#also i am aware it is not the 16th but i have never once done an art challenge in the right timeline

[luciferase-fr]

@dragonaday-fr day 16 - a dragon that belongs to someone else

this is @dire-vulture‘s dragon Myosotis! with a mini cameo of @st0rmy-fr‘s beanie baby tunga..

[kangaracha]

hey do that tag game and tag zom mom

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

sent: december 16th 2022. once again, i am the queen of finding old posts. and you all said i should tag things so i can find them later, ha.

---

'NEVERMORE' we all knew would come out on top. this is THE brainworm. the piece de resistance. the swansong except i'm not quitting or dying when it's done. hopefully. i haven't told anyone but i'm very aware this could blow out to 200 or 300k if i finish it, and it's. i just love it. unfettered creativity etc. Nevermore is based on the stray kids cinematic universe, the music videos and performances that all connect to tell a story, but even if you don't know stray kids, i think you can read it - it's about a group of boys (a band? a group of musicians?) stumbling into another world that is made of music and controlled by a strict government, and their journey back home to their own time and place, and the things that are left in their wake. it's huge and it's long and it's the first time i've reached 70k and still felt like i have a hand on all the plot lines without leaving plot holes in my wake.

'The Gone And The Gathered' is a zombies fic set in an au where zombietown is treated as an internment camp by Seabrook, also based on ghettos/concentration camps from WW2. Zombies are used to run the power plant and supply electricity and water to Seabrook and have never left the town; werewolves are known wild entities, and some have been captured as they are Useful in maintenance in the power plant. The story follows teenaged Wanda and Zoey through a series of discoveries about their world and the ripple effect this has on Zombietown and the world beyond the walls that they have never seen - and it's about staying quiet and accepting your lot in life, or daring to strike out and create a better future for yourself and your people, even if it might mean sacrificing yourself.

'Turn Your Back On Mother Nature' is a MCU Eternals fic, focused on Druig and Makkari. It contains five canon compliant scenes that, given my own director's cut, I would have added to the movie - not meant to change anything, but just meant to complement the plot and the character's own individual storylines and give more depth and meaning. I feel like I really excel at working within the boundaries given by a certain media and it's one of the main things that keeps me coming back to the challenge of writing fanfiction, and I'm so proud of the job that I did on this - it's well written, my character work really stands out, and I thought the scenes really worked to capture each idea I was trying to express. mwah good job roo.

'To Go Beyond Your Borders' is my pokemon comfort fic. It follows Angie, the champion of Sinnoh but also a disgraced public figure, and a journey of self-discovery as she runs away to Galar to compete in the Gym Challenge there. I started writing this in my depression/anxiety era, and in a lot of roundabout ways a lot of the themes/Angie's struggles are based on challenges I've faced in the last few years, so this fic is. Really cool, and something I keep coming back to as I really like the story I built for it. If more mature pokemon journeys is something you're interested in, this is the fic for you - and the composition of it, with social media interlaced with traditional storytelling, is so fun, I love doing it and coming up with the different bits and where they'll make the most impact. This is just so fun to work on and more people should read it so I make it more of a priority cause seeing this finished one day is going to make me so happy.

'if only we knew (the things we know)' and it's sequel, 'and the chasm grows', two of my long zombies stand-alones, are the fics i always think of first when asked what writing I'm most proud of. The themes are big - death, and knowing that you're going to die soon (cancer related themes, though this isn't about cancer), and facing down the idea of genocide of your entire race. They're very dark, as they have to be, and they're very hopeless, and whenever the odd reader comes along they tell me that they cried, and yet I think I managed to find a little bit of warmth in each, the strings of community and family and comfort that hold on until the very end. I specifically recommend the final scene of chasms, which i wrote in a blinding flash of inspiration and will never be able to recreate - it sticks with me even now, and while I can't remember certain other scenes from these fics, I will never forget that ending, and the way it made me as the writer feel when i finished and looked back on it.

[justalads]

c!niki and c!wilbur enjoyers. pspspspspspsps

alright guys so last night i rewatched pretty much all of the pogtopia arc. and this isn’t meant to be a big, important analysis post (it’s kind of incomprehensible), because my brain is fried from, you know. rewatching pretty much all of pogtopia. but i do have some stuff i’d like to say.

(this also just became a niki meta sorry i love her. i really just got emo about her during the second half of this and it got long. i have a lot of feelings about her and wilbur’s friendship.)

it’s a pretty general conclusion that wilbur’s real “downfall” began on october 8th, during the stream “who are you go away”. of course, his spiral and the process of him losing faith had begun much earlier, more around the end of the first war or during the election. but the big switch, so to say, was definitely here, when as wilbur walks back from schlatt’s announcement, he asks tommy if they’re the bad guys.

this entire scene was so interesting to me. wilbur here is a man who has lost hope, someone who is backed into a corner morally and has nothing left. he points out that they can never really reclaim l’manburg without forever tainting it, and that schlatt knows this. the entire half an hour or so before, schlatt has been taunting wilbur about losing that power. the emphasis of the festival on “democracy” is so clearly a barb thrown at wilbur, and it works.

