as he looked at you with a mixture of affection and amusement.
“You did,” he said, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You groaned again, sinking deeper into the pillow, willing the world to stop spinning. “Jeez, I can’t even remember the last five minutes, let alone a date,” you muttered, half to yourself.
Harry’s chuckle turned into a laugh as he shifted closer to you, his thumb brushing lightly over your temple in a comforting rhythm.
"I think you’re going to be just fine," Harry teased, his voice still soft with affection. "But I’m not gonna lie... I am interested to see how this date goes. Since you've been avoiding dating for so long"
"Yeah, well, let’s just say I’m not expecting anything amazing," you sighed, stretching your arms above your head.

Later that day, you found yourself standing in front of your full-length mirror, nervously adjusting your outfit. You weren’t exactly thrilled about the date, but you didn’t want to look like you didn’t care either. You settled on a simple black dress—something that was easy but still flattering.
You took a deep breath. It wasn’t as if you had something better to do. You could always call Harry afterward to complain about how terrible it went.
You arrived at restaurant where Elijah had suggested you meet. It had that typical artsy vibe—exposed brick walls, vintage furniture, and food that probably cost more than it should have. As you walked in, you spotted Elijah immediately.
He looked up as you approached, a confident, almost smug smile spreading across his face. “Ah, you made it,” he said, standing to greet you.
"Of course," you replied, offering a smile.
"So, what do you like to do?" Elijah leaned back in his chair, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of the table, his gaze more smug than ever. "What’s your thing? What are you into?"
The question hung in the air, a little too casually thrown at you. You hesitated for a moment, then smiled politely. "Well, I enjoy a bit of everything. Not really an expert in anything, though. I like books, music… anything creative, really."
He waved a hand dismissively, clearly not too interested in your response. “That’s nice. But honestly, I think everyone has their own version of what ‘creativity’ means. I think it’s just one of those things that gets watered down by society’s need to put things in boxes.”
You nodded, trying not to laugh at how seriously he was taking his own thoughts. The guy was talking in circles, as if he had an actual dissertation on his mind.
At some point during the evening, you realized that Elijah wasn’t going to ask about you or show any real interest in anything about your life. He kept dropping vague hints about how "complicated" he was, how misunderstood artists like himself had to suffer for their brilliance, and how he was just waiting for the world to catch up with him.
The only thing that really seemed to get him talking was his apparent admiration for himself.
Eventually, the awkwardness started to wear off, and he invited you to his apartment. Not that you were expecting anything from it—but you hadn’t been with anyone in a while, and the loneliness was starting to hit.
The two of you ended up sitting on your couch, sipping wine, your conversation moving toward more personal topics. It felt... comfortable, even though you knew it wasn’t exactly what you'd been hoping for. Still, you found yourself kissing him a little while later, your mind racing with that familiar nervous excitement.
Things moved quickly, and before you knew it, you were in his arms, both of you tangled up in each other in the dimly lit space of your apartment.

Time passed—minutes, hours, it was hard to tell. Eventually, you found yourself at the door, your dress wrinkled and your head spinning.
"Stay. Please," Elijah urged, his eyes softening slightly as he leaned in closer. “We could talk more. I really want to see you again.”
You bit your lip, your thoughts muddled. But, remembering the hours of excruciating conversation, you knew you needed to leave. "I have work in the morning," you said, even though it wasn’t true. The lie slipped out before you could even think about it.
Elijah’s face fell slightly, but he nodded. "Well, I guess that’s alright. But next time… Let’s make sure we have more time."
You smiled softly, but your mind was already elsewhere, already home and away from him.
You stepped out into the cool night air, pulling your coat tightly around your shoulders, feeling that familiar sense of discomfort slowly sink in. The date had been a total bust, and you couldn’t help but feel the sting of regret.
At home, after a quick shower to wash off the lingering feelings of awkwardness, you picked up your phone and texted Harry, hoping that he’d be up for a late-night rant.
"Can I come over to vent? This date was so annoying."
You didn’t have to wait long before his reply popped up. "Of course, pretty girl."
And so, you drove over, already thinking about how you were going to explain all the cringey moments to Harry, secretly hoping he wouldn’t say, “I told you so."
“You look like you had a blast,” Harry remarked dryly, opening the door for you.
You suppressed the urge to launch into a full rant. “Oh, yeah, great time,” you replied with equal sarcasm.
You both collapsed onto the couch— you sprawled out, Harry sitting up beside you like you were about to start a therapy session. Without missing a beat, you let the floodgates open.
“He literally talked about himself the entire time,” you began, voice dripping with frustration. “He asked me what I like to do, and as soon as I told him, he started lecturing me on his ‘interpretation of creativity.’ And it didn’t stop. For the entire date.”
Harry grinned, clearly entertained, as you continued your rant, eyes narrowing as you remembered every detail.
“And every conversation has to be this deep, philosophical, soul-searching dive— like, ‘We’re just floating on a ball in space,’ you know? The kind of thing you'd hear from the most insufferable kid in a first year psych class.”
You huffed, running a hand through your hair as the memory played in your mind. “Do you want me to continue?” You looked up at Harry. “It gets a little…18+.”
Harry's jaw slightly clenched, but he let out a chuckle. “Oh really? His personality wasn’t enough of a red flag?” He teased you, you burst out into laughter.
“Okay, okay, you have no right to judge, we’re both victims of making bad decisions when we’re horny.” You joked.
“Mm, I don’t know, I would’ve left after the ‘We’re just floating on a ball in space’ comment.”
“First of all, he didn’t actually say that…..that was just his vibe.” You corrected, both of you continuing to laugh. “And second of all, I KNOW you still would have slept with him, especially if you hadn’t been with anyone in four months.” You reminded him.
“Oh would I? No amount of horniness would have even made me go back to that type of person’s house.”
“You’re a liar. “ you said, dying of laughter. “Do I have to remind you of that girl you slept with, the one who kept saying ‘actually’ in front of very compliment, that you hated? ‘You’re actually funny. You’re actually kind of cute. You’re actually smart. What was her name? Lily? Lucy?”
“It was Laura.” He sheepishly corrected you
“And if I remember correctly, it wasn’t just one night, even after she described your sex as ‘actually good’, so I don’t want any judgment from you.” He surrendered, and let you continue.
“I’ll spare you the intimate details…I’ll just say, I didn’t necessarily leave satisfied.”
“Did you finish?”
“He finished. I didn’t.”
“Y/N.” He titled his head towards you in disbelief.
You stayed silent, almost trying to hide a smile out of embarrassment. He shook his head in disapproval.
“This is why I don’t go on dates. All I got was a shitty dinner and I still haven’t had a non-self inflicted orgasm in 4 months.”
He held his arm out as an invitation to invite you closer to him. Accepting his invitation, you leaned against him, head resting on his shoulder.
“Did you go home and…help yourself?” He asked, rubbing your back in consolation.
“No! I went home, took a shower, and then came straight here!” He chuckled, pulling you into his lap, making you straddle him.
“You don’t have to end the night unsatisfied,” he teased, his voice low with a playful edge.
“You promised no judgment,” you laughed, giving his shoulder a gentle shove. His silence, paired with the look in his eyes, made it clear he wasn’t entirely joking.
“I’m just saying... there’s an easy fix,” he replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Both of you laughed, though the underlying seriousness in your tones couldn’t be ignored.
“An easy fix? Like what?” you asked, your voice dropping slightly, the flirtation slipping into your words.
“Well, let’s say you wanted to,” He guided you off his lap, sitting you next to him. “You could lay down right here.”
You lowered your back onto the couch, your heart pounding harder than ever.
“Is this okay?” He clarified. You nodded and he continued. “I could come up here, make you feel better.” He crawled up to your neck, laying kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone.
He kneeled down on the ground in front of the couch. His hand shifted down to the button of your pants, slowly unbuttoning them and lowering them down your leg.
“You're in control here. Anytime you want to stop or do something else, you let me know, I want to make you feel good.” Your chest quickly moved up and down and you hummed in acknowledgment.
He grabbed your leg, placing it on one of his shoulders, kissing the other leg until he got to your inner thigh. Before he could continue you grabbed the ends of your top, quickly pulling it off to reveal your bra. Harry gave you a cheeky smile before he continued.
He kissed the insides of your thighs, sucking the delicate skin until a string of tiny purple bruises dotted your thighs.
“Please, Harry.” You whined in an impatient tone.
His eyes shot up to your face. “What do you need, sweet thing?”
“Everything. Your tongue. Your fingers. Please…please Harry.” The eagerness that had been building up in you for the past four months started to come up all at once.
“You need to learn patience, baby.” He teased you, lightly grazing his lips along your inner thigh. Finally, he grabbed your underwear and helped you out of them.
He planted his lips over your clit, expertly curling his tongue around the swollen area and flicking until your hips bucked. His arms curled around your thighs, pulling you to him and splaying a hand over your stomach to keep your hips still. He flattened his tongue against your clit to give you the pressure that you desperately craved.
“You’re so beautiful, bunny. So wet. Is this all for me?”
You hastily nodded, unable to speak.
Your hand tugged hard on his hair as his tongue worked delicately hard across your clit. Harry took one last look at your flushed face before moving his fingers at a punishing pace, driving you closer and closer to the edge. He could tell that you were holding back a bit, since you two had been friends for a while, yet this was your first interaction past a simple cuddle. He lifted his mouth from you.
“It’s alright, sweet thing. I got you, I want to make you feel good.”
He went back to pleasuring you, his ability to make you feel this good felt so natural. You focused on him, trying to push any nerves to the back of your head. His hand that rested on your stomach grabbed your hand, wrapping his fingers around your hand, giving you a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
A shudder rippled through your body and a deep moan erupted from your throat as you came around his fingers. Harry focused on you, helping you ride out your orgasm.
He climbed back up to you, sweeping your hair from your face and kissing your forehead, your nose, and your cheeks. “It’s okay, sweet baby.” He cood, your eyes stayed closed as you catched your breath.
You mindlessly pulled him closer to you, hiding your face in his neck, needing immediate aftercare after your powerful orgasm.
“Wanna go upstairs…an-help you.” You breathlessly begged, kissing his neck and lowering your hand down his abdomen.
“Okay sweet thing, let’s go upstairs.”
[read part two here!] [read a prequel blurb here!]

#older!harry#older!harrystyles#harry styles fandom#harry styles fluff#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles story#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic rec#harry styles friends to lovers#harry styles au#older man younger woman#agegap!harry#harry smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles x original character#harry styles x oc#harry styles fanart#harry x reader#harry x you#harry x y/n#2014core#2015 nostalgia#2015 aesthetic#2015#2015 tumblr#happy 2015
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Stached

Pairing: Harry Styles × Reader
CW: Explicit smut (18+), Light dom/sub dynamic, Mild pain (mustache friction), Rough oral sex, Praise/degradation.
Synopsis: Harry grows a 70s mustache just for you during his break. When you admire it, he uses it to tease and wreck you in bed, rough, a little painful, but exactly what you crave.
The break was long overdue.
Since the end of Love On Tour in 2023, Harry had gone ghost, not a single official appearance, just grainy photos taken by lucky fans: a blur of tattoos, a mullet, and, lately, something new.
A mustache.
The internet noticed. Speculated. Debated.
You didn’t have to speculate. You knew exactly why.
The house was still. Only the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the occasional crackle from the fireplace filled the air. You laid across the velvet couch, half-asleep, your fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric. It had been months since Harry had been officially "on break". No tours, no interviews, no endless flights. Just him, just you, just home.
And the mustache.
God, the mustache.
You hadn’t even been subtle about it. One night, tipsy and loose-lipped, you had giggled against his bare chest and confessed, "You with a 70s stache? I'd lose my mind." His green eyes had gleamed with mischief, and weeks later, there it was, thick, soft, golden-brown under his nose, the kind that made him look like he belonged in some sun-bleached movie reel.
He'd grown it for you. Because you wanted it.
It made him look older, a little meaner, sexier in a way that made your knees weak.
Harry strolled into the room now, barefoot in loose black sweats that hung deliciously low on his hips, a simple white T-shirt clinging to his frame. His hair was messy from a nap, his mustache catching the light in a way that made your stomach flip.
"Y'alright there, bunny?" he teased, voice rough with sleep. His accent dragged thickly over the words, making you shiver.
You hummed noncommittally, stretching out a bit more, pretending not to notice the way his gaze darkened as he watched your body move. But you noticed. You always noticed.
He moved towards you in slow, deliberate steps, towering when he finally reached the couch. His hand found your ankle, the grip firm.
"Been starin’ at me all day like you wanna be ruined," he said lowly, tugging your leg enough that you slid an inch down the couch.
You blinked up at him, heart pounding.
"I like the mustache," you whispered, voice too small, too needy.
Harry grinned, slow, wicked. His thumb dragged over the sensitive skin of your ankle.
"I know you do, baby," he said, leaning closer, mustache brushing your bare knee. You gasped at the unexpected contact, heat rushing up your body.
"You grew it for me," you said, breathless.
He smirked. "Who else?" His mouth brushed higher now, up your thigh, the tickle of his mustache sending shockwaves through your nerves.
"And y'know what, love?" He nipped at the inside of your thigh, hard enough to leave a mark. You whimpered. "You’re gonna thank me properly."
You barely had time to process that before he was kneeling between your legs, spreading you apart with a roughness that made your head spin. His hands were large and warm against your skin.
"Off," he ordered, tugging at your shorts, your panties. They were gone in seconds, discarded somewhere across the room.
Harry sat back on his heels, drinking you in, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
"You’re fuckin' dripping already," he said, almost mockingly. "Just from lookin' at me."
You tried to clench your thighs together in sudden embarrassment, but he was faster, gripping them tightly and forcing you open again.
"Don't hide from me," he said, voice stern. "Grew this mustache so I could fuckin’ wreck you with it. You’re gonna take it like a good girl, yeah?"
You nodded frantically, the need clawing at you unbearable.
"Words," he demanded, voice sharp.
"Yes, Harr..." you gasped. "Please."
Without warning, he dove in. The first swipe of his tongue broad, slow, deliberate. You cried out, your hips jerking, but he held you down easily. The roughness of his mustache scraped your sensitive skin, almost unbearably raw. It stung, but fuck, it made everything sharper, hotter.
He licked you like a man starved, alternating between slow, lazy sucks and fast, ruthless flicks of his tongue. Every time his mustache scraped against your clit, you whimpered, tears prickling at your eyes from the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.
"Fuck, you taste good," Harry muttered against you, his voice muffled but full of praise. He gripped your hips harder, holding you in place when you tried to squirm away from the unbearable sensitivity.
"Too much?" he asked mockingly, pulling back just enough to let the cool air hit your soaked core.
You shook your head desperately. "No– no, please don't stop."
He grinned, mean, satisfied, and buried his face between your thighs again, even rougher this time. His mustache scraped and burned and you loved it, sobbing his name as you tugged at his messy mullet, trying to ground yourself.
Harry groaned when you pulled his hair, grinding his mouth harder against you.
"You’re fuckin’ filthy, beggin' me to hurt you," he murmured between licks. "Knew you were dirty, but not this dirty, baby."
His words sent you spiraling. You were so close it hurt, your whole body trembling.
"You gonna cum for me?" he asked, nipping at your clit just hard enough to make you yelp.
"Yes- yes, H, please–"
"Do it," he growled. "Mess up my face, pretty girl."
That was all it took. You shattered, your orgasm ripping through you so hard you screamed, thighs clamping around his head as you rode it out. Harry didn’t stop, he kept licking you through it, letting his mustache scrape your overstimulated clit until you were sobbing his name, begging him to stop, to never stop, you didn’t even know anymore.
Finally, he pulled back, his lips shiny, his mustache soaked with you. He looked wrecked, and he looked proud.
You barely had a second to catch your breath before he was climbing up your body, pressing his mouth against yours. You tasted yourself on his tongue, on his mustache, and you moaned into the kiss, too wrecked to care.
He pulled away, resting his forehead against yours.
"That hurt, didn’t it?" he whispered, almost tenderly now, running his thumb over your cheek.
"But you liked it," he said, smiling, so soft now that it broke something open in your chest.
"I loved it," you whispered hoarsely.
Harry chuckled, that deep, boyish sound that always made your heart flutter.
"Good," he said. "Because I’m never shaving it."
You laughed, the sound breaking out of you helplessly. Harry grinned and kissed you again, slower this time, like he had all the time in the world.
And he did. He was yours, mustache and all.
#harry styles x reader#dom harry styles#harry styles#harry styles smut#harry styles imagine#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfiction#harry#styles#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x original character#harry styles fluff
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Eric Harris went to the Freshman Homecoming with fellow student Tiffany Typher. It was their only date and when she refused to go out with him again, Eric staged a fake 'suicide', sprawling on the ground with fake blood splashed all over him. According to Tiffany, Eric had his friend (Brooks Brown) take Tiffany over to his house. When she got there, Eric was laying with his head on a rock, and there was fake blood around him, and he was acting like he was dead.
Brooks Browns recount of the incident: “Unfortunately for Eric, it wound up being their only date; she didn’t want to go out with him again after that. Eric was pretty bummed out, because he had liked her a lot. So he decided to play a prank on her as revenge. We decided to use some fake blood left over from Halloween to give Tiffany a scare. As the three of us were walking past Eric’s house, I started talking to Tiffany to distract her while Eric set his plan in motion. Then, once he was ready, he let out a scream. Both of us turned in time to see Eric lying on the ground with a bloodied rock in his hand. His head and neck were covered in fake blood, and he was no longer moving; it looked like he bashed his own head in.For a few seconds I played along, acting all concerned for my friend. Then I couldn’t hold it back anymore and I burst into laughter. Eric did too, chuckling hysterically as he picked his bloodied self up off the ground. Tiffany told him that he was extremely immature, and stormed off to her house. Needless to say, Eric wasn’t getting any closer to getting another date with her after that.” (No Easy Answers.)
It is speculated that there was a video of this prank taken. If there was, it has never been released to the public.
#teeceecee#dylan columbine#eric and dylan#eric columbine#tccblr#tc community#columbine 1999#truecrimefiend#dylannstormroof#elliot rodger
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oh god is biden dropping out? i don't know what happens then
Jesus effing Christ.
Few thoughts:
The billionaire Democratic donors got their way, apparently. All I saw was that the big-dollar donors were secretly putting pressure on the rank-and-file Democratic elected officials (i.e. House and Senate) to denounce Biden or not get any more money, and other shameful backroom maneuvering to knife Biden. I will refrain (lol, no I won't) from speculating that billionaires of any political stripe feel threatened by Biden's increasingly progressive tax/wealth redistribution policies, and saw their chance after the bad debate performance to knife him. Because until further notice, I'm going to think that was the biggest factor.
I don't know if there's an actual health condition that made Biden agree it was the best time (in fucking July) to step down, but if this was an issue, there needed to be planning last year, at the earliest, to prepare for a new successor. I don't know what's going on. This is a clusterfuck on many, many levels.
However: it is true that this does change things and not necessarily only for the worse, as long as Harris is immediately confirmed as the new nominee and this stupid Democrats In Disarray nonsense, which is giving the media exactly what they want, is put to a fucking end. If Harris is also swept aside and the billionaire donors try to install their preferred "Centrist!!!" candidate (lol Manchin or some shit) with an equally antidemocratic closed-door Star Chamber convention, then yes, we're fucked. Because the Congressional Black Caucus and African American voters saw exactly what the rich white man billionaires were trying to do by torching Biden and then Harris, and they are not going to play ball with some Magical White Man replacement.
If Harris is immediately confirmed as the new nominee (and to the best of my knowledge Biden has endorsed her), then she has a chance of reinvigorating the race. There were a lot of Americans who did not want either Biden or Trump. I suspect they were fucking braindead, but so be it. Harris has apparently polled pretty and increasingly well in recent days (in some cases actually better than Biden) and again, there is no remotely small-d democratic alternative to her. The billionaire donors already trashed the duly elected (by the primary process) Democratic nominee. If they do the same to Harris, then yes. We will have Trump and there won't be any more democracy in this country on either side, because the Republican big-bucks donors will gleefully pick up where the Democratic big-bucks donors left off.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The message needs to be "Harris is Joe's successor, she is younger and already has four years of experience and is the only candidate." Anything else is a fucking gift from god to the Republicans, once more getting trashed after Trump's terrible RNC speech. Maybe she can then pick Whitmer or Shapiro (both popular and effective Democratic governors of swing states, MI and PA respectively) as a running mate, but the nominee has to be Kamala. There is no other fucking choice. This is already enough of a mess.
If that can happen, and the fucking donors can refrain from fucking it up, then... okay. It's not great, but it does change things. It makes the ticket younger. It makes it historic (first Black female president beating Trump would be amazing). It could reach people disenchanted with the current two-old-white-guys setup.
This is an incredible sacrifice on Biden's part and I only wish that I could believe he did it voluntarily, rather than being forced out by a small class of rich people worrying about his policies getting too progressive.
I wish him only the best and I recognize this decision was taken under extreme pressure. If we then lose to Trump, I hope everyone who forced Biden out burns in hell.
I was a diehard Biden supporter not because I loved the guy personally, but because he was the only choice for preserving democracy in America. The essential stakes of the election have not changed, even if the billionaires just knifed us in the fucking back, possibly to nobody's surprise, because R or D, they are not our friends.
Kamala is the only choice. I will now have to defend her as hard as I did for Biden. She needs to beat Trump. There is nothing else to it. If you think she can't, then you need to work at helping her do that. There is already enough calamity and doom. We do not have a choice. We cannot lose sight of what is at stake here.
Kamala Harris/Whitmer and/or Shapiro and/or Buttigieg 2024.
The end.
#rionsanura#ask#politics for ts#jesus fucking christ#fucking hell#we don't live in a democracy any more either way#but we can still prevent trump#we cannot forget that#we cannot do anything else#kamala harris 2024#i guess this is how it goes now#fuck i'm going back to bed
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Astro observations 4
Lilith in Leo and Aries can have unconventional, rebellious hairstyles that stand out and perhaps aren’t considered what most say is beautiful but they do it for themselves e.g. a buzz cut, dying hair eccentric colours, having a flamboyant big hairstyle that others consider inappropriate to society
If you’re interested in being an actor, or ever wanted to know the roles you’d play best: look at the planets in your second house. They describe the kind of character you’d play well because 2H shows the skills and traits needed for us to make money. So if you were acting you’d get paid for showing the skills of the planets in your 2H in the role you’d get cast for. I’ve noticed actors who play roles that match their 2nd house planet become known, or most successful for it.
E.g Uranus 2H: Benedict Cumberbatch- Played as Sherlock holmes (role required themes of intellect, eccentricity, thinking outside of the box to be Sherlock) same with Dr Strange (very ironic because Uranus literally represents things that are weird).
Pluto 2H: playing as villains, morally questionable characters, surgeons, morticians, taxidermy artist, piercing artist, gang member, scaring people. Johnny depp has this placement and his most profitable roles were as Jack sparrow, Edward scissor hands, sweeny Todd, all to do with slicing using a sword scissors or a knife and immoral characters

I’ve noticed the fama asteroid doesn’t really depict the ‘good’ kind of fame, if you look into famous people’s charts, Fama tends aspect or to be in the house where they were in a scandal or something shameful.
E.g Kamala Harris has Pluto and Venus conjunct fama, she’s infamously accused of sleeping her way to power because her affair was made public
Ben Shapiro has his mercury conjunction fama, and I’m sure you know his views are not taken with the most respect. He gets harassed quite often for it.
Elon Musk has fama conjunct Uranus in 3rd house while he posts 4chan content and always is being called out for saying some ‘degenerate’ or ‘erratic’ opinion on Twitter.
Justin Bieber has Jupiter at 14 degrees conjunct the Fama asteroid in his 12th house—the house of hidden meanings and secrets. The degree, 14, aligns roughly with the age when he reportedly spent 48 hours with Diddy and was generously gifted a sportscar. He also got signed by Usher at 14 (Usher was Diddys mentee). Notably, this placement is in Scorpio, the sign associated with joint resources, power dynamics, and sex organs. Even now this remains a subject of gossip and speculation, with some suggesting that the generosity and “mentorship” (themes linked to Jupiter’s higher learning and expansion) from Diddy played a pivotal role in jumpstarting Bieber’s career, particularly in relation to the music industry’s power structures. Another thing to note is that he flew abroad from Canada to USA for this to happen to him which lead to him getting famous. (Jupiter represents foreign relations)
Fama is more of a humiliating but entertaining ‘tea’ placement. And not everyone wants to become a controversial kind of famous, some people may want to become famous for their talents and their contributions to the industry they work in. People who are famous and don’t have strong fama placements can actually have a good reputation with their fame. People won’t try to make fun of you or a spectacle of your life to mock you. This is why we can see very famous adored people like princess Diana have no fama aspects yet was in the limelight of it all. Whereas Camilla has Fama conjunct ascendant. Fama is more gossipy, the kind of stuff you don’t really want to be known for. Rumours that defame your character and make you look like a bad person.
If you want to see what nasty things people say about you behind your back, and what they gossip about, look at your fama asteroid.
I have noticed that Venus in the 8th house can result in them thinking someone is interested in them when they’re not. I’ve also seen that these natives really get hurt in love like there’s some unreciprocated dynamic in their relationships if they experience pain from them. It can be people trying to use them, like becoming friends with them so they can have access to a guy the native knows, you can have your partner “stolen” from you by others
Virgo Mars love to make their partners stressed or see them stressing out/ how they handle stressful situations. They will respect you a lot if you can take stress and high expectations, multi task them like it’s nothing, or taking in the toll but managing it with order and planning
Scorpio Mars/Mars in 10th/Mars ruled MC house have the scary smile. Your smile can be seen as rather menacing, uncanny. People like this that have this placement are Joseph Stalin, Joaquin Phoenix, Khloe Kardashian, Bruce Lee, Mark Zuckerberg, Usher, Charlie Sheen. I can’t describe it but it’s a smile that’s like “ILL KILL YOU 😁”, the eyes look haywire yet locked on target, the smile is exaggerated and almost too joyful, face distorted in excitement like it’s dying to start something, it makes sense since 10H can show bone structure and mars being here can add an edge to it.

Oh and don’t forget that Mark Zuckerberg smile meme (he also has Scorpio Mars), a lot of these natives are known for their menacing smile and presence. Also you guys are villainised yet kind of respected for it. I’ve seen it prevalent in the men. E.g Joaquin Phoenix’s joker smile, Charlie Sheen + Bruce Lee + Khloe Kardashian showing anti social behaviour and becoming respected for it. If you commit crimes people might like you more 💀

This made me think of the British musician Aphex twin, who has the creepiest smile. I looked at his chart and guess what? He has a Aries MC, midheaven ruled by Mars and look at that smile:

Mars in Cancer specifically in 1st house can hold a lot of resentment towards their mother, get into nasty arguments with her, name calling or blame their mother for how they look and find their appearance annoying. On a more positive note these natives can do everything in their power for their mothers. At best natives with this placement can be feminists, in support of women in power. At worst they can despise ‘pathetic’ women and end up treating their wives with the same level of hatred too. Or just degrade women because of their own insecurities
e.g. Lord Byron, a British poet who blamed his mother for his foot deformity and would often call her names and unleash his rage on his wife, cheating on her egregiously
Sun conjunct Uranus makes someone very good with innovation, numerical values, science and maths. Your big highlight in this life may be that you invent something not thought of before. E.g people with this placement: Ada Lovelace- the creator of the first algorithm, John Von Neumann- A scientific genius who pioneered the modern computer, game theory, nuclear deterrence. He was described as so smart he made his teacher cry from doing complex calculus in his head at the age of 6 💀.
Since 1H can show how you present yourself, it can tell you the clothing you wear in your daily outfits, which made me think of how each planet in the first house may dress.
Neptune 1H can wear fantasy clothing, cosplay, fancy dress, masquerade masks, covid masks, any mask, magical accessories like iridescent tights, tiaras
Saturn 1H can incorporate historical tradition clothing like a timeless TAILORED clothing, think top hats, timeless coats, Victorian style dresses, also can have corsets as Saturn shows restrictions. It reminds me of that 1800s kind of look
Moon 1H can wear soft comforting clothes like vintage slips, nightgowns, pyjamas and loungewear, babydoll dresses, chunky knit fleece/coat
Mercury 1H can wear smart uniforms, plaid skirts, blazers, graphic t-shirts with slogans or logos, suspenders, ties, glasses, just very witty and youthful
Pluto 1H can wear intimidating darker clothes like chokers, gothic clothes, long trench coats, hoodies, all black, latex, bodycon, face coverings
Jupiter 1H can wear cultural clothing like kimonos, sarees/lenghas, bohemian styles, togas/roman inspired clothing, or like embroidered tunics
Mars 1H can wear combat military clothing, like camouflage, leather, fingerless gloves, ski masks, harnesses, military jacket, those belts or garters that can hold weapons like knives and guns
Sun 1H can wear statement clothing, designer logo branded pieces, fluffy clothes like furr , jewellery, this one’s more varied because Sun is the expression of self so they can actually wear stuff based more on the sign
Venus 1H can wear standard beauty centered clothing like corsets, brooches, lace, satin, heels, off the shoulder tops, pointed loafers and ascots for men, impractical fabrics, they’re more likely to wear things that aren’t necessarily comfortable but they come at the price of beauty.
Uranus 1H can incorporate unique futuristic, punk, techwear, platform shoes , noticed men can look disheveled almost, unique pvc reflective metallic fabrics, can have tech in their clothes, asymmetrical clothing, shoes that don’t match, they can be known for their unique choices in clothing too. The kind that makes people stop and think “what am I looking at rn”
Planets conjunct your ascendant are basically the main contributor to the method you approach your life with. For an example an Aries ascendant conjunct 12H Mercury can have a “I CAN DO IT ALL” mindset to everything in their life while actually using their mind to whip up and improvise a plan quickly out of nowhere, whereas if mercury wasn’t conjunct - they may not be as quick witted for the situations that occur in their life or be as tactical, they’d be like action with little plan, a river with no path but trusting on its flow.
Neptune in 11H might make you difficult to find online, your stalkers are seething. Maybe you don’t post, can have hidden private accounts or your page can look really magical like a Pinterest board but it’s hard to get a lot out of you solely based on your digital footprint
Also another thing, Neptune is NOT your friend lol, Neptune is a deceiver. I find it so interesting because people see Neptune as pure but it distorts reality and blurs the lines but makes it really pretty. Reminds me of Glinda from Wicked or hextech from arcane. It can be difficult for even the native because they may not realise they can deceive others as much as they do it to themselves. Wherever Neptune is in your chart can show who you deceive. Or how you’re deceived 3H siblings, 4H lying to family or about where you come from etc. You can also be lied to about missing family members or the roots of where you came from. 7H could be your clients and romantic partners can lie to you about what they want, 12H people could lie about you behind your back but you can struggle to trace where it comes from, you can also be completely oblivious to your subconscious thoughts. 10h can easily make you the scapegoat at work.
Venus 6H and their consistency in their beauty routines e.g skincare is what many aspire to. They are constantly glowing up since 6H shows our daily routines and self improvement so having Venus here can make you look prettier day by day. It’s like that “oh you keep getting prettier than the last time I saw you..”
Uranus 6H can overcome an illness that nobody would have thought they would. This is because wherever Uranus is in the chart can show where you rebel and bounce back in a way that nobody expected. With it being in 6H which also rules your health, you can surprise others by your illnesses, if you are ill you can have a rare condition or you’re the kind of person who gets sick like all the time but recovers the next day
Virgo moons feel sooo much fulfilment in being the cause of someone else’s satisfaction, it made me think of the UK onlyfans model Lily Philips, she slept with 100 random men in 24 hours in a documentary, afterwards she cried and felt horrible and used and said that she was most upset about the fact that she couldn’t make them all finish. A very sad documentary. But it really highlighted the nature of Virgo moons NEEDing to serve, to please. They say Libra are the people pleasers but honestly I’d give that one to Virgo, except usually virgos pickier with who they decide to please.
Lily Philips also has Fama conjunct Neptune, she’s famous for the sexual fantasy she portrays and the false image she shows to others, she’s so different from how she acts when making her OF content. This also proves my earlier said point about fama being scandalous as well because Lily has SOOOO much hate and gossip due to her “deceiving” image that’s the influence of Neptune for you. Might analyse her chart later.
Having both Pluto and moon in the 1H can create a silent brooding type of attractive. Adrien Brody has this placement and really embodies an edgy but comforting gaze. He is tall, has emotional melancholic eyes from moons effect yet has high contrast, intense dark features. I think it’s a really interesting mix of traits to have in the first house

Chiron in Libra can make someone be rather insecure of their appearance, usually body and face or femininity. They feel like they’re not beautiful enough. Anya Taylor joy , Maisie Williams, Kylie Jenner, Dolly Parton, Freddie Mercury, have this placement and all have publicly known insecurities based on their appearance despite them being inspirational to others for getting the limelight and praise without looking like everyone else. They pick at themselves quite a lot.
I always raise my eyebrow when I see a Pluto conjunct Lilith/Uranus in a chart. That person can be very dark, they can bring about a side of humanity that most people don’t want to discuss yet are fascinated with. They are capable of some really…. scary things. Especially if all 3 asteroids and planets are conjunct to each other. Pluto is intense it’s dark, it’s controlling but when it’s conjunct Uranus it now has chaos, rebellion, Lilith also rebels but it’s unapologetic, it may make people scared and trigger primal fears because of how messy the person is, these people can be really explosive. They’re also really intimidating, i could imagine the group anonymous that leaked classified government documents having this kind of placement. They literally go into the guttural trenches of inhumanity and bring out its findings then present it to the naive public like a cat dragging a rodents scathed body to the owner expecting a reward. It can be impressive sometimes, you often think “how did you even come up with the idea to do this?”
#astrology#astro posts#astro notes#astro placements#astro community#astrology observations#astro observations#astroblr#astro#learning astrology#neptune 1st house#pluto in 1st house
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between the lines
“Oh no, we’ve broken up again,” Draco said, picking a Prophet off the top of a stack of papers outside King’s Cross station. On the cover: POTTER AND MALFOY HEADED FOR SPLIT? next to a picture of Draco giving Harry the two-fingered salute at the Quidditch World Cup. “It seems we were overheard getting into a, quote, ‘heated discussion,’ unquote, that has some people speculating that our relationship is, quote, ‘unlikely to make it to the cup finals,’ unquote.”
“You would think at this point they would realize all of our discussions are heated,” Harry said. “When we stop arguing, that’s when they need to be worried.”