wilbur’s “nothing left to lose” in this vod is a mirror to niki’s “you know what they say about a woman who has nothing left to lose”. this will not be the first time they mirror each other.

basically, wilbur’s angry. when schlatt announced the festival, wilbur realized that maybe it wasn’t a terrible thing. so once he worked around into the mindset of “we’re the bad guys”, he was able to justify saying he was going to blow up the nation with no remorse. he wants chaos! he wants no survivors!

does he do it? god no.

during the streams leading up to november 16th, wilbur is consistently scared. he goes back and forth on it, and makes multiple “conditions” that determine whether he’s going to do it or not, almost begging someone to stop him. he whispers to himself that he’s scared, that his hands are shaking, that he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do. because despite what he says about “not caring about any of them”, the instant niki is threatened after tubbo’s death, wilbur walks up to schlatt and tells him that if he’s going to kill anyone it should be him. later, when quackity and tommy talk him down from pressing the button, he can’t press it because they’re there and he can’t bring himself to kill them as well.

but he has no problems with putting his own life at risk. he refuses to wear armor half the time, and actively places himself in harm’s way to save others. he still cares about everyone else, as much as he says he doesn’t. even when he does cause harm to others, during november 16th, he immediately begs phil to kill him. “look, they all want you to.” he can’t live with what he’s done, and how he’s hurt people, but he couldn’t allow manburg to continue.

the man is terrified and angry and he can’t win. and even as he tries to stuff himself into the mind of someone who doesn’t care, he cannot. when he finally does, he cannot live with being that person.

but the reason i rewatched this arc was to see niki’s point of view, especially after her statements during her last stream. i genuinely think that wilbur’s only betrayal of her was pressing the button, because he betrayed everyone. they might have known he was going to do it, but they had faith he wouldn’t.

wilbur cared a lot about niki. her life under schlatt was awful, wilbur hated that she was suffering, and the scene where wilbur plants himself directly in the center of the festival and tells schlatt to kill him instead hits pretty hard. he has the argument with schlatt, and then turns to niki and tells her to run. he then hits people and sprints away, trying to give her time to escape.

this is also when he asks her to join pogtopia, because now that schlatt has said he’d kill her, it’s a safer place for her.

so the man did care about her. niki is angry at the memory of him that she has. it’s been twisted by time and her own grief and paranoia.

in rewatching pogtopia, i realized that a lot of people hate the memory of wilbur. not him, and what he did. they think he didn’t care. and to quote hamilton (apologies):

“history obliteratesit paints me in all my mistakes”

does niki have a right to be mad at him? absolutely. he caused direct harm to her by blowing up l’manburg, once it was reclaimed. but she’s wrong that he never cared.

(an interesting note: wilbur only blows it up after techno starts fighting people outside. he hears it, and says “look, they’re fighting”. he didn’t re-initiate the conflict of the country. the fact that even after peace was won people were fighting just gave evidence to his belief that the entire country was corrupted.)

niki has been hurt a lot, and wilbur has things to answer for. but we as the audience know that her statements are just her perception. she is a character who acts on perceptions. the entire stream was in black and white. during doomsday, upon seeing wilbur log on (as ghostbur), niki has a panic attack and destroys her bakery, trying to rid herself of the pain of the memories. her lines during this stream are chilling, whispered repetitions that are a mirror of wilbur’s end.

(paraphrased, it was long and confusing but there are a few bits and this was the essence of it)

“wilbur is gone. this isn’t happening. he is dead. l’manburg is gone.”“it is real, i am real, he is real and he is dead.”“l’manburg is gone, i am real, i am l’manburg”.

(god. dude i could spend Months analyzing this one stream alone. there’s so much here.)

doesn’t that sound a bit like “my unfinished symphony”? wilbur and niki both attach their own self to the nation they fought for, and can see it as an extension of themself. they both destroy parts of it in acts of fear, attempting to save everyone else from what they’ve made.

what i pulled away from niki’s stream is that she’s not healing. i remember the chamber she locks herself in at night. i remember her refusal to eat. i remember how she was so angry at tommy, and she later realized that anger was misguided. niki genuinely believes that wilbur did not care about her, and that’s not surprising: when he died, she denied the fact that he was gone. she represses the things that she can’t handle, same as lots of other people. it is easier for her to pin her hurt on wilbur, because she needs somewhere to pin it. people feel more in control if they’re angry, not sad.

the song cc!niki said was for her character really emphasizes this. it’s a coping mechanism.

but even condemning wilbur won’t help, because she will still never get closure. niki cares about what others think of her, and so she can’t move on from someone hurting her. she can’t move on because she thinks he hated her. she is angry that he is back, but it is an opportunity for her to heal. she couldn’t heal when he was gone. she’s not the only one with a negative perception of wilbur, after all. he has one too. the two of them really need to talk.

i want niki to be healthy and safe. i want to see her heal so badly, and i do think it will happen. after wilbur died, his betrayal of her stayed with her, and it eventually became her memory of the betrayal that she hated, not the thing itself. it’s been months since it happened. niki wants to find an outlet for her hurt, because she wants to feel better. there’s a pattern i noticed: she only gets mad at people once she hasn’t seen the person themself for a while. and once she sees them and talks to them, and realizes that they care about her and don’t want to hurt her, she stops blaming them for it. she only hates her perception of them. example one? tommy.

man was in exile for a long time, and when he came back he “brought” fighting. that’s how niki saw it. but the fact that after she spent time with tommy (trying to kill him but. details, details) she forgave him because she saw it wasn’t his fault is a really good sign.

i genuinely think that speaking to wilbur will help niki, and it will also help wilbur. after all, they both hate wilbur. the entire perception of wilbur as some heartless, crazy manipulator needs to be shattered for both of their sakes. they both buy into it.

i want niki to know that others care about her, and that she has places she can feel safe. she hates that wilbur is invading the syndicate, because she’s scared of his memory hurting her. i don’t think wilbur will hurt her on purpose, because even though he sees himself as awful, he doesn’t hate her. he never did. usually, with people who have hurt someone else, i want them as far away from the person they hurt as possible. if wilbur does hurt niki i’ll probably cry. but again, it’s not him that hated her, or really him that hurt her in the way she thinks he did. when wilbur was dead, niki didn’t get any better. her memory of him festered and made her feel worse. that’s also why niki killing wilbur or hurting him somehow wouldn’t help her heal. i want wilbur to explain that he didn’t hate her. is wilbur even close to self aware enough to help niki? nah. this is going to take a Long time, and it’s going to hurt.

last thing i swear lol

during niki’s stream, she says that wilbur manipulated her. again, i watched pogtopia last night, and i’ve watched the rest of season one recently as well. i genuinely don’t see it. but i do think i know why she said it.

during season one, wilbur doesn’t manipulate niki. he doesn’t have a chance to later, he’s dead. so then, what is she talking about? of course it’s a perception, same as a lot of her other claims. i think she’s talking about how she cared for l’manburg.

niki joined the server as wilbur’s friend, to join his nation. she grew to care for l’manburg. she devoted herself to it, same as he did. but doomsday showed us that she hates that. in niki’s eyes, l’manburg only brought pain for people, and because she ties herself to it, she hates that she ever cared about it. she can’t allow herself to care for it, because it was used to hurt. so how does she cope with knowing that she once did? she pretends she didn’t.

if she can convince herself that it was wilbur who convinced her to care about l’manburg, she can avoid blaming herself for her own pain. and yeah, she shouldn’t blame herself for it. it’s not her fault. the entire situation is tragic and a little hopeless and once again really makes me hope that she recovers. l’manburg was ruined for her by others. schlatt, techno, dream, wilbur. again another place where she and wilbur are similar: they convince themselves they never cared about l’manburg because of the hurt it caused.

to summarize: wilbur’s going to get a shock soon. don’t know when, but probably the prison visit. something is going to shake his perception, the story is hurtling towards that. once he is able to take responsibility for what he did, and feel safe (because a lot of what he does now is out of fear of being alone or useless), then he and niki need to talk. niki needs something to get her out of her own head. she’s spiraling too. they are essential to each other’s recovery because of how much they meant (and mean) to each other.

anyways i miss early season one niki i liked it when she was happy :(

~ Lad 2

[thusspoketrish]

Words Are Very Unnecessary

TW: Dark fic; Angst; mental illness; mention of past suicide attempt; implied self-harm; scarring; psychiatric ward; unethical medical practices/harm; inappropriate patient/doctor/staff interactions; shifting tenses

Created for the prompt Pretend for @drarrymicrofic

Title taken from Depeche Mode’s Enjoy the Silence

3.3K words. This is something that I may consider coming back to expand on in the future. READ ON AO3.

A heartwarming thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the thorough beta!

When Healer Robins announces that Harry will not be carrying out his final rotation at St Mungo’s, he’s shocked. He’s done everything he can within the last few months to prove himself capable: he’s completed his clinical rotations with commendations, he’s saved lives, he’s brought coffee and donuts in from his favourite bakery in Diagon every Friday, and he’s even played nice with the first-year Trainee Healers. But as Healer Robins announces his fate, Harry not only feels the bottom of his stomach fall—he can practically feel the smug smile burning a hole into the back of his head from his colleague, competitor, and overall pain in his arse, Blaise Zabini.

“I’m sorry Harry, but Blaise has already proven quite successful with some of the patients in Janus Thickey. I’m afraid that if we remove him, many of the patients will respond negatively to the change,” Healer Robins says, aiming a warm smile at Zabini.

“And you have a muggle vehicle, that James Bond-looking thing, am I right, Harry?” Zabini asks.

Harry turns to face him. He hates to admit it, but Zabini looks attractive in the lime green robes—but everything about him is stylish, with his broad shoulders, his fancy clothing under his robes, his stylish haircut. Too stylish for a Healer, Harry thinks glumly, staring down at his beat-up trainers he’s had for three years now. Harry grimaces as the other man smiles widely at him. He’d wager his entire Gringotts vault that Zabini has charmed a tooth to twinkle when he smiles like that.