Draco’s mouth pulled into a tight line, his I Disagree With You face, one of Harry’s most favorite Draco faces. “A break-up fight would put all of our other fights to shame. I’m starting with setting the ugly curtains in your study on fire.”
“I would let you. I would just apparate away and leave you to deal with the mess.”
“Apparate to where? Ron and Hermione’s?”
“No,” Harry said, even though yes, that’s where he had been thinking of apparating to in this scenario.
“You would apparate to Ron and Hermione’s and I would make enough of a racket outside of their house that Ron would send you outside to, quote, ‘deal with me,’ unquote, and then we would have a huge fight, in public, and The Prophet would run stories about it every day for at least a year.”
“I would stun you from the window the second you started to cause a scene. Then you would wake up in our house—or I guess it would be your house? Or my house? Who would get the house if we broke up?” Draco started to answer, but Harry waved him away. “It doesn’t matter. You would wake up in a house charmed to not let you leave for at least 48 hours. I’ll have taken your wand but made you a cup of tea. There’ll be a note on the table explaining that this is for your own good, since I know you would rather fight then process your emotions and I want you to have the chance to—”
“I’m immediately owling Rita Skeeter to do a tell-all,” Draco said. “The first insight into me and Harry Potter’s relationship? He likes to run away whenever there’s a hint of interpersonal conflict. If you want to keep him from doing something he regrets, you have to make him mad enough to actually confront the problem. That’s why I’m starting with setting the curtains on fire!”
Harry glared at him. “I hate how sweet that is.”
“You said you would make me a cup of tea!” Draco yelled.
The next day’s Prophet cover: CONFIRMED: POTTER AND MALFOY HEADED FOR SPLITSVILLE.
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for @drarrymicrofic prompt: slander | on ao3
#100 moths trying to write hamlet#draco malfoy#harry potter#drarry#drarry microfic#drarry squad#proud of myself for getting this done in what has been a chaotic week and really happy with how this turned out#i think i used too many italics here but you know what it's too late to go back and change it
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So when I look at Harry Potter, my goal is to separate what I think the books are intending to say, from what they actually say, from what the movies say… and what the common fan interpretation is. So today I’m interested in Dumbledore, and specifically in the common headcanon of Manipulative/Morally Gray Dumbledore. Is that (intentionally or unintentionally) supported by the text?
PART I: Omniscient Dumbledore
“I think he knows more or less everything that goes on here”
In Book 1, yes Dumbledore honestly does seem to know everything. He 100% arranged for Harry to find the Mirror of Erised, publicly left Hogwarts in order to nudge Quirrell into going after the Stone, and knew what Quirrell was doing the whole time. It is absolutely not a stretch, and kind of heavily implied, that the reason the Stone’s protections feel like a little-end-of-the-year exam designed to put Harry through his paces… is because they are. As the series goes on this interpretation only gets more plausible, when we see the kind of protections people can put up when they don’t want anyone getting through.
Book 1 Dumbledore knows everything… but what he’s actually going to do about it is anyone’s guess. One of the first things we learn is that some of Dumbledore’s calls can be… questionable. McGonagall questions his choice to leave Harry with the Dursleys, Hermione questions his choice to give Harry the Cloak and let him go after the Stone, Percy and Ron both matter-of-factly call him “mad.” The “nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak” speech is a joke where Dumbledore says he’s going to say a few words, then literally does say a few (weird) words. I know there are theories that those particular words are supposed to be insulting the four houses, or referencing the Hogwarts house stereotypes, or that they’re some kind of warning. But within the text, this is pure Lewis Carroll British Nonsense Verse stuff (and people came up with answers to the impossible Alice in Wonderland “why is a raven like a writing desk” riddle too.)
This characterization also explains a lot of Dumbledore’s decisions about how to run a school, locked in during Book 1. Presumably Binns, Peeves, Filch, Snape are all there because Dumbledore finds them funny, atmospheric, and/or character building. He's just kind of a weird guy. He absolutely knew that Lockhart was a fraud in Book 2 (with that whole “Impaled upon your own sword, Gilderoy?” thing after Lockhart oblivates himself. ) So maybe he is also there to be funny/atmospheric/character building, or to teach Harry a lesson about fame, or because Dumbledore is using the cursed position to bump off people he doesn’t like. Who knows.
(I actually don’t think JKR had locked in “the DADA position is literally cursed by Voldemort” until Book 6. )
Dumbledore absolutely knows that Harry is listening in when Lucius Malfoy comes to take Hagrid to Azkaban, and it’s fun to speculate that maybe he let himself get fired in Book 2 as part of a larger plan to boot Lucius off the Board of Governors. So far, that’s the sort of thing he’d do. But in Books 3 and 4, we are confronted with a number of important things that Dumbledore just missed. He doesn’t know any of the Marauders were animagi, he doesn’t know what really happened with the Potter’s Secret Keeper, doesn’t know Moody is Crouch, and doesn’t know the Marauders Map even exists. But in Books 5 and 6, his omniscience does seem to come back online. (In a flashback, Voldemort even comments that he is "omniscient as ever” when Dumbledore lists the specific Death Eaters he has in Hogsmeade as backup.) Dumbledore knows exactly what Draco and Voldemort are planning, and his word is taken as objective truth by the entire Order of the Phoenix - who apparently only tolerate Snape because Dumbledore vouches for him:
“Snape,” repeated McGonagall faintly, falling into the chair. “We all wondered . . . but he trusted . . . always . . . Snape . . . I can’t believe it. . . .” “Snape was a highly accomplished Occlumens,” said Lupin, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. “We always knew that.” “But Dumbledore swore he was on our side!” whispered Tonks. “I always thought Dumbledore must know something about Snape that we didn’t. . . .” “He always hinted that he had an ironclad reason for trusting Snape,” muttered Professor McGonagall (...) “Wouldn’t hear a word against him!”
McGonagall questions Dumbledore about the Dursleys, but not about Snape. I see this as part of the larger trend of basically Dumbledore’s deification. In the beginning of the series, he’s treated as a clever, weird dude. By the end, he’s treated like a god.
PART II: Chessmaster Dumbledore
“I prefer not to keep all my secrets in one basket.”
When Dumbledore solves problems, he likes to go very hands-off. He didn’t directly teach Harry about the Mirror of Erised - he gave him the Cloak, knew he would wander, and moved the Mirror so it would be in his path. He sends Snape to deal with Quirrell and Draco, rather than do it himself. He (or his portrait) tells Snape to confund Mundungus Fletcher and get him to suggest the Seven Potters strategy. He puts Mrs. Figg in place to watch Harry, then ups the protection in Book 5 - all without informing Harry. The situation with Slughorn is kind of a Dumbledore-manipulation master class - even the way he deliberately disappears into the bathroom so Harry will have enough solo time to charm Slughorn. Of course he only wants Slughorn under his roof in the first place to pick his brain about Voldemort… but again, instead of doing that himself, he gets Harry to do it for him.
Dumbledore has a moment during Harry’s hearing in Book 5 (which he fakes evidence for) where he informs Fudge that Harry is not under the Ministry’s jurisdiction while at Hogwarts. Which has insane implications. It’s never explicitly stated, but as the story goes on, it at least makes sense that Dumbledore is deliberately obscuring how powerful he is, and how much influence he really has, by getting other people to do things for him. But the problem with that is because he is so powerful, it become really easy for a reader to look back after they get more information and say… well if Dumbledore was controlling the situation… why couldn’t he have done XYZ. Here are two easy examples from Harry’s time spent with the Dursleys:
1. Mrs. Figg is watching over Harry from day one, but she can’t tell him she’s a squib and also she has to keep him miserable on purpose:
“Dumbledore’s orders. I was to keep an eye on you but not say anything, you were too young. I’m sorry I gave you such a miserable time, but the Dursleys would never have let you come if they’d thought you enjoyed it. It wasn’t easy, you know…”
It’s pretty intense to think of Dumbledore saying “oh yes, invite this little child over and keep him unhappy on purpose.” But okay. It’s important to keep Harry ignorant of the magical world and vice versa. fine. But once he goes to Hogwarts… that doesn’t apply anymore? I’m sure when Harry thinks he’s going to be imprisoned permanently in his bedroom during Book 2, it would’ve been comforting to know that Dumbledore was sending around someone to check on him. And when he literally runs away from home in Book 3… having the address of a trusted adult that he could easily get to would have been great for everybody.
2. When Vernon is about to actually kick Harry out during Book 5, Dumbledore sends a howler which intimidates Petunia into insisting that Harry has to stay. Vernon folds and does exactly what she says. If Dumbledore could intimidate Petunia into doing this, then why couldn’t he intimidate her into, say - giving Harry the second bedroom instead of a cupboard. Or fixing Harry’s glasses. In Book 1, the Dursleys don’t bother Harry during the entire month of August because Hagrid gives Dudley a pig’s tail. In the summer between third and fourth year, the Dursleys back off because Harry is in correspondence with Sirius (a person they fear.) But the Dursleys are afraid of all wizards. Like at this point it doesn’t seem that hard to intimidate them into acting decently to Harry.
PART III: Dumbledore and the Dursleys
“Not a pampered little prince”
JKR wanted two contradictory things. She wanted Dumbledore to be a fundamentally good guy: a wise, if eccentric mentor figure. But she also wanted Harry to have a comedically horrible childhood being locked in a cupboard, denied food, given broken glasses and ill fitting/embarrassing clothes, and generally made into a little Cinderella. Then, it’s a bigger contrast when he goes to Hogwarts and expulsion can be used as an easy threat. (Although the only person we ever see expelled is Hagrid, and that was for murder.)
So, there are a couple of tricks she uses to make it okay that Dumbledore left Harry at the Dursleys.’ The first is that once Harry leaves… nothing that happens there is given emotional weight. When he’s in the Wizarding World, he barely talks about Dursleys, barely thinks about them. They almost never come up in the narration (unless Harry’s worried about being expelled, or they’re sending him comedically awful presents.) They are completely cut from movies 4, 6, and 7 part 2 - and you do not notice.
The second trick… is that Dumbledore himself clearly doesn’t think that the Dursleys are that bad. During the King’s Cross vision-quest, he describes 11-year-old Harry as “alive and healthy (...) as normal a boy as I could have hoped under the circumstances. Thus far, my plan was working well.”
Now, this could have been really interesting. Like in a psychological way, I get it. Dumbledore had a rocky home life. Dad in prison, mom spending all her time taking care of his volatile and dangerous sister. Aberforth seems to have reacted to the situation by running completely wild, it’s implied that he never even had formal schooling… and Albus doubled down on being the Golden Child, making the family look good from the outside, and finding every means possible to escape. I would have believed it if Molly or Kingsley had a beat of being horrified by the way the Dursleys are treating Harry… but Dumbledore treats it as like, whatever. Business as usual.
But that isn’t the framing that the books use. Dumbledore is correct that the Dursleys aren’t that bad, and I think it’s because JKR fundamentally does not take the Dursleys seriously as threats. I also think she has a fairly deeply held belief that suffering creates goodness, so possibly Harry suffering at the hands of the Dursleys… was necessary? To make him good? Dumbledore himself has an arc of ‘long period of suffering = increased goodness.’ So does Severus Snape, Dudley‘s experience with the Dementor kickstarts his character growth, etc. It’s a trope she likes.
It’s only in The Cursed Child that the Dursleys are given any kind of weight when it comes to Harry’s psyche. This is one of the things that makes me say Jack Thorne wrote that play, because it’s just not consistent with how JKR likes to write the Dursleys. It’s consistent with the way fanfiction likes to write the Dursleys. And look, The Cursed Child is fascinatingly bad, I have so many problems with it, but it does seem to be doing like … a dark reinterpretation of Harry Potter? And it’s interested in saying something about cycles of abuse. I can absolutely see how the way the play handles things is flattering to JKR. It retroactively frames the Dursleys’ abuse in a more negative way, and maybe that’s something she wanted after criticism that the Harry Potter books treat physical abuse kind of lightly. (i.e. Harry at the hands of the Dursleys, and house-elves at the hands of everybody. Even Molly Weasley “wallops” Fred with a broomstick.)
PART IV: Dumbledore and Harry
“The whole Potter–Dumbledore relationship. It’s been called unhealthy, even sinister”
So whenever Harry feels betrayed by Dumbledore in the books - and he absolutely does, it’s some of JKR’s best writing - it’s not because he left him with the Dursleys. It’s because Dumbledore kept secrets from him, or lied to him, or didn’t confide in him on a personal level.
“Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don’t expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I’m doing, trust me even though I don’t trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!” (...) I don’t know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn’t love, the mess he’s left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me.”
Eventually though, Harry falls in line with the rest of the Order, and treats Dumbledore as an all-knowing God. And this decision comes so close to being critiqued… but the series never quite commits. Rufus Scrimgeour comments that, “Well, it is clear to me that [Dumbledore] has done a very good job on you” - implying that Harry is a product of a deliberate manipulation, and that the way Harry feels about Dumbledore is a direct result of how he's been controlling the situation (and Harry.) But Harry responds to “[You are] Dumbledore’s man through and through, aren’t you, Potter?” with “Yeah, I am. Glad we straightened that out,” and it’s treated as a badass, mic drop line.
Ron goes on to say that Harry maybe shouldn’t be trusting Dumbledore and maybe his plan isn’t that great… but then he abandons his friends, regrets what he did, and is only able to come back because Dumbledore knew he would react this way? So that whole thing only makes Dumbledore seem more powerful? Aberforth tells Harry (correctly) that Dumbledore is expecting too much of him and he’s not interested in making sure that he survives:
“How can you be sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good than in you? How can you be sure you aren’t dispensable (...) Why didn’t he say… ‘Take care of yourself, here’s how to survive’? (...) You’re seventeen, boy!”
But, Aberforth is treated as this Hamish Abernathy type who has given up, and needs Harry to ignite his spark again. There’s a pretty dark line in the script of Deathly Hallows Part 2:
Which at least shows this was a possible interpretation the creative team had in their heads… but then of course it isn’t actually in the movie.
So in the end, insane trust in Dumbledore is only ever treated as proper and good. Then in Cursed Child they start using “Dumbledore” as an oath instead of “Merlin” and it’s weird and I don’t like it.
PART V: Dumbledore and his Strays
“I have known, for some time now, that you are the better man.”
So Dumbledore has this weird relationship pattern. He has a handful of people he pulled out of the fire at some point and (as a result) these people are insanely loyal to him. They do his dirty work, and he completely controls them. This is an interesting pattern, because I think it helps explain why so many fans read Dumbledore’s relationship with Snape (and with Harry) as sinister.
Let’s start with the first of Dumbledore’s “strays.” Dumbledore saves Hagrid's livelihood and probably life after he is accused of opening the Chamber of Secrets - and then he uses Hagrid to disappear Harry after the Potters' death, gets him to transport the Philosopher’s Stone, and he’s the one who he trusts to be Harry’s first point of contact with the Wizarding World. Also, Hagrid's situation doesn’t change? Even after he is cleared of opening the Chamber of Secrets, he keeps using that pink flowered umbrella with his broken wand inside, a secret that he and Dumbledore seem to share. He could get a legal wand, he could continue his education. But he doesn’t seem to, and I don’t know why.
So, Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality is a well known fix-it fic that basically asks “What if Harry Potter was a machiavellian little super genius who solves the plot in a year?” I enjoyed it when it was coming out, but the only thing I would call a cheat is the way McGonagall brings Harry to Diagon Alley instead of Hagrid. Because a Harry Potter who has spent a couple of days with McGonagall is going to be much better informed, better equipped and therefore more powerful than a Harry spending the same amount of time with Hagrid. McGonagall is both a lot more knowledgeable and a lot less loyal to Dumbledore. She is loyal, obviously, but she also questions his choices in a way that Hagrid never does. And as a result, Dumbledore does not trust her with the same kind of delicate jobs he trusts to Hagrid.
Mrs. Figg is another one of Dumbledore’s strays. She’s a squib, so we can imagine that she doesn’t really have a lot of other options, and he sets her up to keep tabs on (and be unpleasant to) little Harry. He also has her lie to the entire Wizangamot, which has got to present some risk. Within this framework, Snape is another very clear stray. Dumbledore kept him out of Azkaban, and is the only reason that the Order trusts him. He gets sent on on dangerous double-agent missions… but before that he’s sort of kept on hand, even though he’s clearly miserable at Hogwarts. Firenze is definitely a stray - he can't go back to the centaurs, and who other than Dumbledore is going to hire him? And I do wonder about Trelawney. We don’t know much about her relationship with Dumbledore, but I wouldn’t be at all surprised if she was a stray as well.
I think there was an attempt to turn Lupin into a stray that didn’t… quite work. He is clearly grateful to Dumbledore for letting him attend Hogwarts and then for hiring him, but Lupin doesn’t really hit that necessary level of trustworthy that the others do. Most of what Dumbledore doesn’t know in Book 3 are things that Lupin could have told him, and didn’t. If had to think of a Watsonsian reason why Remus is given all these solo missions away from the other Order members (that never end up mattering…) it’s because I don’t think Dumbledore trusts him that much. Lupin doubts him too much.
“Dumbledore believed that?” said Lupin incredulously. “Dumbledore believed Snape was sorry James was dead? Snape hated James. . . .”
We also see Dumbledore start the process of making Draco into a stray by promising to protect him and his parents. And with all of that… it’s kind of easy to see how Harry fits the profile. He has a very bleak existence (which Dumbledore knows about.) He is pulled out of it by Dumbledore’s proxies. It’s not surprising that Harry develops a Hagrid-level loyalty, especially after Dumbledore saves him from Barty, from his Ministry hearing, and then from Voldemort. Harry walks to his death because Dumbledore told him too.