“Yeah, why?” Harry grunts. He doesn’t want to show just how disappointed he is over missing out on the Thickey Ward, but he’s never been that great at compartmentalising his feelings.

“You’ll need one where you’re going,” Healer Robins says.

--------

As soon as Harry pulled his sleek black ’52 Jaguar XK-120 (a result of his quarter-life crisis earlier in the year) into the driveway of St Peter’s Asylum, the 16th century estate sends a chill up his spine. He exits his car and ambles around the property for a while, wanting to gain a better sense of his new work environment. There’s a 25-mile-long anti-Apparition ward surrounding the property and no Floo Network connection. Everything about the property felt duplicitous. The beautiful large bay windows were covered excessively with sharp, pointy metal bars, stained-glass depicting religious iconography were covered in grime and spiderwebs. The columned archway framing the front entrance has cracks in them and are covered in rotting foliage. Behind the estate is a crematorium where ominous black smoke currently poured from the vents, spilling upward into the grey sky. He should have known then that something was amiss.

After a confusing meeting with Head Healer Madison, a quick introduction to the nurses and orderlies, Harry is shown to his small, gloomy office. Settled in, when he finally glanced through the files of his new patients, he nearly spilled his coffee on the pile.

He did not expect to see Draco Malfoy on his rota.

He can recall the last time he saw Malfoy, right after the trials, when Harry’s testimony wasn’t enough to save him completely from time in Azkaban, but anything after? He can’t. He does not recall exactly how much time Malfoy served—had it been three years or four? Did he receive early release or was that his father? How had Harry simply put Malfoy out of his mind after everything they had both been through? How had Zabini not warned him Malfoy would be in a psychiatric ward? Did he even know?

All these questions left a sour taste in Harry’s mouth. He had asked Healer Madison to give Malfoy’s file to a different Healer due to the conflict of interest, but there were no other Healers that would take Malfoy, and so Harry was left with a quandary: either help Malfoy or they’ll send him back to Azkaban, untreated, to serve out the rest of his sentence.

Malfoy’s file was as depressing as Harry imagined it to be.

Malfoy was considered a permanent resident on the ward, but the history is muddled as to why he’s been labelled permanent if his psychiatric care was part of his early release requirements from Azkaban. The threadbare treatment plan had no end goals or date to reintegrate Malfoy into Magical society. The file simply read of an attempted suicide in Azkaban, manic depression, and tendencies towards excessive violence to not just himself but those around him when angered—this was one of the reasons Healers refused him care. He had apparently injured the last three, one almost fatally. He’s been kept heavily medicated, but lately has been refusing treatment. The nurses have been providing the necessary potions intravenously.

Malfoy also hasn’t uttered a single word to anyone—not staff or other patients—for over two years.

From the gossip that the nurses regularly indulged in, Harry was able to learn that Malfoy befriended a young Scottish man named Ziggy and an elderly woman named Lottie that was also considered mute and antisocial. Ziggy had died exactly over two years ago under mysterious conditions and his body was sent to the crematorium instead of autopsied by the local Medical Examiner. When Harry had brought this oversight to Healer Madison, he had been scolded and suspended for three days for viewing files not assigned to him. She threatened to send him back to St. Mungos if he continued to work on the files that have been sealed by the Chief Healer, which would result in him failing his final rotation.

This, of course, further fuelled Harry’s interests.

-------

Harry began to watch Draco’s condition much more closely.

The other man still wouldn’t utter a word to Harry, and sometimes he wondered if Draco even recognised who he was sitting in front of, his eyes unfocused, body slumped in his chair with his bandaged arms wrapped around his body, his long blond hair falling to his shoulders in messy clumps.

Harry began to discover bruises around Draco’s wrists when they’d meet for sessions. When they began to appear around Draco’s neck, and finally, his left eye, Harry calmly enquired about it, and this sent Draco into a silent, violent frenzy. Draco had shoved most of the contents on Harry’s desk to the floor, thrown books at the walls, and ripped one of his bandages free to viciously dig his nails up and down his arm. Harry had to call a CODE RED as he scrambled to unlock his wand from the warded drawer of his desk to Stupefy Draco before he reopened all his wounds. It was the first time Harry had seen any kind of real reaction from the other man and quite frankly, it scared the hell out of him. He had watched helplessly as the orderlies rushed in to gather Draco’s limp body from the floor.

Later that day, he approached Healer Madison.

“I’d like the evaluation forms for any other medical treatments Mr Malfoy is having here,” Harry had demanded. She had popped her gum in Harry’s face before rolling her eyes at his request.

“Those records are private, Potter. For the Chief Healer’s eyes only,” she had said.

“Well, I need the evaluation forms as well. I should be aware of any changes in treatment methods, considering Malfoy is one of my patients.”

Healer Madison patted Harry on the shoulder. “Relax, Potter. No need to be such a bloody worry-wort. Code reds happen all the time here. You’ll soon come to realise how we do things at St Peter’s.”

-------

Harry left the hospital at 5pm every day. Like clockwork, when he’s just about to get into his car, he’ll look up to the third-floor window of the recreation room where he’ll catch Draco staring down at him through the slats of the bars. Each time, the monster in Harry’s chest that’s begun to grow with Harry’s concern and affection for Draco, roared to life. He knew it would be just a matter of time before Draco ended up dead if Harry did not figure out what’s going on in this hospital.

--------

On a particularly cold, grey day in October, one month into Harry’s rotation at St Peter’s, Harry enters the third-floor recreation room. All of Harry’s patients have been improving greatly, Draco in particular. Intravenous treatment ended a week ago as he’s now more cooperative in taking his medication by mouth. His self-harming had eased somewhat, but there were still bad days that Harry monitored closely. Draco interacts with staff and his friend Lottie again, sitting next to her to watch the Muggle telly or just holding her wrinkled hand as they both stare out the window. His grey gaze seemed stronger, more focused, determined, even. It made Harry happy to see a sliver of the person he once knew shining through, and he hoped it would just be a matter of time before Draco speaks, so Harry can help him.

Harry glances around the room. Soft music is playing from off the telly. There's plenty of places to sit, but he opts to walk over to the window where Draco is sitting and playing chess by himself. The man’s wrists are bandaged again, no doubt from picking at his scars. Harry can see a patch of blood through the gauze and wonders why none of the nurses have been around to replace them. He wishes he had his wand (which is locked in his office for safety reasons) so he can replace the bandage himself.

“Draco,” Harry starts warmly. “How are you doing today?”

Draco looks up from the board and Harry gasps. There’s another brutal black eye around his left eye, and the top of his lip is split. Harry reaches out, his fingers lightly touching Draco’s lips before grazing along his jaw. Draco remains very, very still under Harry’s touch, his lips parting slightly as his chest heaves. When Harry remembers himself, he snatches his hand back as if he’s been burned.

“Who did this to you?” Harry hisses.

For a moment, Draco’s eyes turn incredibly bright as he exhales a phlegmy breath before his gaze shutters. Harry sits on the opposite side of the board, staring down at it as Draco takes one trembling hand to move his black bishop to E5. Harry sighs.

“You can tell me, Draco. I…I want to help you. I know there’s something terrible happening in this hospital, and I know someone is hurting you. Please, Draco—”

Draco abruptly stands from his seat, startling Harry. Draco doesn’t pay him any notice as he stretches his long, rail-thin body before strolling up to the nurse’s station. He taps on the glass divider several times before Nurse Mathilde slides the panel open.

“What is it, Mr Malfoy?”

Draco mimes smoking a cigarette.

Nurse Mathilde purses her lips. “The Chief Healer has given you permission to smoke again, but not until 5pm and especially not without an orderly present. You’ll have to wait until then. No exceptions!” she snaps before slamming the panel shut.

Draco doesn’t come back to his board game, nor does he glance over at Harry.

Harry watches as he instead sits next to his friend Lottie who is staring at the only plant in the recreational room. He lifts her wrinkled hand and entwines it with his own before settling in to watch the plant with her.

---------

At approximately 5pm Harry exits the asylum, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. When he passes by one of the gnarled oak trees, he notices Draco leaning against it, blowing tendrils of smoke from his cigarette. Harry slows down to watch him.

Draco’s hip is cocked out, his hospital shirt bunched up slightly, exposing a sliver of pale flesh and a titillating v-line that disappears in his thin cotton hospital pyjamas. He’s properly beautiful—all long lines and sharp edges carved in delicate, alabaster marble. Harry has noticed just how clearer Draco’s eyes are now, how the grey is piercing, brimming with cleverness and an intelligence that reminds Harry of the boy he knew in Hogwarts.

Harry’s suddenly startled out of his reverence when he glances around and notices that Draco is currently unattended.

Harry decides to approach him.

“Draco. Are you out here by yourself? Where is your attending orderly?”

“He was recovering from the blowjob I gave him before I did this—” Draco says, his voice thick and raspy. Harry is so shocked to hear the familiar drawl that he stumbles forward, his eyes widening, realises too late that Draco has lunged towards him, left hand raised high to strike Harry on the side of his head with a large, jagged rock.

When Harry comes to, it’s with a sharp groan and with the sound of a string of complex Latin filling his ears. He grits his teeth as a burning sensation wraps around his wrist. He realises that he’s frozen on the ground by a particularly thorough Petrificus Totalus. Despite his throbbing head, he focuses enough to catch Draco at his side, hissing as a thin, red bracelet appears on his left wrist, the bandages now gone. Harry hasn’t seen his left arm exposed before, and he cries out as he takes in the horrific scarring over the Dark Mark, as if someone had tried to peel the Mark off with a scalpel and failed to dig deep enough. There were healed and freshly scabbed cuts from his wrist to his elbow on both arms.

Draco appears above Harry then. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

There are streaks of dirt across Draco’s face, his hands, and under his nails.

“Please, Draco, whatever it is…don’t…don’t…”

Draco snorts. “What, don’t hurt you? Don’t kill you? Why would I harm the person I’m currently Bonded to?” Draco asks, lifting Harry’s wrist to his face. The red bracelet there matches Draco’s.