Just to be clear, I don’t think this pattern is deliberate. I think this is a side effect of JKR wanting to write Dumbledore as a nice guy, and specifically as a protector of the little guy. But Dumbledore doing that while also being so powerful creates a weird power dynamic, gives him a weird edit. It’s part of the reason people are happy to go one step farther and say that the Dursleys were mean to Harry… because Dumbledore actively wanted it that way. I don’t think that’s true. I think Dumbledore loves his strays and if anything, the text supports the idea that he is collecting good people, because protecting them and observing them serves some psychological function for him. Dumbledore does not believe himself to be an intrinsically good person, or trustworthy when it comes to power. So, of course someone like that would be fascinated by how powerless people operate in the world, and by people like Hagrid and Lupin and Harry, who seem so intrinsically good.
PART VI - Dumbledore and Grindelwald
“I was in love with you.”
I honestly see “17-year-old Dumbledore was enamored with Grindelwald” as a smokescreen distracting from the actual moral grayness of the guy. He wrote some edgy letters when he was a teenager, at least partly because he thought his neighbor was hot. He thought he could move Ariana, but couldn’t - which led to the chaotic three-way duel that killed her.
One thing I think J. K. Rowling does understand pretty well, and introduces into her books on purpose, is the concept of re-traumatization. Sirius in Book 5 is very obviously being re-traumatized by being in his childhood home and hearing the portrait of his mother screaming. It’s why he acts out, regresses, and does a number of unadvisable things. I think it’s also deliberate that Petunia’s unpleasant childhood is basically being re-created: her normal son next to her sister’s magical son. It's making her worse, or at the very least preventing her from getting better. We learn that Petunia has this sublimated interest in the magical world, and can even pull out vocab like “Azkaban” and “Dementor” when she needs to. She wrote Dumbledore asking to go to Hogwarts, and I could see that in a universe where Petunia didn’t have to literally raise Harry, she wouldn’t be as psychotically into normalness, cleanliness, and order as she is when we meet her in the books. After all, JKR doesn’t like to write evil mothers. She will be bend over backwards so her mothers are never really framed as bad.
And I honestly think it’s possible that J. K. Rowling was playing with the concept of re-traumatiziation when she was fleshing out Dumbledore in Book 7. We learn all this backstory, that… honestly isn’t super necessary? All I’m saying is that the three-way duel at the top of the Astronomy Tower lines up really well with the three-way duel that killed Ariana. Harry is Ariana, helpless in the middle. Draco is Aberforth, well intentioned and protective of his family - but kind of useless, and kind of a liability. Severus is Grindelwald, dark and brilliant, and one of the closest relationships Dumbledore has. If this was intentional, it was probably only for reasons of narrative symmetry… but I think it's cool in a Gus Fring of Breaking Bad sort of way, that Dumbledore (either consciously or unconsciously) has been trying to re-create this one horrible moment in his life where he felt entirely out of control. But the second time it plays out… he can give it what he sees as the correct outcome. Grindelwald kills him and everyone else lives. That is how you solve the puzzle.
If you read between the lines, Dumbledore/Grindelwald is a fascinating love story. I like the detail that after Ariana’s death, Dumbledore returns to Hogwarts because it’s a place to hide and because he doesn’t feel like he can be trusted with power. I like that he sits there, refusing promotions, refusing requests to be the new Minister of Magic, refusing to go deal with the growing Grindelwald threat until he absolutely can’t hide anymore, at which point he defeats him (somehow.) I like reading his elaborate plan to break Elder Wand’s power as both a screw-you to Grindelwald, the wand’s previous master, but also as a weirdly romantic gesture. In Albus Dumbledore’s mind, there is only Grindelwald. Voldemort can’t even begin to compare. I like the detail that Grindelwald won’t give up Dumbledore, even under torture. And, Dumbledore doesn’t put him in Azkaban. He put him in this other separate prison, which always makes it seem like he’s there under Dumbledore authority specifically. Maybe Dumbledore thinks that if he had died that day instead of Ariana…he wouldn’t have had to spend the rest of his life fighting and imprisoning the man he loves.
And then of course, Crimes of Grindelwald decided to take away Dumbledore's greatest weakness and say that no, actually he was a really good guy who never did anything wrong ever. He went all that time without fighting Grindelwald because they made a magical friendship no-fight bracelet. Dumbledore is randomly grabbing Lupin’s iconography (his fashion sense, his lesson plans, his job) in order to feel more soft and gentle than the person the books have created. Now Dumbledore knows about the Room Requirement, even though in the books it’s a plot point that he's too much of a goody-two-shoes to have ever found it himself. He loved Grindelwald (past tense.) And Secrets of Dumbledore is mostly about him being an omniscient mastermind so that a magical deer can tell him that he was a super good and worthy guy, and any doubt that he’s ever felt about himself is just objectively wrong and incorrect. Also now Aberforth has a neglected son, so he’s reframed as a bit of a hypocrite for getting on his brother’s case for not protecting Harry.
So to summarize, I think Dumbledore began the series as this very eccentric, unpredictable mentor, whose abilities took a hit in Books 3 and 4 in order to make the plot happen. He teetered on the edge of a ‘dark’ framing for like a second… but at the the end of the series he's written as basically infallible and godlike. I’ve heard people say that JKR’s increased fame was the reason she added the Rita Skeeter plot line, and I don’t think that’s true. But I do think her fame may have affected the way she wrote Dumbledore. Because Dumbledore is JKR’s comment on power, and by Book 5 she had so much power. In her head, I don’t think that Dumbledore is handing off jobs in a manipulative way. She sees him as empowering other less powerful people. That is his job as someone in power (because remember - people who desire power shouldn't wield it.)
Dumbledore’s power makes him emotionally disconnected from the people in his life, it makes him disliked and distrusted by the Ministry, but it doesn’t make him wrong. That’s important. Dumbledore is never wrong. Dumbledore is always good. That’s why we get the Blood Pact that means he was never weak or procrastinating. That’s why we get the qilin saying he was a good person. It’s why we get the tragic backstory (because giving Snape a tragic backstory worked wonders when it came to rehabilitating him.) And that is why Harry names his son Albus Severus in the epilogue, to make us readers absolutely crystal clear that these two are good men.
(art credit to @fafodill for the amazing banner.)
#hp#jkr critical#albus dumbldore#albus dumbledore meta#harry james potter#the dursleys#gellert grindelwald#albus x gellert#anti jkr#minerva mcgonagall#petunia dursley#severus snape#draco malfoy#close reading#hp fandom#literary analysis
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Meta: "DON'T CALL ME COWARD!" as Grief Response
"Kill me then," panted Harry, who felt no fear at all, only rage and contempt. "Kill me like you killed him, you coward —" "DON'T —" screamed Snape, and his face was suddenly demented, inhuman, as though he was in as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them — "CALL ME COWARD!" -HBP ch. 28
This scene is not, primarily, about Snape's dislike for being named a coward.
I'm not saying there's less going on than that very real and warranted dislike. Many excellent metas have been written about why Snape doesn't like being called a coward, and that does make sense; he has just performed a feat of moral courage, after all, and it has to hurt to have that attributed to cowardice. He has also just been provoked by Harry's trauma-triggering attempt to use Levicorpus — but, interestingly, that isn't what tips him over the edge into uppercase instability. Nor is it, I argue, the term "coward." McGonagall and Harry both call Snape a coward in their canonical last words to Snape, but Snape doesn't react this way to McGonagall. Nor did Snape absolutely lose it the first time Harry called him a coward in this scene. While there is a cumulative effect from the repeated insult, the extremeness of Snape's reaction gives one pause. The most obvious conclusion is that something else is going on. In this case, I argue, that "something" is Snape grieving.
Snape is not usually permitted to openly grieve, and this scene is no exception. He is a double agent; he cannot let it show that he misses "those whom he could not save." Therefore, we have to read between the lines, avoiding Snape's careful misdirection of his feelings into allowable ground (upset over an insult) and away from dangerous territory (grief over people he isn't supposed to care about).
The dialogue is also party to some misdirection. If you read only the dialogue in this scene and the preceding pages, you might assume that the "him" that Harry is talking about is Harry's father. This makes no sense, as Snape didn't kill James. The narration, on the other hand, explicitly sets up Harry in this scene to look exactly like Dumbledore before he died, making it clearer that both Harry and Snape are thinking of Dumbledore now, not James, despite Snape's attempts to keep the conversation on the (ironically) safer ground of James Potter. (Snape was the first one to bring up James in this interaction, and I think that's intentional.)
The narration is also pointing us to a bigger picture in its use of reporting and interrupting speech. Snape's paragraph splits what could have been a straightforward sentence ("DON'T CALL ME COWARD!") into two parts, with so much narration in between that we are invited to speculate on what Snape doesn't want Harry to do. The effect gives Snape a little pause, a breath, so that he probably says "DON'T — CALL ME COWARD!" That breath in the middle gives Snape a hairbreadth space to change his initial reaction to something appropriate to his cover. This is the closest we ever see Snape to blowing his cover, but (eminently capable as he is) he salvages it regardless, so thoroughly that many fans can't see past it either. I didn't, until recently.
But the narrative does. We'll see confirmed in The Prince's Tale in the next book that "DON'T" is Snape's automatic grief response; he cannot bear to hear his loved ones spoken of:
"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans's eyes, I am sure?" "DON'T!" bellowed Snape. "Gone... dead..."
In the HBP scene, Harry has just mentioned Dumbledore's death; Snape is being confronted by someone else about it for the first time. Furthermore, Snape knows at this point that Harry must die, and we know that being told that by Dumbledore agitated him deeply. So the parallels between Harry and Dumbledore here are even more heartbreaking for Snape. Snape is actually having to work towards Harry's death for the same reason he had to kill Dumbledore. In this scene, he has to watch Lily's son looking up at him with her eyes, looking up the way Dumbledore just did, and he has to hear that son yelling at him about how he must bury every last vestige of everyone he most loved, while that son simultaneously reminds him that the whole world, including Lily's closest representative, will hate him for it. No wonder he's reacting with "DON'T." I would too.
Even without knowing what "DON'T" means in Snape code, however, we have other narrative clues. Snape's face is described as:
demented
an unusual word, linked in the Harry Potter universe to the Dementors, who prey on despair. Being demented could just mean being deranged or unstable... or it could mean being the subject of a Dementor-like sadness so crushing it threatens to take your very soul.
inhuman
This adjective recalls a scene from OotP, another case of all-caps shouting, where Harry is torn up by grief for Sirius:
"Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human —" "THEN — I — DON'T — WANT — TO — BE — HUMAN!" Harry roared, and he seized one of the delicate silver instruments from the spindle-legged table beside him and flung it across the room. -OotP, ch. 37
Lastly, the HBP scene compares Snape's pain to that of Fang stuck in Hagrid's burning hut:
as much pain as the yelping, howling dog stuck in the burning house behind them
Dogs are symbolic of loyalty, and Snape really is in a similar situation, trapped in an utter catastrophe in which he is collateral damage for his loyalty (in his case, to Dumbledore). The next time Fang howls, at the end of this chapter, is in grief for Dumbledore's death, drawing the parallels still closer:
Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand, and his eyes burned with tears as behind him Fang began to howl.
Unlike Fang, Snape is not allowed to express his true feelings. Even Dumbledore, the person who understood him most, redirects him to act and not lament, and Dumbledore is dead. A metaphorical tie to a nonhuman character who is able to grieve later is as close as Snape gets. He cannot go to the funeral, just as he could not for Lily; he cannot talk to anyone; he will later be confronted with a horrifying specter of Dumbledore at Grimmauld Place. In light of all this, when Snape gives Harry the memory of himself crying over Lily's letter, it's not just him giving Harry back the correspondence. It's Snape reclaiming: I, too, grieve.
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For Worse or For Worse
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Harry's living room looked like it had been hit by a controlled explosion. Half-empty mugs of tea on every surface, notebooks with torn-out pages scattered across the floor, guitar picks in places guitar picks had no business being. He hadn't let the cleaning service in for weeks, preferring the solitude of his mess to the judgment of strangers.
When the doorbell rang, he ignored it, continuing to pluck absently at his guitar. The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.
Harry sighed. Only four three people had keys to their his house
Y/N, Jeff, his security head...and his mother.
"Harry Edward Styles!" Anne's sharp voice cut through the stillness, followed by the click of her heels on the marble entryway. "What on earth—"
She stopped short as she entered the living room, taking in the chaos and her son's disheveled appearance with equal measures of shock and dismay.
"Good God," she muttered, picking her way through the debris toward him. "It smells like a pub in here. When was the last time you showered?"
Harry didn't look up from his guitar. "Nice to see you too, Mother."
Anne wrinkled her nose, moving a pile of clothes from an armchair before perching on its edge, as if afraid to fully commit to sitting in the squalor.
"This has gone on quite long enough," she declared. "Jeff says you're refusing to approve the divorce announcement. The longer you wait, the more speculation builds. People are already commenting on how you haven't been seen together in weeks."
Harry's fingers stilled on the strings. "I'm not discussing this."
"You're acting like a child," Anne snapped. "This is exactly what we wanted, what you wanted. The girl is gone, the contract fulfilled early, and the money well spent considering how much good press you got out of playing house."
Harry's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the neck of his guitar. "Don't."
"Don't what? Don't remind you that this was a business arrangement from the start? Don't point out that you're moping around like a lovesick teenager over a marriage that was never real? You're being ridiculous, Harry. This was never meant to be permanent. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. A transaction that has served its purpose."
Harry's jaw clenched as he set the guitar aside with deliberate care, as if afraid he might otherwise throw it.
"Is that all relationships are to you? Transactions?"
"Don't be dramatic," Anne scoffed. "You knew exactly what this marriage was from the beginning. We discussed it at length."
Harry finally looked up, his eyes hard and cold. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Anne countered, her voice rising. "I've watched you throw away a month of your life over a gold-digging nobody who couldn't wait to sign divorce papers and cash her check!"
Something in Harry snapped at the dismissive way his mother spoke about Y/N, as if she were nothing more than a gold-digger who'd played her part and exited stage left.
"You don't know her," he said, voice rising. "You've never bothered to know her. She's not who you think she is."
"And you're not thinking clearly," Anne countered, her own voice hardening. "This... infatuation has clouded your judgment. She was never going to fit into your life, Harry. Into our world. It's time to face reality and move forward."
"Our world?" Harry laughed bitterly. "You mean your world, Mother. The one where everything and everyone has a price tag and a purpose. Where relationships are just another form of currency to be traded."
Anne's face flushed with anger.
"I have only ever wanted what's best for you—"
"No," Harry interrupted, stepping closer. "You've wanted what you think is best for me. What fits your vision of who I should be. But that's not who I am anymore."
"This is absurd," Anne declared, gathering her purse and preparing to leave. "I'll tell Jeff to proceed with the announcement. You'll thank me later when this embarrassing episode is behind you and you can find someone more... suitable."
Harry moved to block her path, his expression thunderous.
"You will do no such thing."
"Harry—"
"I'm not announcing the divorce because I don't want a divorce!" he shouted, the words echoing in the silent house. "I want my wife back!"
Anne looked genuinely shocked, her composure cracking for perhaps the first time in Harry's memory.
"Your wife? Harry, she was never really—"
"She is my wife," he insisted, his voice breaking slightly. “why didn't she call? Why didn't she tell me herself?" Harry paced the room, energy suddenly coursing through him after weeks of lethargy. "Why go through lawyers when she could have just picked up a phone?"
"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" Anne demanded, genuine confusion mingling with her frustration. "There are dozens of women who would be thrilled to—"
"Because I love her!" The words erupted from Harry with such force that Anne physically stepped back, her eyes widening. "I love her, Mother. Not the arrangement, not the convenience. Her. Y/N. The woman you've spent years trying to push out of my life."
A heavy silence fell between them, Harry's declaration hanging in the air like a physical presence. Anne stared at her son as if seeing him for the first time, or perhaps seeing something in him she'd been deliberately ignoring.
"My, my. You really did fall for her, didn't you? How disappointing."
The cold disdain in his mother's voice sent a chill through Harry. He'd heard that tone before, whenever anyone failed to meet Anne's exacting standards, whenever someone showed weakness or vulnerability.
"Get out," he said quietly.
Anne blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"
"I said get out," Harry repeated, his voice firmer now. "I'm not discussing this with you anymore."
Anne stood, smoothing her impeccable suit with practiced dignity. "You're being ridiculous. I came here to help you—"
"Help me?" Harry laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "When have you ever helped me with anything that didn't serve your own interests?"
Color rose in Anne's cheeks. "That's unfair and ungrateful. Everything I've ever done has been for your benefit."
"No," Harry shook his head. "Everything you've ever done has been to control me. To shape me into your idea of what I should be."
"And look where it got you!" Anne gestured around the luxurious house. "Fame, fortune, success. All because I pushed you to be better than you thought you could be."
"At what cost?" Harry asked softly. "I've spent my entire life trying to meet your impossible standards. Nothing I do is ever enough."
Anne's expression hardened. "Clearly not, if you're throwing it all away over some girl."
"She's not 'some girl'!" Harry's voice rose again. "She's my wife!"
"Ex-wife," Anne corrected coldly. "And thank God for that. Honestly, Harry. What is the matter with you? If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have sent the bloody lawyer in the first place."