Panic seizes Harry immediately. Had he not been completely immobile, he sure he’d be shuddering. “What the hell is going on?” Harry asks, his voice shaking.

Draco drops his wrist and instead lifts a thick, taped together manila folder covered in dirt. “You’re helping me get the fuck out of here, Potter.” A smile breaks across Draco’s face then, making him look both incredibly beautiful and deranged. “It was as if you breathed life back into me, the day you walked through the doors of St Peter’s. I knew then that I had to hold on just a bit longer because surely it was a sign that my initial hard work wasn’t done in vain. You see this file here? I used to sneak out documents I’d gather from Madison, the Chief Healer, and the nurses proving the abuse. Some of the orderlies will let you do whatever you want if you can…provide the right services…and they would often leave me alone long enough for a smoke. I would hide the files here, Potter. But after Z-Z-iggy—” Draco’s excitable tone falters, a veil of sadness falling so quickly over his face Harry experiences a sense of whiplash. “They killed my friend, Potter. They treated Ziggy well before, even let him play Bowie when things weren’t so bad. They killed him during the experiments…”

“What experiments?” Harry asks, shocked.

Draco’s expression shifts once again to happiness. “I knew you wouldn’t be involved in something so gruesome.” He holds up his scarred arm. “On the Dark Mark and Purebloods who have come from Dark families. They’re trying to figure out how Dark Magic is entwined in a person’s DNA and…I don’t know…undo it.”

Harry’s eyes widens, mind beginning to race. “What?”

If the Healers here were literally using human flesh and blood to somehow recreate or understand the links between DNA and inherent Dark Magic, who knows what kind of torture and body modification they’re causing their subjects.

Draco eyes become manic. “You have to help me. You have to get me out of here in the next five minutes. My outdoor time is only half an hour and the orderly is currently passed out—”

“—Draco,” Harry whispers, interrupting Draco’s spiral. “How many others are there…how many other victims?”

“I don’t know, I swear. I just knew Ziggy personally but there would always be screams, so much screaming, so many voices…” Draco says, closing his eyes and swaying on the spot. He mutters softly, incoherently, to himself for a few moments before he opens his eyes, so grey, intense and bright. Harry is overwhelmed with shock, horror, and above all, disgust. Disgusted that the people he’s been working alongside for a month now, the people who have vowed first to do no harm, have been torturing their patients, vulnerable patients.

“Draco, I want to help you, okay? I will help you. You just have to undo the Petrificus Totalus. We’ll get in the car and just drive. I’ll take you wherever you need to go.”

Draco holds up Harry’s wand, points it at Harry’s face. “If you betray me, Potter, you’ll regret it. We’ll get in that fancy car of yours and you’ll drive until I say stop. If you do anything to prevent me from getting these files to the right people…if you try to get help from the Aurors or let your friends know what’s going on, I’ll off myself. And this bond here, this bond will take you with me. I’m the only one that knows the counter, and once we get to my final destination, I’ll release you. So, don’t you dare fucking try me.”

Harry bites back a gasp.

Despite his very real fear, Harry’s desire to help Draco outweighs it. He nods.

“Okay, whatever you want. I’ll do it.”

Draco’s face, dark with suspicion, slowly starts to slide towards something lighter. He bares his teeth. “I hold onto the wand. You’re not allowed to touch me, period, or else I might get the wrong idea that you’re trying to get your wand back, and I don’t want to have to hurt you, or worse, hurt myself.”

“Yes, okay.”

With a wave of Harry’s wand, Draco undoes the spell. Harry sits up slowly, so as not to alarm Draco, who has quickly scrambled to his feet, the dirty file hugged to his chest, wand still trained on Harry. Harry follows after him, head throbbing and legs unsteady.

Draco casts a healing charm his way before strengthening a Disillusionment Charm around them.

Feeling much steadier, Harry exhales. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I hit you in the first place. I had no other means to incapacitate you.”

“You could have just told me what was going on.”

Draco shrugs. “I had to make sure you were trustworthy. And honestly, I’ve wanted to knock you out for years, so this very much fulfilled a boyhood dream of mine,” Draco says, his lips tugging upward. Harry pauses to look at him. The monster in his chest is awake, thrashing about as affection and desire feeds it.

Harry knows he’s fucked.

They make their way towards Harry’s car after checking on the unconscious orderly. Once settled in, Harry starts the car and drives, past the gates of the asylum and onto the stretch of empty country road. He glances at Draco, not at all shocked to see the tears that are streaming down his battered face.

“Where to?” Harry asks softly.

Draco continues to stare out ahead of him as he answers, “the only safehouse I know. A house on Spinner’s End, Cokeworth.”

Harry draws in a sharp breath.

[kaimelia]

enough for you (ch 10)

She rolled over in bed, pressing the pillow down with her hand and glancing at the empty space beside her. An empty space she had become used to seeing over the past weeks, but not in the bed they shared.

02:46 AM

Amelia groaned, and before she knew it, her feet were on the ground, and she had pulled her cardigan around her body tightly as she tiptoed into the kitchen.

Link was asleep on the couch with the blanket pulled over his body, light snores coming from his mouth. She'd gotten used to his snoring over time, even though he denied it ever happened, and it eventually became an odd source of comfort.

She opened the cabinet and pulled out a glass, doing her best to be quiet as she filled the glass at the sink with water and took a sip.

"What're you doing up?" She turned around to see Link standing beside the couch.

"I couldn't fall back asleep and wanted some water. Sorry," Amelia whispered, placing her glass on the counter and grilling the edge of it.

"It's fine."

"Do you want some water?" Link shrugged and threw the blanket off of his body, slowly walking over and taking a seat at the kitchen island. She slid a glass towards him anyway.

"Did Scout wake up? I didn't hear him," Link muttered as he took a sip.

"No, I just woke up." He raised his eyebrows.

"Bad dream?"

"Sort of. Also, the storm isn't the most pleasant thing ever," she glanced out the window as lightning struck outside. "I'm surprised Scout hasn't woken up."

"You remember when he was learning to walk, and it was thundering outside, and he got super freaked out and just collapsed to the ground?" Amelia laughed at the memory and bit the inside of her cheek. She turned back to Link, who was smiling.

"The other weekend, it was raining, and Ellis left her doll outside. So, she went to grab it, but naturally, everyone else had to follow her, and I came outside to four children just dancing around in the rain. It was a mess afterward; they were all drenched, and their shoes are still caked in mud, but it always makes me happy to see Scout playing with them. Even if he has no idea what's going on." Link hummed softly before silence settled between them. Amelia drummed her fingers against the counter and drifted her eyes between Link and the window in the living room behind him.

"So, where do we go from here?" She bit her cheek and shrugged. "My parents set a date for their wedding. October 16th, and I have to send the RSVP card back. My mom said that it was just a formality because she knew it would be us three, but I didn't know what to tell her."

"You didn't tell them?"

"I haven't had much to tell them. If I do, I'll get a million questions that I don't know the answer to." He leaned forward. "Amelia, I don't wanna pressure you into moving quicker than you're ready for. Believe me, I already screwed up once with ignoring your feelings, and I've told myself I'm never going to do that again. But, I also need to know what's going to happen. I want to work this out, and if you don't want to, then I deserve to know."

"So you can go off and screw other women?" Link sighed and placed his head in his hands.

"Not like that, Amelia, you know what I mean."

"No, I don't think I do, actually."

"I don't wanna fight for a relationship that you're not in. If you've decided that we're done, that I'm an ignorant asshole because honestly, I was, then please just tell me."

"I wanna be in it, I do; I just don't know if I can." Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, and Amelia looked away. "What we have-or had, it was the thing that you always hope to have, the thing you eventually convince yourself doesn't exist because it seems too perfect, but we had that. And those first few months with Scout, I mean, it was insanely stressful and objectively one of the worse times in my life, but I always had you. I knew that I would wake up next to you every day, and I could always find you when I needed a moment to breathe because you became my person. It was stable, and I needed that. But then it got bad, and I started feeling myself slip, and I'm terrified it'll happen again." Link nodded firmly and pursed his lips. "And that's not something you can promise won't happen. We don't know what the future has in store; we don't know if we'll be able to take it or if the world will come crashing down around us," she whispered, wrapping her hands around her glass and bringing it up to her mouth. "Everything is so uncertain, and I need to be able to have myself through all of it."

"Are you willing to try? Because you're right. I can't promise that it won't happen again, but I can promise that I will do everything I can to do better." He clasped his hands together silently, resting his elbows on the counter. "I don't like to talk about the bad things; you know that, but you have to be willing to compromise in a relationship. I can do a better job of checking in on you and making sure that I'm aware of how you're feeling."

"You need to know that when things get bad for me, I go silent. I stop talking and being open like I normally would, and I shut people out."

"And I think that's why things went so wrong. I go silent when anything happens, so I didn't think anything was wrong because that's normal for me." He shrugged. "Maybe we won't ever be able to get back to where we were a year ago, or maybe things won't work. But, you have your therapist who can help you with issues I'm not able to. And you have me, who wants nothing more than to know that you're okay and to be with you, no matter what that looks like."

"I don't want to get married," Amelia blurted, immediately covering her mouth with her hand. "Sorry. I've needed to say that for a while; I just need you to know that. I don't want to get married; I don't want to have another kid. I just want to be us."

"You don't want to get married, like ever? Or now?" She shrugged gently.

"Definitely not now. I don't know if I'll ever want to. But if we're going to try and fix things, you can't expect that from me. I mean, you can check-in and everything, because sure, maybe I will change my mind one day. But no proposing, no foster kids, no new baby talk or anything of the likes because if I hear you talking about how much you want those things? I'll feel guilty, and I don't know exactly how that will affect me, but it won't be good."

"What about what I want?"

"We're allowed to want different things. But something as big as bringing another child into this world? We can't do that unless we both want it. Link, what we had before all of this, it was good, and I just want to get back to that and stay there. We'll figure things out as they come."