The words hung in the air between them, the silence that followed almost deafening.
Harry went completely still, his eyes locked on his mother's face. "What did you just say?"
Anne's expression flickered, a momentary crack in her perfect composure as she realized her mistake.
"I—I meant that I wouldn't have let the lawyers proceed so quickly," she backtracked, but the damage was done.
Harry took a step toward her, his voice dangerously quiet. "You sent the lawyer? To Y/N? While she was visiting her mother?"
Anne lifted her chin defiantly. "You should be thanking me. I expedited things, saved you both from dragging it out unnecessarily."
"You told me she contacted our lawyers," Harry said slowly, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "You said she initiated the divorce."
"She signed the papers, didn't she?" Anne replied defensively. "She took the money. The end result is the same."
Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body vibrating with a rage so pure it was almost blinding.
"What exactly did you tell her?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.
Anne waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter—"
"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?" Harry roared, making his mother flinch.
After a moment of tense silence, Anne straightened her shoulders. "The truth. That you had signed the papers months ago. That you were ready to end the charade."
Harry stared at her in disbelief, the full horror of what she'd done washing over him in waves. "You lied. To her. To me."
"I protected you," Anne insisted. "That girl was changing you, making you soft, vulnerable. I've worked too hard to let you throw everything away over someone so...beneath you."
Harry laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "Beneath me? She's worth ten of you."
Anne's eyes widened at the insult. "How dare you speak to me that way. After everything I've done for you—"
"Get out," Harry cut her off, his voice trembling with the effort of controlling his rage. "Get out of my house right now, or I swear to God, Mother, I will say things that can never be taken back."
For a moment, it seemed Anne might argue, might try to justify her actions further. But something in Harry's expression, the cold fury, the absolute betrayal, made her reconsider.
"You'll thank me someday," she said stiffly, gathering her purse. "When you've come to your senses."
Harry didn't respond, didn't move, didn't even breathe until he heard the front door close behind her. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he collapsed onto the couch, the reality of his mother's deception crushing down on him.
Y/N hadn't initiated the divorce. She hadn't contacted their lawyers. She hadn't chosen to end things without a word.
His mother had orchestrated the entire thing, playing them both like pawns in her twisted game.
She set in motion the destruction of the one real thing in his carefully constructed life.
Which meant...everything Y/N must think of him now. That he'd sent a lawyer while she was away. That he'd had divorce papers ready for months. That their last night together had been nothing but a lie.
"Fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. "FUCK!"
Grumps, intruiged by the outburst, came padding in from the kitchen, whining softly as he sensed Harry’s distress.
Harry looked up, a new determination replacing the hollow despair of the past month. He needed to fix this, needed to find Y/N, explain what had happened, beg her forgiveness if necessary.
He grabbed his phone, dialing Jeff's number with shaking fingers.
"Harry? About that statement—"
" I need a private jet. Now!" Harry interrupted, already moving toward the bedroom to pack a bag.
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The small coastal town hadn't changed much since Harry's childhood summers—the same weathered storefronts, the same salt-tinged air, the same quality of light that somehow made everything look like an old photograph. What he hadn't expected was how vividly the memories would return: chasing Y/N down the beach, stealing apples from old man Miller's orchard, hiding from their respective families to spend just a few more minutes together.
He'd forgotten so much of it, buried it beneath years of his mother's conditioning, beneath the carefully constructed persona he presented to the world. But driving through these streets, it all came flooding back with painful clarity.
Harry parked his rental car a block away from the address he surprisingly still had memorized by heart. His hands were sweaty on the steering wheel, his heart hammering against his ribs.
Grumps yowled from his carrier in the passenger seat, clearly unhappy about being confined after the long flight.
"I know, mate," Harry murmured, reaching over to scratch the cat’s head through the carrier door. "We'll be out of here soon. One way or another."
Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out of the car, retrieved Grumps' carrier, and walked the short distance to a modest one-story house with peeling blue paint and a surprisingly well-tended garden. The kind of place that wasn't much to look at but radiated a certain warmth nonetheless.
He hesitated at the front gate, suddenly unsure. What if she refused to see him? What if she didn't believe him? What if his mother's manipulation had damaged things beyond repair?
Grumps let out an impatient mrrow, his tail flicking against the carrier walls, making the decision for him.
Harry walked up the short path to the front door, set down the carrier, and before he could lose his nerve, knocked firmly.
Footsteps approached from inside, and then the door swung open.
Y/N stood there, wearing faded jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked tired, thinner than he remembered, with shadows under her eyes that matched his own.
She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them charged with a month's worth of hurt and confusion and longing.
Harry cleared his throat. "Y/N, I—"
The door slammed in his face with such force that he actually took a step back, blinking in shock.
"I don't want to fucking see you," came her voice from the other side, tight with anger. "Go away!"
Harry pressed his palm against the door, leaning closer. "Y/N, please. Just give me five minutes. I need to explain—"
"Explain what?" she shouted back. "How you had divorce papers ready for months? How you couldn't even face me yourself, so you sent a lawyer while I was helping my sick mother? How everything you said was a lie?"
Her voice cracked on the last word, and the sound pierced Harry's heart like a physical pain.
"That's exactly what I need to explain," he said urgently. "None of that was me. I didn't know about any of it. My mother—"
The door flew open again, Y/N's eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, don't you DARE blame this on your mother. Take some fucking responsibility for once in your privileged life, Harry Styles!"
Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I'm not trying to—look, can I please just come in? Five minutes, and if you still want me to leave after that, I will. I swear."
Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set stubbornly. "Say whatever you need to say right here."
Harry glanced around uncomfortably. A neighbor across the street was watching with undisguised interest, and Grumps had started whining again in his carrier, his displeasure loud and clear.
"Fine," he conceded, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't send those divorce papers. I didn't even know they existed until a month ago when my mother called to tell me you'd signed them."
Y/N's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"My mother told me that you'd contacted our lawyers, that you'd asked for the divorce papers, that you'd taken the money and didn't want anything more to do with me," Harry explained, the words tumbling out in his desperation to make her understand. "I've been going out of my mind for a month thinking you'd just...walked away without a word."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Y/N's face, but she quickly masked it with renewed anger. "That's convenient. Blame everything on your mother."
"I'm not making this up," Harry insisted, his own frustration rising. "She admitted it herself.. Slipped up and said she sent the lawyer. She lied to both of us, Y/N. She manipulated this whole situation."
Y/N's posture remained defensive, but doubt was creeping into her expression. "Even if that were true, which I'm not saying it is, those papers still had your signature on them. You signed them."
Harry ran a hand over his face, momentarily at a loss. "I sign a lot of papers, Y/N. Jeff brings me stacks of documents, contracts, releases, God knows what else. I must have signed them without realizing what they were."
Y/N let out a bitter laugh. "You expect me to believe you signed divorce papers by accident?"
"I don't know!" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "Maybe they were buried in something else, maybe they were mislabeled, maybe my mother forged my signature, I wouldn't put it past her at this point. All I know is I did not knowingly sign papers to divorce you, and I sure as hell didn't send a lawyer to ambush you while you were away."
A tense silence fell between them. Y/N studied his face, searching for deception, while Harry held his breath, silently pleading with her to believe him.
Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter but no less hard. "Why should I believe anything you say? Our entire relationship started with a lie."
The words stung, but Harry couldn't deny their truth. "You're right. It did. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being a lie for me. I think it stopped for you too."
Y/N's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It doesn't matter what I felt. You made it very clear from the beginning that this was temporary. That I was temporary."
"I was wrong," Harry said simply. "I was so bloody wrong, Y/N. About you, about us, about everything." He took a step closer, encouraged when she didn't back away. "The night before you left, what we shared. That was real. You know it was."
A tear slipped down Y/N's cheek, which she angrily wiped away. "Your lawyer showed up with papers that said otherwise. Do you have any idea how that felt? To be sitting with my sick mother one minute, and the next to be handed divorce papers with your signature already on them? To be told that you'd prepared them months ago, just waiting for the right moment?"
Harry felt sick imagining the scene. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"
"But you didn't know," Y/N cut him off. "Because you weren't paying attention. Because I wasn't important enough for you to notice divorce papers with my name on them!"
Her voice had risen again, drawing the attention of another neighbor who was retrieving mail from a nearby mailbox.
Grumps chose that moment to let out a loud, offended yowl, clearly distressed by the raised voices.
Y/N glanced down at the carrier, her expression softening slightly at the sight of the one eyed cat she missed dearly. "You brought Grumps?"
Harry nodded, seizing the opportunity. "He's been miserable without you. We both have."
She hesitated for a long moment, then stepped back from the doorway with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Come in before you cause more of a scene. But this changes nothing."
Relief washed over Harry as he picked up the carrier and followed Y/N into the small, cozy living room. Family photos lined the walls, and well-worn furniture suggested comfort rather than style. It was nothing like his sleek, modern mansion, but it felt more like a home than any place he'd lived in years.
He set Grumps’ carrier down and opened the door. The cat slinked out cautiously, tail flicking as he surveyed the room before finally sauntering over to Y/N. After a moment’s consideration, he rubbed against her legs, purring loudly.
Despite herself, Y/N crouched down to pet him, a small smile playing at her lips as Grumps butted his head against her hand in approval
"At least someone is genuinely happy to see me," she murmured.
Harry watched them, his heart aching with longing. "He's not the only one."
Y/N straightened, her expression hardening again as she faced him. "Say what you came to say, Harry. Five minutes, remember?"
Harry took a deep breath. This was it. His one chance to make things right.
"I love you," he said simply.
Y/N blinked, clearly not expecting those words. "What?"
"I love you," Harry repeated, more firmly this time. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. Probably have been since that night you called me out on my bullshit at the charity gala. Maybe even years ago on that log. But definitely since Christmas. I was just too stubborn and scared to admit it to myself."
Y/N shook her head, taking a step back. "Don't. Don't say things you don't mean just to—"
"I mean it," Harry interrupted, closing the distance between them. "I've spent the last month in hell thinking you'd left me. Ask Jeff, ask anyone. I've been a complete wreck. I couldn't write, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but think about you and wonder where it all went wrong."
Y/N's lower lip trembled, but she held her ground. "Your mother—"
"Is no longer a part of my life," Harry finished for her. "Not after what she did. I told her to get out of my house yesterday, and I meant it. I'm done letting her control me, done living by her twisted values."
Something shifted in Y/N's eyes, a spark of hope quickly suppressed. "You cut off your mother? I don't believe you."
"Believe it," Harry said firmly. "She crossed a line she can never uncross. She hurt you, hurt us, and I will never forgive her for that."
Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, as if physically holding herself together. "Even if everything you're saying is true, even if this was all some elaborate manipulation by your mother, it doesn't change the fact that our marriage was built on a lie. A business arrangement, remember?"
"Then let's start over," Harry suggested, desperation edging into his voice. "Let's tear up those divorce papers and build something real this time. No contracts, no arrangements, no pretending. Just you and me, figuring it out together."
Y/N let out a shaky breath, the conflict clear on her face. "It's not that simple, Harry. You hurt me. Whether you meant to or not, whether your mother orchestrated it or not, I was hurt. I still am."
"I know," he said softly. "And I'll spend every day making it up to you, if you'll let me. Just...don't give up on us. Not yet. Not without giving us a real chance."
He reached for her hand tentatively. After a moment's hesitation, she allowed the contact, though her fingers remained stiff in his.
"I don't know if I can trust you again," she admitted, her voice small.
"Then let me earn your trust back," Harry pleaded. "Day by day, for as long as it takes."
Y/N looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. "And what happens when you get bored of playing house with the small-town nobody? When your mother's voice starts creeping back into your head?"
The question was like a knife to his heart, all the more painful because he understood why she'd ask it.
"First of all," he said firmly, "you have never been, and will never be, a 'nobody.' You're the strongest, most compassionate, most genuine person I've ever known. And secondly..." He took a breath, considering his next words carefully. "I can't promise I'll never make mistakes, or that my life won't complicate things, or that it will always be easy."
He squeezed her hand gently. "But I can promise that I will choose you. Every day, in every way that matters, I will choose you over anyone and anything else. Because I love you, Y/N. Not the idea of you, not what you represent, but you. Stubborn, challenging, beautiful you."
Tears filled Y/N's eyes, but she didn't pull her hand away. "I want to believe you," she whispered.
"Then believe me," Harry urged, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Or if you can't believe me yet, at least give me the chance to prove it to you."
A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of Grumps sniffing curiously around the unfamiliar room, his tail flicking with wary interest.
Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm still angry."
Harry nodded, hope flaring in his chest. "You have every right to be."
"And hurt."
"I know."
"And I'm not just going to fall back into your arms like nothing happened."
Harry's lips quirked in a small, sad smile. "I wouldn't expect you to."
Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath. "But I do...I do love you too. God help me."
The admission, quiet and reluctant as it was, sent a wave of pure joy through Harry. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms right then and there.
Instead, he asked softly, "So where do we go from here?"
Y/N looked around the small living room, her expression thoughtful. "My mother's physical therapy is almost finished. She's doing much better now."
Harry nodded, not quite seeing the connection. "That's good."
"I was thinking of going back to school," Y/N continued. "Maybe finish my degree."
Harry felt his heart sink. Was this her way of saying goodbye gently? "That sounds like a great plan," he managed.
Y/N met his eyes directly. "There are good universities in London."
It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. When it did, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "The best," he agreed.
Y/N's expression remained serious, though a hint of softness had crept in. "If, and this is a big if, I were to come back with you, we'd need to take things slow. Rebuild. No more lies, no more secrets, no more letting other people dictate our relationship."
Harry nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Whatever you need."
"And I'd want my own space," she added. "Maybe the guest house on your property, so I'd be close but still independent."
Harry would have agreed to anything at this point. "Done. I'll have it redecorated however you want."
A small smile finally tugged at the corner of Y/N's mouth. "And you'd have to actually court me properly this time. Dates. Flowers. The whole thing."
Harry's heart soared at the sight of that smile, small as it was. "I'll court you so thoroughly you'll get sick of it," he promised.
Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile grew slightly. "I'm serious, Harry. This isn't going to be easy. We have a lot to work through."
"I know," he said, sobering. "But nothing worth having ever is, right?"
Y/N considered him for a long moment, then slowly, tentatively, stepped forward and rested her forehead against his chest. Harry held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as she stood there, not quite embracing him but not pushing him away either.
"I'm still mad at you," she murmured against his shirt.
Harry cautiously brought his hands up to rest lightly on her shoulders. "I know."
"And I haven't forgiven you yet."
"I know that too."
She looked up at him, her eyes still guarded but with a gleam of something that looked dangerously like hope. "But I'm willing to try. To see if we can build something real this time."
Harry felt like his heart might burst. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to hold her properly, to show her exactly how much her words meant to him. But he knew it wasn't time for that yet. They had a long road ahead, and pushing too hard, too fast would only damage the fragile trust they were beginning to rebuild.
Instead, he simply smiled, a real smile, one that reached his eyes for the first time in a month, and said softly, "That's all I'm asking for. A chance."
Grumps chose that moment to return to them, sitting at their feet and looking up expectantly, as if to say, "Well? Have you two finally sorted yourselves out yet?"
Y/N laughed, a small, watery sound, but genuine, and the tension in the room eased slightly.
"I think someone approves of our plan," Harry observed, glancing down at the cat.
Y/N nodded, taking a small step back from Harry but not completely away. "He always was the smartest one in this relationship."
Harry grinned, relief and hope and love all mingling together in a heady cocktail of emotion. "Can't argue with that."
Outside, the sun was setting over the small coastal town, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Inside, two people who had been brought together by a lie were taking their first tentative steps toward a truth neither of them had expected to find: that sometimes, the heart knows what it wants long before the head is willing to admit it.
· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·
A/N: As an apology i decided to post this right away. Epilogue :)?
Taglist: @mysunflowerposts @lydiasfalling @panini @ell0ra-br3kk3r @donutsandpalmtrees @sunshinemoonsposts @angeldavis777 @fangirl509east @maudie-duan @indierockgirrl @harryssunflower17 @lizsogolden @daphnesutton @spinninc @behindmygreyeyes @wheredidmyeyesgo @matildasatellite @drewrry @inlikea-coolway @jerseygirlinca
#fwfw#ghstyles#harry styles x reader#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles x y/n#harry styles imagine#one direction#harry styles writing#harry styles angst
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I think the main reason The Magnus Archives got the attention it did, in contrast to other, better, horror podcasts was 1. because there's two gay men in the core cast, and 2. something I've taken to calling the Sorting Hat Effect.
If a piece of young adult fiction has different categories the characters fall into, typically without their knowledge, consent, or involvement in the matter, people will go crazy with making sonas and OCs about it. Look at Percy Jackson, with the kids all having different godly parents and that designating what cabin they live in, and what powers if any they have. Look at Divergent with the different groups decided by some arbitrary and arcane test, I don't remember what they're called because it's been over a decade since I read it and I didn't like Divergent, next example. Look at Harry Potter with the Hogwarts Houses, chosen by magic hat and indicative of the character's soul or some shit.
All of these things are basically the fast track to characterization. They act as base templates for fans to build characters off of, and they're things that people can easily speculate on about themselves. If someone likes the piece of media they may even start to identify with the category. How many times have you seen someone with their hogwarts house proudly displayed?
The Magnus Archives uses this phenomenon extremely well. Smirke's 14 are teased out from from Season 1 but it isn't until episode 111 that all of them, their names, and their rituals, are explicitly told to the viewer. That's near the end of season 3, and shortly before the fandom began to really explode (from what I've gathered). The interesting thing about the world of TMA is that each character can belong to an entity among Smirke's 14, and simultaneously be haunted by one or more other entities.
When compared side by side with other horror podcasts, The Magnus Archives's horror is mid, its writing is mid, its characters are mid, its queerness is mid, and it owes its success to a writing device that suckles growing fandoms better than anything else I've ever seen. In short, 7.5/10, a decent gateway drug to better things.
Go listen to The Silt Verses, The White Vault, Hello From The Hallowoods, Archive 81, and Wolf 359. They're better.
(Oh and for the record I haven't listened to The Magnus Protocol yet)
#the magnus archives#horror podcast#the silt verses#the white vault#hello from the hallowoods#archive 81#wolf 359#revving the engine
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Special Victim- Part 3
Thank you all so much for the lovely feedback on this Elliot Stabler series, I hope you will all like this next part.
Please let me know what you think.
Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17
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Main Masterlist
Part 2
Summary: While Elliot is at work over the weekend, (Y/n) takes the kids out for a while. But things take a turn for the worst when their youngest girl goes missing.
Enjoy.
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"You should try and drink something."
(Y/n) lifted her head when a can of pop was held out in front of her and she looked over to see Olivia stood in front of her.
She had her hips pressed back into the desk with one leg crossed over the other and an arm braced across her chest. But there was a calming smile on Olivia's face that did something to ease the tension overpowering (Y/n)'s system. That smile stopped her chest from quaking so much and eased one of the thousands of nerves knotted up in her stomach.
(Y/n) didn't want to take the drink, but she didn't want to be rude either and decline it. She wasn't thirsty. She wasn't hungry or peckish or tired; she was blank.
Having a drink was the last thing on (Y/n)'s mind, despite not having anything since before she left the house with the kids this morning. She wasn't sure she could stomach anything, her body was in so many knots that (Y/n) thought trying to digest something would just make her sick. But she didn't know how much longer her mind and body could continue if she didn't have anything, and clearly, Olivia thought the same.
She tried to nod her head in thanks and took the drink which she placed down on the desk. Maybe if she stared at it for long enough, she would guilt-trip herself into having some and try to make herself feel a bit better.
"Do you think Rosie's had anything yet?"
Olivia could feel her chest tightening like she was being forced into a corset with the strings being pulled an inch tighter every second. She hated how congested and wrought her system felt because she knew she didn't have the right answers and speculating might not help the situation.
Her nails dug into her upper arm through her jacket as she looked across at (Y/n) who was slumped in Elliot's desk chair at the moment.
(Y/n) looked drained. Her eyes were bleak and clearly finding it hard to focus. She was constantly rubbing and picking at her lower lip that had bled more than once this afternoon and she was biting through each of her nails in turn. Sitting there slouched down with her feet vibrating and tapping against the floor, (Y/n) almost looked like she needed to be in a hospital.
Whereas they both knew that Elliot looked the exact opposite right now. He had found some energy reserves from somewhere and was bouncing off the walls, moving from one desk to the next, to the board in the middle of the room and grabbing the phones when they thought it might be a credible tip coming in. His sleeves were scrunched up past his elbows, hands constantly grabbing his hips or scratching the back of his neck and his eyes were manic, constantly scouring around the room.
Elliot couldn't sit still or stay in one place whereas (Y/n) was finding it hard to keep breathing, let alone move around the precinct.
She tilted her head back so she could look over at Olivia, trying to gage her expression to see whether she thought Rosie had good odds or not.
Had this lady given Rosie a drink since she snatched her? Had she given her a snack or fed her? Was she currently hurting her to try and take her away and keep her quiet? Or had she already done something monstrous to the little girl?
Was Rosie currently being dumped somewhere that would take them hours to find her?
Maybe she wasn't even alive anymore.
"It's hard to say. Some people feed them and treat them like their own kids, we don't know why this lady took Rosie. She might be some kind of grieving mother."
That was what they were hoping for. They were praying that this woman was some kind of mother or at least had those maternal instincts, that she thought Rosie was a sweet little girl or resembled a daughter or sister this woman might have had once. They wanted this woman to treat Rosie like her own child because then, maybe, Rosie wouldn't get hurt.
This woman could have taken Rosie home and given her food and drink, she could have tried to take her for a drive or to the park or be reading her a story right now.
They had no idea what was happening or why she had taken Rosie, and without knowing who this woman was, they had no insight as to why she took Rosie or if she was liable to hurt her or not.
They were left completely in the dark, searching for answers they needed sooner rather than later.
Angling her head to one side, (Y/n) brought her hand up to run across her feverish temple that was throbbing like she was being constantly thwarted with a hammer.
"Do these perps usually hurt the kids they take?" (Y/n) wanted to know. She knew thatt Olivia and the rest of the team didn't want to tell her.
She knew they never liked to discuss these things with parents of victims because it would either give them false hope or a sense of dread and trepadition. But (Y/n) was different. She was married to Elliot, she knew how this job got to people and what he saw and the kind of people he dealt with. She knew more than an average parent and she wanted to know if she had to prepare herself for Rosie being injured or potentially harmed.
Olivia sighed and rung her hands together in her lap before she answered. "Usually, the women perps are less likely to harm kids in this situation unless they feel threatened or its for revenge. But you don't know this woman, that's a good sign."
Olivia wasn't saying that women never killed, because that just wasn't true, but if it had been a man who had taken Rosie then everyone would have been on red alert. Usually in these cases, the women took the child because of their own trauma and they were trying to fill that void. And she was more likely to hurt Rosie if it was for revenge, which was unlikely as neither Elliot nor (Y/n) knew this woman.
"Tell me why you think she took her. Honestly."
Having everyone tiptoe around her was getting tiresome. (Y/n) wanted an honest opinion and evaluation. She wanted Olivia to talk to her and tell her what she thought, rather than what (Y/n) wanted to hear. Elliot wouldn't tell her because he had seen what could happen, and he didn't want to think about one of his children ending up in that kind of outcome. But (Y/n) wanted to know her chances.
She wasn't sure whether it was a good thing or not when Olivia leant forward to take her hand, and she found herself trembling all over again.
"To me, I think she wants or misses a child, and Rosie was an opportunity. And once we find out who she is, we can work out what she's trying to do."
(Y/n) found herself nodding along, and she tried to force herself to smile as she squeeze Olivia's hand. And she forced herself to sit up straight in a vain attempt to liven herself up. (Y/n) wanted to do something to help, whether that was talking to an officer again or helping with the tip lines or just going out on the streets to look for Rosie. But sitting here doing nothing was draining (Y/n) more than anything else would.
But her hand suddenly clenched around Olivia's to the point she was cutting off circulation to her fingers and her tired eyes went round with what Olivia guessed was panic when she looked towards the precinct doors ahead of them.
Olivia quickly spun to look over her shoulder and she felt shivers scratching down her back when she saw who walked in.
Kathy. She looked somewhat out of place and unsettled, with her hand tightly clenched around the bag on her shoulder and her eyes constantly scanning from left to right.
"Kathy…" Olivia wasn't sure why she was so shocked that Kathy would be here. One of the kids had probably called her to let her know what was happening, and of course she wouldn't want the kids to think they had to stay here at the station if they didn't want to.
But all four of them had begged to come back to the station, they wanted to be here in case any new developments happened or in case they could somehow help with the search for their baby sister.
Olivia pushed up from where she was resting against the desk, but Kathy was already advancing towards them both.
(Y/n) could feel her anxiety multiplying when she set her sights on Kathy. Being around her had never been comfortable or easy, especially in the beginning when Kathy kept saying and sometimes referring to (Y/n) as her 'replacement'.
And when she had been pregnant with Rosie, seeing Kathy had never been a walk in the park. It took Elliot quite a few tries of talking to his ex for her to finally come to terms with the fact that he was happy with someone else, and with the kids accepting (Y/n) as part of their family, Kathy didn't really have a choice.
They were ammicable and civil whenever they dropped or picked the kids up and when they had to see one another for family occasions. But right now, (Y/n) didn't know what to do or what to say.
Was Kathy going to be upset? Would she turn this against (Y/n) and say that she was clearly a bad mother? Would she imply that any of her kids could have been snatched today and therefore weren't safe when they were out with (Y/n)?
All sorts of worries and dramatic arguments flooded (Y/n)'s mind until she was dizzy and close to slouching back in her chair again. But she wasn't expecting the words that came out of Kathy's mouth.
"Are you alright?"
She looked so concerned, so worried and frightened as she came to stand near Elliot's desk.
Her dark bluey-grey eyes were narrowed in on (Y/n), but they weren't full of malice or annoyance like (Y/n) expected. Her eyes were drowning in concern. She kept rolling her lips and biting them like she was physically holding back a mountain of words she wanted to express. And somehow, she looked ready to hug (Y/n) if the occasion called for it.
There weren't the right words for (Y/n) to answer that. Her baby was out there somewhere with a stranger that may or may not resort to hurting her. They didn't seem any closer to finding Rosie or even finding the name of the woman that had taken her. (Y/n) wasn't alright, but she wasn't falling to pieces yet; she was somehow holding her fragile self together.
So she settled for trying to nod and give some kind of acknowledgement so Kathy knew she wasn't being ignorant or unkind.
"Kathleen rang me, and I- I saw the news. Do you know anything yet?"
"A woman walked out the shopping centre with her, we're trying to use store cameras to pinpoint where they were heading."
Kathy nodded at Olivia, but she didn't seem sure whether to accept that as relieving or worrying.
"The girls are upstairs, and Dickie's helping Elliot on the phonelines." Olivia motioned towards the corner of the room near Munch's desk where Elliot was hovering, one phone pressed to his ear and a pencil tapping madly against his hip. And he had Dickie sat in front of him, trying to listen in on each tip that was coming through the phone lines.
All while Dickie had Rosie's shoe on the desk in front of him, almost as if he was using it as a mascott or a momento to keep himself going and prevent a breakdown. Or like he was reminding everyone at the table why they were all here, doing this.
Elliot briefly glanced to the left when he heard his name, but the shock was clearly written across his features where his jaw hung down when he realised his ex was here.
He hadn't called her, but then again, one of his kids must have. It seemed appropriate. Despite the kids wanting to be here at the station, if they didn't find Rosie soon they couldn't keep all four kids here. This wasn't the right place for them to wait for news, especially if the news they received was bad. They would have to go home at some point, and Elliot and (Y/n) couldn't go back home until they found Rosie. No matter where she was or what condition she was in.
The phone in Elliot's hand was tossed back down on the receiver and he clamped his hand down on his son's shoulder, briefly motioning in the other direction to show him who had turned up.
The pair of them headed towards Elliot's desk and once they got there, Dickie hopped up to sit on the edge of the desk. His hands clamped down on the sharp edge that cut into his palms and gave him a blistering feeling which kept him concentrated and prevented him from giving in to the panic that made him want to burst into another fit of tears.
He looked between all three parents, trying to gage their reactions, but this was one of the few times where none of them seemed annoyed or uncomfortable around each other. They were on the same page.
Elliot's hands found (Y/n)'s shoulders as he stood behind her and he bent down to peck the top of her head before he looked across at his ex. Kathy was trying her best to smile and put on a brave face, and she briefly glanced towards their son before looking back at the couple.
"I can take the kids home, I know they're supposed to stay the weekend with you, but you both need to be here-"
"I wanna stay, I- I wanna find Rosie." Panic rose in Dickie's voice as he glanced to Olivia stood beside him as if silently begging for her to agree and chip in on his side. He didn't want to go home. What good would that do?
Whether they were here or at home, they would all be frantic and panicking about Rosie. They might as well stay here where they would be the first to hear new information and stay updated on the situation as it evolved.
A silent look passed between them all while (Y/n) looked down and waved her hand. This wasn't her decision, it was between Elliot and Kathy whether the kids stayed or left.
It was Elliot who relented, mostly because he knew going home would drive them all out of their minds. "Just for a bit longer, then you go home with your mum."
When Dickie nodded, Kathy advanced towards him and reeled him in for a hug before she stepped to one side and rested her hand on Elliot's shoulder, giving a comforting squeeze.
While Olivia drifted from the desk and Dickie leaned into his mum's side, (Y/n) tilted her head back until she could lean her cheek against Elliot's bicep. She closed her eyes, trying her best not to picture her daughter each time her eyes shut, and she reached her hand up to grip Elliot's wrist.
"We'll find her."
(Y/n) nodded, but she didn't dare open her eyes because she knew they would give away the fright those words caused. She knew they would find Rosie, she just prayed they wouldn't find her too late.
"Wanna help go through security tapes?" Elliot knew what the answer would be and he managed a small smile when (Y/n) nodded and finally opened her eyes to look up at him. And he felt his heart calming down just a little when (Y/n) kissed the inside of his wrist before she pushed forward to get up.
They hadn't had much luck so far with finding Rosie and this mystery woman on the tapes. But they were canvassing and collecting any CCTV from nearby shops and on any roads they guessed this lady might have taken since the last place they saw her.
(Y/n) dragged her fingers through her hair and tried to liven herself up. She wouldn't be very much use looking through tapes if she felt like this, she had to at least keep her eyes open and peeled ready to scour through grainy tapes.
She moved to follow Elliot when he rounded the desk and aimed across the vast room, but her attention was drawn over to the doorway to the SVU squad room.
Finn and Olivia were talking, and whatever they were discussing, neither of them seemed happy.
She couldn't help herself, (Y/n) just had to edge closer. After all, they might be talking about Rosie and whether it was good or bad news, (Y/n) had to know.
Her hands felt like they were turning numb at her sides and her fingertips were as cold as ice and it was spreading up her arms and towards her chest which was shaking with each step she took towards them.
It was as if every other sound in the squad room faded out and their voices were the only ones that (Y/n) could hear or focus on.
"How reliable is the tip?"
Finn shrugged, his expression as grave as Olivia had ever seen. "Cap said it's legit, there's already patrol on scene."
"Okay, how sure are they that it's her?"
"Right age, hair, skin colour, found in the scope area…"
It was as if the world stopped turning and time was broken when (Y/n) finally understood why their expressions were so gaunt and their complexions were pale; and she realised why Olivia was holding back tears.
"Y- you found a body."
(Y/n)'s voice broke when Olivia spun round on her heels, jaw gaping and eyes as hollow as an empty casket. She didn't think the couple were within earshot. This wasn't something they wanted either (Y/n) or Elliot to hear.
A body had been found. A dead one. They needed to go and confirm whether it was indeed Rosie or if it was some other parent's worst nightmare coming to life.
Was it her baby? Was it Rosie, out there somewhere, all alone and frail and left without a second thought? Where had she been left? Had she been covered? Was she cold? Was she somewhere dingy and dark- she was afraid of the dark. What had that woman done to her? Where had she left their little girl?
Elliot couldn't breathe. He was halfway towards the rookie sitting at a desk with a pile of security tapes at his side when Elliot heard (Y/n)'s frail outburst. Tears were already stinging his eyes and blotching his face red, despite how pale and deathly he looked from today's events.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he turned on his heels, storming towards his team. But out the corner of his eye, he caught sight of his son.
Dickie's face had gone the colour of a strawberry and deep rasping breaths were leaving his lips as tears began to flush down his face. He was shaking his head, whispering a rendition of 'it's not her' while he collapsed into Kathy's arms. Allowing her to cradle him close as if he were five years old again while she kissed his temple and hushed him, agreeing that it couldn't be Rosie. For what else could she say or do to console him?
Kathy's stricken eyes locked on Elliot before she kept looking back towards (Y/n). Someone had to help her. Someone had to comfort her and hold onto her before she too went into a desolate state of panic or tried to bolt from the station.
Elliot couldn't feel his legs moving, he felt like he was floating. His body was moving without his command and he stormed past the desks in his way until he was standing in front of Olivia and Finn with (Y/n) stood to one side, seemingly in a trance.
"Is it her? Is it Rosie?" Neither of them wanted to answer him, and Olivia gasped when Elliot's hands seized her arms and he shook her to gain her attention. "Liv! Is it Rosie?"
"We don't know," Olivia tried her best to steady her voice and hold her emotions at bay while she reached up to seize Elliot's wrists. "I'll go find out, but I doubt it's her."
"I'm going-"
"That's not a good idea." Finn shook his head, looking as heartbroken as Elliot had ever seen.
It wouldn't be wise for either of them to go down because if it was Rosie, seeing her wherever she was would be an image they would never forget. And if it wasn't, they would be traumatising themselves with the image of an unknown dead child, something they didn't need right now.
"No. If it- if it's her I don't want strangers leering over her-" Elliot's eyes snapped closed and he wavered in Olivia's arms when he heard (Y/n)'s cries.
He didn't want to speak his thoughts in front of his wife and upset her any further, but he didn't know what else to do. If it was Rosie out there in the cold, in some alley or hidden corner, Elliot needed to go to her. He needed to see her and take her and bring her back. He didn't want strangers moving her or leering down at her.
Shallow breaths left Finn's lips as he bypassed Elliot and cautiously reached out for (Y/n), unsure if she would be okay with him trying to comfort her or not. But she seemed to need someone to hold her broken pieces together. Her hands were cupping her ears to block out their voices and her eyes were snapped closed with her head angled down towards the floor.
"El… Elliot, look at me." Olivia did her best to smile and put on a brave face when Elliot's watering eyes finally looked down at her. "I'm going to the scene, I'll identify that it's not her and I'll come straight back and let you know. I promise."
There was no room for debate and before Elliot could put up a fight and ask where the scene was or try and make a break for it, both Kathy and Captain Cragen were reaching out for him and pulling him back. And when he felt his son's hands latching onto his arm, he knew he couldn't run after Olivia who was already jogging out the squad room.
Olivia knew Rosie, she was her Godmother. She would go and make sure that it wasn't that sweet little girl who had been found. She would reassure them all and come straight back so they could continue looking for Rosie.
It wasn't her. It couldn't be her.
***
He couldn't breathe. Each breath Elliot tried to take got harder and harder until he was gasping and wheezing little puffs of air that were barely enough to sustain him.
It made him feel drunk. It made him feel like he was sinking in quick sand that was almost over his head. And he didn't know how he was going to drag himself out if it consumed him fully because at least drowning for air like this meant his mind wasn't working on overdrive with a million horrid possibilities.
His eyes closed for what felt like the millionth time and his head tilted down until his lips were smothering the back of Lizzie's head.
She was sat beside him, tucked under his arm like she was a little child again seeking comfort and reassurance.
Dickie and Kathleen were sat together at Elliot's desk, no words passing between them but every now and then they would lean into one another or share a look. And Maureen was sat with her mum, dried tears stained into her pasty features and apologies constantly floating from her lips because she felt partially responsible.
If she only kept hold of Rosie's hand, this might not have happened. If she didn't let her play hide and seek in the clothes aisles, if she didn't let her little sister out of her sights for one second. If that woman hadn't been in that shop at that precise time. If none of them went upstairs to look around.
If they had all carried their bags rather than dumping them in the pushchair, Rosie would have been strapped in and this would never have happened.
There were so many what ifs about this whole situation and it was turning their world upside down. A minute or two was all that Rosie had been out of their sights, and that was all it took for someone to seize the moment and snatch her and cause such mayhem.
And why? Why take her? Did this person want to hurt Rosie? Did she want to take her and keep her as her own daughter? Did she want to inflict torment on their family? Or had she taken Rosie specifically to harm her?
Maybe that body that had been found was Rosie, and this had all been some sick psycho's game to harm someone, and Rosie had been a victim of chance.
It felt like they had all been sat around waiting for hours, days, weeks even, as they waited for Olivia to come back with news.
No one knew what to do, and none of the officers in the station knew how to act around them. Finn was sat with (Y/n), but neither of them were speaking. He didn't know what to say to try and somehow help or calm her down, it seemed that his presence was enough for now since (Y/n) hadn't said one word since Olivia left.
Munch was combing through security tapes, plotting out the movements of Rosie and this woman while tips were still coming in on the phone lines. Although most of them were misleading or simply untrue.
Despite the hustle and bustle of incoming calls, people fluttering about asking what to do and giving information left right and centre, the family felt like they were trapped in silence. They were all sat close together in their own little bubble. And for the first time since arriving back to the station, Elliot sat silently with his family, becoming motionless and void.
That was, until Olivia came back into the squad room.
No one knew how long she was going to be, they were all left in the dark, waiting to see how long it took for her to reach the scene, wherever that may be. And how long it would take for her to identify whether it was her Goddaughter or not and then either go along to the morgue or come straight back here. They had no concept of time or how long Olivia would be, therefore they didn't know if this was going to be good or bad news that she brought along with her.
She looked out of breath, like she had ran up here from her car and her hands were twitching and flexing at her sides like a coping mechanism to keep herself calm and settled.
Her eyes roamed around the room, seeing (Y/n), Kathy and all the kids sat close together, clearly waiting for her to come back.
But it was Elliot who jumped to his feet first. His arms untangled from Lizzie and he found a reserve of energy he didn't know he had which allowed him to rush across the room until he was standing in front of his partner.
He debated reaching out for Olivia but settled on resting his hands on his hips where he could pinch his skin if necessary to try and keep himself calm and under control.
"Was- was it-"
"Was she-"
Voices came at Olivia from all angles, needing answers as swiftly as she could give them.
She looked around the family, seeing a mixture of panicked faces staring back at her. Each of the kids had clearly been crying, Dickie and Maureen still looked distraught with wobbling lips and blown pupils and tears soaking into their features.
But it was Elliot's watering eyes that set Olivia off guard. She had seen him cry before, when he and Kathy broke up. When they couldn't save someone on a case. When a child had been sking for help in a tough situation or seeing one of their victims pass away too soon. This was different. These were tears of a broken heart and it had never felt so hard for Olivia to look up at Elliot before.
Her hands reached out for his upper arms as if ensuring he wasn't about to collapse when she told him her news.
"It wasn't Rosie. I swear on my life, it wasn't her. She's still out there, alive."
She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she had been expecting, but having Elliot's arms binding around her middle and his tears soaking into her neck wasn't what she anticipated.
Nevertheless she wrapped her arms around him and began gliding her hand up and down his back, giving what little comfort she could in this moment.
It hadn't been Rosie. Olivia had been in tears before she pulled up on the scene, but when they showed her that little girl, she burst into tears as she shook her head wildly. It wasn't Rosie. She didn't know who that little girl was or what family she belonged to, and Olivia felt an enormous wave of guilt rising in her chest at how relieved she was.
She was happily inflicting agony upon some unsuspecting family who would receive news that no one should ever hear. But she was glad Elliot and (Y/n) didn't have to hear such news.
Their little girl was still out there somewhere. She still needed them to find her, and more importantly, she was alive. Or in the very least, they could assume the best and hope that she was still alive and hadn't been hurt in any way.
For the first time in hours, a trace of a smile hinted across (Y/n)'s lips and she squeezed Finn's hand when she heard him murmur "What did I tell you?"
It hadn't been Rosie, but they weren't much closer to finding her.
***
Leaning to the right, (Y/n) laid her cheek on Elliot's bicep and curled her hand around his elbow while she stared at the board in front of them.
There was a map pinned up to the board with little dots stuck all over it. There was a red dot over the shopping centre where Rosie had been snatched. Another three dots around that where she had definitely been sighted on security cameras or by witnesses in nearby shops.
Three yellow dots signified possible sightings that they hadn't yet confirmed, and the dark blue sticker dots implied places they thought this woman might go to.
They had a name. TARU had cleared up a picture of the woman from a security camera and found a match in the database. They knew her name and home address, although when a team went to her house it had been empty. But at least they were a little bit closer to knowing about this woman and guessing why she had taken Rosie.
For a little while now, Elliot had been staring at the map, trying to guess where this woman was going and what she was doing. He couldn't find anything or come up with any possible answers, but he didn't know what else to do.
He felt (Y/n) leaning into his side and holding onto him and it made a soft look crease at his features. He turned to peck the top of her head and he reached his hand down to squeeze her wrist.
It was getting late. After the false alarm, Kathy had managed to convince the kids to go home with her. Elliot promised to ring them if he had any news whatsoever and that they could come back as soon as they found Rosie or got some credible information. But he and (Y/n) couldn't leave. They needed to be here for any sort of developments.
"She'll be tired by now… and hungry." (Y/n) knew talking like this wqasn't exactly going to help, but all these thoughts were going round and around in her mind and she didn't know what to do to get rid of them.
She felt Elliot tighten his grip on her wrist while he shifted to press his lip to her temple rather than the top of her head. She was sure she felt him sighing against her skin, but he didn't pull away or tell her not to go down this road.
They just wanted her back. It had been hours now.
"Someone will spot her. This woman hasn't taken her home yet and Rosie's plastered all across the news. We'll find her soon."
If she tried to take Rosie to a hotel or a fast food place or even to a corner shop, the chances were that someone would recognise Rosie from the news and tell the police. And this woman hadn't been back to her home yet, she might go there eventually lest she wanted to spend the night on the street or in a car with a screaming child who would be begging to go back home to her parents by now.
A comfortable silence enveloped the pair of them as they stared at the map and listened to the bustling sounds around them.
It felt like they were drifting apart from the rest of the world, right until Munch's voice broke through the air, louder than all the rest.
"Possible sighting!"
Those two words were enough to spark hope and adrenaline straight to (Y/n)'s heart. Her nails dug into Elliot's elbow as the pair of them spun on their heels to try and spot John in the bustling squad room.
The couple hurried towards him, as did Olivia and Cragen as if John had just announced that he had found the last golden ticket or had the winning lottery numbers; and everyone wanted them. They crowded round his desk, eyes wide and eager to know what tip he had just heard on the phone.
"Where?"
"Are we sure it's them?"
"Is she okay?"
John held out his hand, waving at them all to signal for them to stop bombarding him with questions. He would answer them. "A woman matching Marlene's description was seen dragging a little girl towards a car. Number plate matches what we have on file."
"Is it Rosie?" Elliot had to be sure. After their scare earlier in the afternoon, he wanted- no, needed to be sure that this was real. That his youngest was indeed alright and alive and fighting. He needed to know if this was a real tip that he could go to and find his girl once and for all.
"Witness said the girl wasn't wearing shoes, we didn't release that to the press. They're on the corner of fifty-ninth street."
They had released a recent photo of Rosie and a description of what she was wearing, but they hadn't told the press that she had lost her shoe at the shopping centre. So a little girl matching her description, without shoes, was a very close match to Rosie and less likely to be someone trying to cause trouble or wanting a reward for a bogus tip.
"Let's go." Elliot was already turning away from the rest of them and looking for the nearest exit before he realised Cragen was moving to stand in front of him to gain his attention.
"Elliot-"
"Cap, I have to go. I have to get her back."
He knew that Cragen had been lenient already by allowing Elliot and (Y/n) to be here in the squad room helping out and hearing all the possible leads and new information. They didn't usually have parents this close to the case trying to get involved, but then again, the parents weren't usually one of the team.
But Elliot couldn't be held at bay now. He couldn't be remanded here to the station while they went out and possibly found Rosie. If this was a reliable tip and they found her, then her parents needed to be there. They would need to be with her sooner or later when she was found, and waiting wasn't going to help anyone.
He could see the debate happening behind Cragen's eyes before he nodded and a sigh slipped past his lips.
"You stay with Olivia, let her take the lead. Finn take (Y/n) but stay behind the lines."
Elliot was a detective, he knew the rules and if he stayed with Olivia she could make sure he didn't step out of line or get too involved trying to get his daughter back. This still had to be played by the rules. (Y/n), however, wasn't one of them. She didn't know the rules or the standards and she was a civilian, they had to look out for her. She would have to hang back and watch from the sidelines until they got Rosie safe and sound. Her being allowed down to the scene was lenient enough.
"Everybody move!"
The whole car ride felt like a timer was set on them, and Elliot was the bomb that was ready to explode.
His feet tapped and jittered against the floor, his clenched hand was constantly tapping on the door and his other hand was pressed against his mouth like he was trying so hard to keep himself quiet. He didn't know what to do with himself.
What if it wasn't Rosie? What if they didn't get there in time? What if this Marlene managed to take Rosie away or find a different vehicle and escape with her? They would be chasing them throughout the night, possibly for days.
He wanted his baby girl back.
None of his kids had ever been taken like this before or gone missing. There had been one or two close calls, but nothing on this scale. Elliot had always sympathised with parents in this position, he tried to imagine what they were going through and help them as much as he could. But now he truly felt the fear that felt like a hand squeezing their heart. He experienced that constant stream of adrenaline and those horrid sailor's knots in the stomach that tangled up the more he tried to calm down.
And none of it was going to disappear until he had Rosie back safe and sound in his arms.
The closer they got to the scene, the more unsettled and sick Elliot started to feel and he knew Olivia felt the same nerves because she kept tapping her nails against the steering wheel and looking over in his direction.
All of a sudden, Elliot perked up in his seat and sat forward, one hand resting on the dashboard while the other started pointing.
"There! There, it's her car she's on the move. Go!"
She had managed to get into her car. From what the officers had said who were arriving on scene, Marlene was struggling to get Rosie into her car and it was causing a scene, just what they needed to find her. But if she was driving off that meant she had either dumped Rosie in favour of trying to get away, or she managed to get the toddler in the car with her and was on the run.
Either way, they had to catch her.
"Finn, they're going down tenth-ave, cut them off. We're in pursuit." Olivia spoke into her radio while Elliot switched on the sirens and clung tight to the door handle when she spun the car in the opposite direction.
Elliot knew (Y/n) would find it hard to stay in the car once they cornered Marlene and tried to get her out of her car. (Y/n) would want to be out with them, trying to get Rosie back. She wouldn't want to just sit and wait to be told when she could come over and when it was safe, but she would have to wait.
At least he could get out. He wasn't benched or stuck on the sidelines, he could go and get their girl back.
The feeling of his gun strapped to his right hip was weighing heavy on Elliot's side and it was starting to burn a hole in his skin. He didn't want to brandish his gun if Rosie was within sight. He didn't want anyone risking shooting his daughter by mistake or frightening her, but he didn't want this woman getting away with her either.
His shoulder rammed into the door when Olivia skidded the car to the right, the brakes squealing to a stop as they blocked off the end of the road. And once their target was in the middle of the road, there was nowhere to go. Especially when Finn's car blocked the other end of the avenue.
"NYPD, turn off the engine and step out the car slowly." Olivia hurried out the car and approached the vehicle in question with her gun held low in her hand, pointed down towards the floor as a precaution.
Elliot's eyes zoomed in on the car as he stepped out, his hand hovering over his holster, ready to take aim if the woman tried to make a break for it or tried throwing anything at them. They had no idea whether she was going to be violent or not. They didn't know if she had or was willing to hurt Rosie or attack them to try and make her escape if she even thought that she could get out of this situation.
The woman climbed out.
She looked to be mid to late thirties. She had shoulder-length black hair and a fringe that almost reached her eyes that were rabid like a wild animal caught in a snare. But when she reached down and grabbed the hand of a little girl who scurried out the car, Elliot felt like he couldn't breathe.
A purple dress with flowers. Plain white tights that were now ripped and black around the knees. No shoes on her little feet that were scuffing against the floor with holes in the ends around her toes and dirt and mud clinging to he tights.
Those big doe eyes made Elliot see red. His baby girl. That was his daughter, and this woman had tried to take her away from him.
He took one step forward with his right hand still hovering over his holster and his left hand held out in front of him to try and keep Marlene from doing anything stupid. But his shoes scuffed against the road and he stopped in his tracks when he watched her move.
She locked one arm around Rosie's waist, hoisting the writhing and screaming child up against her chest. But her other hand was holding something near Rosie's neck, and from the look of things, Elliot took an educated guess that it was a knife or some kind of weapon.
He couldn't risk her hurting Rosie.
He glanced across at Olivia, but she was already tucking her gun back into her waistband. "Marlene, we're here to talk. Why don't you put Rosie down?"
A feeble whisper of "Auntie Liv?" hushed past Rosie's lips and her timid eyes tried to crane to the side to see where Olivia was as she recognised that familiar voice.
It was clear that Marlene wasn't happy about being known and recognised, and she seemed even more disgruntled at the fact that Rosie knew the cops who were trying to get her back. Her arm tightened around Rosie who started to wriggle and whimper.
"It's me sweetie, are you okay?" Olivia tried to smile but she could barely hear her own voice over the pounding of her pulse in her ears. Seeing Rosie wriggling and talking and mostly unharmed was like a dream that felt too good to be true. After searching all day and having a brief worry that she might be dead, seeing Rosie now was sending Olivia into a delirious state.
"Rosie, baby are you okay?" Elliot breathed harshly through his words when his girl didn't respond to Olivia.
He loved the spark of hope he saw ignite in her eyes when she saw him stood just over a hundred yards away from her. He saw those watering eyes brighten up and her little red lips parted into a mewl as she began to wriggle.
"Daddy!"
A smile pulled at Elliot's lips and he flashed his teeth as he nodded, barely able to contain himself at seeing his girl alive and well. "It's me baby, we're here now."
When Marlene took a cautious step back, Elliot's smile faltered and he held himself back from trying to move. He knew it would only push Marlene to keep retreating and he didn't know if she was liable to hurt Rosie in such a panicked state. She was getting caged in and she didn't know what to do.
"Marlene, why don't you put her down? We want to talk." Elliot could barely remember what he was supposed to do in this situation when the paternal instinct within him was telling him to bolt over there and snatch his child back to safety.
"No… no, just g-go away."
"We can't do that, we're here to help you and Rosie." Olivia tried her luck stepping closer but Marlene was still trying to step away, all with Rosie wriggling and fighting in her arms.
She wanted to be put down. She wanted to go back to her dad. Rosie wanted to go home. One minute she was shopping with her mum and all her big siblings, and the next some lady was taking her hand and telling her they were leaving. She had been crying all day, desperate to go back home but she kept being told that her family weren't coming for her.
But her dad was here now. He was here with her auntie Liv, they were here to take her home. That was what Rosie wanted. To be taken back home and to be with her family, not this strange, frightening lady.
"She's mine now, she's my little girl. So- so you're going to let us leave."
Her arms adjusted to hitch Rosie higher against her chest and her hand hovered the knife closer to the little girl she had grown attached to. She didn't want to hurt her, but if it was the only way to get it through to the police that they couldn't have her back, then it was something she would have to do.
This little girl was hers now. This was her daughter now and she wanted the police to stop searching for her and people to stop staring when she tried leaving with Rosie.
Elliot began to shake his head, trying hard to keep his expression neutral but it wasn't working. His eyes were close to watering again and his chest was aching and tightening just looking at his daughter who was crying and wriggling, desperate to be back in his arms once again.
"We can't just let you take her." There was a hint of sorrow in Elliot's voice as he locked eyes with Marlene. She couldn't truly expect them to let her walk away and take Rosie from them.
He couldn't stand here and watch her run off with his daughter. Rosie belonged with him, she belonged with her family, not with this unhinged stranger.
"No I want daddy." A deep whine left Rosie's lips as she started to swing her legs, desperate to do anything to get back to her dad.
Hearing her pleading voice and seeing the utter terror plastered across Rosie's face caused Elliot's heart to crumble in his chest and weigh down in the pit of his stomach. She wanted him. She was calling out for him to come and get her and Elliot had to fight every fibre of his being not to run over there and snatch his little girl back into his arms.
He found himself wincing when Marlene sobbed and tilted her head back like she was looking up to the sky for the answers she couldn't find.
"She's mine!"
"No!" Deep whines rumbled past Rosie's lips followed by a sob as her hands started to stretch out, bash and wave in Elliot's direction.
Didn't he want her anymore? Why was this lady trying to take her? Why did she have to stay with this lady? She wanted to go back home. She wanted Elliot to take her back, not let her leave with this person.
"Baby it's alright, I'm right here-"
"You have enough!" Marlene's sudden outburst stunned Elliot into silence as his wide eyes flooded with confusion. "All those kids, too many and no one was watching her. I- I can give her the attention she deserves."
Now that wasn't fair. She couldn't simply assume that Elliot- or rather (Y/n), since he hadn't been there at the shopping centre- had too many children and therefore it was perfectly fine to take one. Marlene couldn't assume that Rosie wasn't cared for her loved or given the attention she needed and deserved.
Rosie might have four older siblings, but that didn't mean she wasn't loved or wanted or spoiled.
She was their girl, she was their family and they weren't going to let her be taken and let her go without a fight. Marlene couldn't just take their daughter because she assumed they had more than enough children to sustain them and make them happy. And she couldn't take one from someone else simply because she didn't seem to have a child of her own.
The world didn't work that way and Elliot was going to get his daughter back one way or another. There was no happy ending for Marlene in this situation and there was nothing Elliot could do to change that.
"Her sister was watching her, they've all been desperate to get her back. We want out little girl back, please. You don't know how much its hurt us, trying to find her and make sure she's okay."
Marlene began to run.
"No- no!"
Elliot couldn't brandish his gun from his holster, he couldn't take aim and risk hitting his daughter and he knew that Olivia thought the same. The pair of them set off into a sprint after Marlene who didn't seem to know where she was heading for.
There were a few side streets leading from the main road they were on, but she wasn't going to get far on foot. And she couldn't backtrack and try to get Rosie in the car and make a break for it when Elliot or Olivia could easily reach the car and get in her way.
Marlene hurried as fast as she could whilst juggling Rosie in her arms, who kept falling and slipping and wriggling making it impossible to hurry without dropping her.
Rosie wanted her to stop. She wanted to go home. She was lost, on a street she didn't know with a strange woman and she was hurt. She wanted to go home.
When the lady pressed the knife near her face and hissed at her to stop moving, a blood-curdling whine left Rosie's wavering lips and she began to sob. Her eyes scrunched up tight as tears stained her face and her arms stretched out like she was trying to reach out for Elliot.
Why was she being dragged around? Where was her mummy? Why had this lady taken her away from the shops? Why did none of her family follow or meet them outside like the woman said they would?
Elliot continued to sprint whilst ramblings and yells left his lips. He was gaining on them. He was close. His arms stretched out in front of him as he was so close that he could almost reach out for his daughter. It was like a race, a competition, and Elliot needed to win.
A blaring car horn. Back up hadn't arrived yet to block off the other side streets and barracade Marlene in to stop her from getting away. That meant bypassers and civilians weren't diverted or told to stay away from this area.
"Rosie!"
Elliot stumbled, deep breaths raging past his lips that made his chest heave and feel like it was splitting apart. He surged forward when Marlene stumbled. Everything happened so fast that Elliot couldn't tell whether the car hit her as the brakes squealed to a stop or whether she stumbled from sheer panic and terror.
Either way, she went down with Rosie in her arms who let out a mixture between a scream and a choked howl as she and the stranger collided with the road.
The moment they were down, Elliot was moving. He didn't care about being careful and he didn't think about the possibility that this woman might have sustained injuries or in the very least a few bumps and bruises. His touch was rough as he turned and battled with her arms, flinging them in every direction like he was digging through dirt to find buried treasure.
And he found her. His girl. His crying, screaming little girl who was terrified beyond belief and tormented to no end.
"Come here, okay baby it's alright. I've got you, shh." Words tumbled past Elliot's lips in a whirlwind as he tried to be careful and as tender as possible, but he just wanted to scoop her up and retreat as far as possible.
His arms bound around his girl and he lifted her up, carefully huddling her against his chest as he took a few wide steps away to add as much distance between his daughter and this crazed kidnapper.
It was a relief that Olivia crouched down beside Marlene because that meant Elliot didn't have to check her for injuries or read her her rights. He could stand back with Rosie and check her over and get ready to take her to hospital for a thorough check up.
He hushed Rosie as she let out another scream, trembling in his arms despite how she was clearly trying to burrow down into his chest. Smelling that familiar cologne clinging to Elliot's shirt which helped to quieten her down somewhat. She was back in familiar arms. She was safe. She was with one of her parents again.
Her arms bound around Elliot's neck and she nuzzled her face into his skin as he peppered her temple and cheeks with dozens of kisses.
"Oh baby, we've been looking everywhere for you. Are you hurt?" Elliot kept his lips glued to his daughter's temple, unable to truly register or believe that she was safe in his arms.
A dark part of his mind had resigned to the fact that he might not find Rosie safe and unharmed. He had been in this job for twelve years, he knew how bad a situation could get and how unlucky parents could be. Children didn't always come back alive. Having Rosie trembling in his arms and clinging to him like this proved that she was alright and that the worst hadn't happened to Elliot and (Y/n).
"El! Elliot!"
Tremors rattled through (Y/n)'s voice as she pelted away from the car, Finn's voice turning to careless whispers on the wind behind her. Her shoes scuffed against the road, her knees quaked and threatened to drop her down to the ground and her heart was beating frantically in an effort to escape her chest.
She saw that little frame in her husband's arms. She recognised that look of relief in his eyes and the tears streaking down his face. He had Rosie back, and (Y/n) needed to see her.
She stumbled, unable to stop herself from how fast she had been running in her efforts to reach her family. Both arms outstretched and bound around Elliot who almost went down on his back with the force which (Y/n) barrelled into him.
Her face smothered into his arm and one of her arms bound around his waist while the other hand reached out to cup the back of Rosie's head.
"Mummy," Rosie whimpered and went off into another round of crying as Elliot turned her a bit better in his embrace so (Y/n) could see and reach out for her.
Tears poured freely down (Y/n)'s face as she peppered kisses all over Rosie's face and started to card her fingers through her daughter's tangled mess of hair. She had been petrified today, she was trembling and sobbing and clearly she had gained a few injuries. But she was alive, and she was safe now. They had her back with them, where she belonged.
"It- it's alright baby, we're here."
#imagine#elliot stabler imagine#elliot imagine#elliot stabler#elliot stabler x reader#elliot x reader#law and order x reader#law and order imagine#law and order#law and order svu#special victims unit
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look, I’m not usamerican, and maybe I don’t get all the intricasies, but suring the summer 2020 protest movement, I know the Breonna Taylor case was one of the more animating cases of the movemt, and now the prosecutor’s office exonorated her killers and pinned the blame on her boyfriend, and the response has been pretty much non-existant. now maybe I am out if line, but I can only speculate, that if that verdict was handed down and Trump was the president, Liberals would be in the streets, in Louisville, and other cities, forming a critical mass in the streets, brands would be posting public statements about racial justice and liberal celebrities would be posting links to bail funds for arrested protestors all over social media. but it’s Biden in the white house, and former prosecutor Harris as the nominee, it’s crickets.
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Harry can cast spells wandlessly in canon
I'm always going about how Harry's magic is super powerful and works insanely intuitively. How he can sense magic and make spells do whatever he needs them to do at the moment. And I was innocently reading the dementor attack in OotP when I encountered yet another moment of Harry's magic being insane that I haven't brought up before:
A fist made contact with the side of Harry’s head, lifting Harry off his feet. Small white lights popped in front of Harry’s eyes; for the second time in an hour he felt as though his head had been cleaved in two; next moment he had landed hard on the ground, and his wand had flown out of his hand. “You moron, Dudley!” Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling. [...] “DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!” Harry muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders. “Where’s — wand — come on — Lumos!” He said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help him in his search — and to his disbelieving relief, light flared inches from his right hand — the wand tip had ignited. Harry snatched it up, scrambled to his feet, and turned around.
(OotP, Ch1)
Reading this made me so excited becouse:
1. Harry casts Lumos without touching his wand, without any wand movement, nothing. He just says the spell while meaning it and it's enough to light up his wand.
Like, that's an insane feat of magic!
Like, Harry pulls shit like this on the regular and people still say he isn't that powerful. Harry may not be all finesse and elegance when it comes to spellcasting, but he's got the raw talent in spades.
So, in canon, in OotP, Harry lights up his wand without even holding it. Harry, canonicly has a talent for wandless magic if he wants to do something with it.
Hell, earlier when the dementors just arrived Harry thought he was causing the darkness for a moment so he's at least somewhat aware of how his magic works:
For a split second Harry thought he had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that he’d been resisting as hard as he could — then his reason caught up with his senses — he didn’t have the power to turn off the stars.
(OotP, Ch1)
Meaning Harry is somewhat aware he can do magic without meaning to and he is actively resisting it in this scene! That's what he is saying.
2. This is a possible interpretation of the first quote, but it's a bit more speculative: Harry might've summoned his wand wandlessly by calling for it.
In the scene, Harry shouts for his wand while scrambling on the ground blind for it. It's unclear how far the wand originally flew, but I think it's possible to read the passage as Harry summoning the wand toward his hand since he finds it right under his fingers even though, he likely felt the ground in that exact spot before, almost as if the wand just appeared there.
Harry calling "wand" working as a summoning charm wouldn't actually be that far off from other magical feats we see from him (I already mentioned this one in the past but I'm not over it):
Dust swirled around Harry like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream. “Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers—“ “SHUT UP!” Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her, and with a bang and a burst of red sparks, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her
(DH, Ch9)
He cast "shut up" as a spell. No wand movement, no incantation, nothing. And it worked on closing the curtains on Walburga's portrait, something the entire Order of the Phoenix couldn't do magically and struggled with manually! And here, 17-year-old Harry just shuts her up with his will alone basically.
So, yeah, Harry's insanely powerful and he is Voldemort's equal.
#harry potter#hp#hp meta#hollowedtheory#harry potter meta#harry james potter#my best boy hjp#HJP's insane magic
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Lies, damned lies, and Uber

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me TONIGHT in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 10-11), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!
Uber lies about everything, especially money. Oh, and labour. Especially labour. And geometry. Especially geometry! But especially especially money. They constantly lie about money.
Uber are virtuosos of mendacity, but in Toronto, the company has attained a heretofore unseen hat-trick: they told a single lie that is dramatically, materially untruthful about money, labour and geometry! It's an achievement for the ages.
Here's how they did it.
For several decades, Toronto has been clobbered by the misrule of a series of far-right, clownish mayors. This was the result of former Ontario Premier Mike Harris's great gerrymander of 1998, when the city of Toronto was amalgamated with its car-dependent suburbs. This set the tone for the next quarter-century, as these outlying regions – utterly dependent on Toronto for core economic activity and massive subsidies to pay the unsustainable utility and infrastructure bills for sprawling neighborhoods of single-family homes – proceeded to gut the city they relied on.
These "conservative" mayors – the philanderer, the crackhead, the sexual predator – turned the city into a corporate playground, swapping public housing and rent controls for out-of-control real-estate speculation and trading out some of the world's best transit for total car-dependency. As part of that decay, the city rolled out the red carpet for Uber, allowing the company to put as many unlicensed taxis as they wanted on the city's streets.
Now, it's hard to overstate the dire traffic situation in Toronto. Years of neglect and underinvestment in both the roads and the transit system have left both in a state of near collapse and it's not uncommon for multiple, consecutive main arteries to shut down without notice for weeks, months, or, in a few cases, years. The proliferation of Ubers on the road – driven by desperate people trying to survive the city's cost-of-living catastrophe – has only exacerbated this problem.
Uber, of course, would dispute this. The company insists – despite all common sense and peer-reviewed research – that adding more cars to the streets alleviates traffic. This is easily disproved: there just isn't any way to swap buses, streetcars, and subways for cars. The road space needed for all those single-occupancy cars pushes everything further apart, which means we need more cars, which means more roads, which means more distance between things, and so on.
It is an undeniable fact that geometry hates cars. But geometry loathes Uber. Because Ubers have all the problems of single-occupancy vehicles, and then they have the separate problem that they just end up circling idly around the city's streets, waiting for a rider. The more Ubers there are on the road, the longer each car ends up waiting for a passenger:
https://www.sfgate.com/technology/article/Uber-Lyft-San-Francisco-pros-cons-ride-hailing-13841277.php
Anything that can't go on forever eventually stops. After years of bumbling-to-sinister municipal rule, Toronto finally reclaimed its political power and voted in a new mayor, Olivia Chow, a progressive of long tenure and great standing (I used to ring doorbells for her when she was campaigning for her city council seat). Mayor Chow announced that she was going to reclaim the city's prerogative to limit the number of Ubers on the road, ending the period of Uber's "self-regulation."
Uber, naturally, lost its shit. The company claims to be more than a (geometrically impossible) provider of convenient transportation for Torontonians, but also a provider of good jobs for working people. And to prove it, the company has promised to pay its drivers "120% of minimum wage." As I write for Ricochet, that's a whopper, even by Uber's standards:
https://ricochet.media/en/4039/uber-is-lying-again-the-company-has-no-intention-of-paying-drivers-a-living-wage
Here's the thing: Uber is only proposing to pay 120% of the minimum wage while drivers have a passenger in the vehicle. And with the number of vehicles Uber wants on the road, most drivers will be earning nothing most of the time. Factor in that unpaid time, as well as expenses for vehicles, and the average Toronto Uber driver stands to make $2.50 per hour (Canadian):
https://ridefair.ca/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/Legislated-Poverty.pdf
Now, Uber's told a lot of lies over the years. Right from the start, the company implicitly lied about what it cost to provide an Uber. For its first 12 years, Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar it brought in, lighting tens of billions in investment capital provided by the Saudi royals on fire in an effort to bankrupt rival transportation firms and disinvestment in municipal transit.
Uber then lied to retail investors about the business-case for buying its stock so that the House of Saud and other early investors could unload their stock. Uber claimed that they were on the verge of producing a self-driving car that would allow them to get rid of drivers, zero out their wage bill, and finally turn a profit. The company spent $2.5b on this, making it the most expensive Big Store in the history of cons:
https://www.theinformation.com/articles/infighting-busywork-missed-warnings-how-uber-wasted-2-5-billion-on-self-driving-cars
After years, Uber produced a "self-driving car" that could travel one half of one American mile before experiencing a potentially lethal collision. Uber quietly paid another company $400m to take this disaster off its hands:
https://www.economist.com/business/2020/12/10/why-is-uber-selling-its-autonomous-vehicle-division
The self-driving car lie was tied up in another lie – that somehow, automation could triumph over geometry. Robocabs, we were told, would travel in formations so tight that they would finally end the Red Queen's Race of more cars – more roads – more distance – more cars. That lie wormed its way into the company's IPO prospectus, which promised retail investors that profitability lay in replacing every journey – by car, cab, bike, bus, tram or train – with an Uber ride:
https://www.reuters.com/article/idUSKCN1RN2SK/
The company has been bleeding out money ever since – though you wouldn't know it by looking at its investor disclosures. Every quarter, Uber trumpets that it has finally become profitable, and every quarter, Hubert Horan dissects its balance sheets to find the accounting trick the company thought of this time. There was one quarter where Uber declared profitability by marking up the value of stock it held in Uber-like companies in other countries.
How did it get this stock? Well, Uber tried to run a business in those countries and it was such a total disaster that they had to flee the country, selling their business to a failing domestic competitor in exchange for stock in its collapsing business. Naturally, there's no market for this stock, which, in Uber-land, means you can assign any value you want to it. So that one quarter, Uber just asserted that the stock had shot up in value and voila, profit!
https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2022/02/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-twenty-nine-despite-massive-price-increases-uber-losses-top-31-billion.html
But all of those lies are as nothing to the whopper that Uber is trying to sell to Torontonians by blanketing the city in ads: the lie that by paying drivers $2.50/hour to fill the streets with more single-occupancy cars, they will turn a profit, reduce the city's traffic, and provide good jobs. Uber says it can vanquish geometry, economics and working poverty with the awesome power of narrative.
In other words, it's taking Toronto for a bunch of suckers.
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible
Image: Rob Sinclair (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Night_skyline_of_Toronto_May_2009.jpg
CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en
#pluralistic#uber#hubert horan#fraud#toronto#geometry hates cars#urbanism#ontpoli#olivia chow#self-regulation#transport#urban planning#taxis#transit#urban theory#labor#algorithmic wage discrimination#veena dubal
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