"You promise to consider the things that I want as well? Obviously, if it's something you don't feel you can do, that's different, but I don't want to be shut out of decisions in our relationship."

"I promise. We'll just take it slow and just figure things out," she murmured, rolling the empty glass between her hands. "Figure it out together." He smiled at her.

"Where do we start?"

"I think you're supposed to take me to dinner."

[thisnoodlewritesao3]

AAA HI IM HERE FOR THE LATE EVENT😙😙 COULD PLS HAVE KAGEYAMA + WITH THE AU WHERE "Everyone is born with a unique number only they and their soulmates have" + ANGST TO FLUFF PLS 🥺🥺 THAK YOU FOR LETTING ME DO THIS LATE I APPRECIATE YOU AND LOVE YOU MWAH HAVE A GOOD DAY DARLING

Okay, so, I sort of went on a wild one with this one. And I hope you like this because ya know, it is definitely angst and there is some fluff, but it was getting so long and it’s already like nearly 2k words i think. lemme check. yeah, 1.7k words. omg. i did love this little story i made so i hope you do skjfhdskjfhsdfsdkf

----

Life, for you, was perfect.

In a world of soulmates, you were one of the lucky few that had actually managed to meet your destined other half. 

You met Fujinaga Souta when you were 8 years old - barely a second year in elementary school - you’d transferred to his school a few weeks into the year, when friend groups had been established and you were left to try and find a place where you could be.

It wasn’t like you were sitting in the seat next to him, and he picked up a pen you’d drop on the ground. It actually wouldn’t be until you were 10 years old that you’d ever talk to him.

Because Fujinaga Souta felt like he was a thousand miles ahead of you, so close yet so out of reach in everything he did. He played volleyball so beautifully, setting with ease and wonder that you couldn’t help but be captivated by him. You had a crush with a boy who didn’t know you existed, and back then it felt okay, because you could always imagine what it felt like to hold hands with him. When his blue eyes found yours, you’d melt, and feel the warm spread to your cheeks before turning away. Black hair that dangled in front of his eyes.

A small group - including him and you - were talking one day, and he started complaining about the way his hair fell in front of his eyes. Being the person you were, you offered a clip to keep it out of his eyes. Being the person he is, he accepted.

It was at that moment he finally paid attention to the numbers that traced along your jaw. 539268. The ones that matched his own perfectly. He almost screamed, pushing your head to the side so he could get a closer look and ensure he wasn’t reading it wrong (you’d complain later in life that this is where your neck problems came from, but you both knew it was from your posture). After he was done pointing and rambling, he pulled down his sock to reveal the numbers on his ankle. 539268.

You almost fainted. It was strange. Your friends exclaimed how lucky you were - because he was a popular boy, loved by so many.

You were 11 when you found out he was your soulmate.

When you told your mother, she immediately set up a celebration; you couldn’t have been more embarrassed, but Souta made it feel like the most normal thing in the world.

Souta was your world. That’s why when he started to get sick, you were by his side as often as you could be. Each day at school would be filled with messages you’d send to him about things you would do when he got out of the hospital.

Only he never got out of the hospital.

On February 16th, 2012, Souta passed away.

Ripped from your arms before you’d gotten a chance to live.

You spent so many months locked away in your room, crying and screaming from the physical pain losing him had caused you. Your only solace was the pile of shirts his mother had let you have because she recognised how painful it was to lose someone who would be the one to know you better than you knew yourself.

The first time you visited his grave made your soul weaker and you could only cry as you clawed at the dirt.

The first day at your high school - which you started months later than most - was like hell. Everyone had heard of you, of the girl who lost her soulmate. They offered empty condolences that you had to pretend made things better.

The first friend you made - a sweet girl named Yachi Hitoka - didn’t pretend she knew what it felt like. In fact, she didn’t even make you talk about Souta at all (for that, you were grateful). She filled up your world with notes and studying, a pleasant distraction from a world outside of your own.

Your friendship with Yachi remained in the classroom, but that was fine by you. She had her own worries and troubles.

A few months in, and you weren’t crying as much anymore. Your heart still yearned for his touch, but you found some love in visiting his grave and telling him about your days, hoping that, by some miracle, he could still hear you.

The first time you see someone that looks so much like him, you’re sure you’re hallucinating that it sends you back into a spiral.

Kageyama Tobio. That was his name. The one you’d silently curse when you saw him in the halls; the one that made you move further away from Yachi when you learnt she’d been tutoring him; the one that looked so much like your soulmate it opened up the tear in your heart.

It wasn’t like you had to interact with him, you didn’t, he wasn’t in your class, wasn’t in your club, you didn’t have anything in common with him. Not until you walked to the vending machine one lunch and stood for too long trying to work out what to get and heard his gruff voice, “can you hurry up?” He grumbled.

You didn’t even take the time to glare over your shoulder before you chose milk, just because it was easier - that, and it was the last carton and something about the blue on it made you think of Souta again. How were you supposed to know that milk just happened to be this boy's favourite drink? You weren’t.

That wasn’t the last run in you would have with Kageyama Tobio - much to your demise - it only got worse through your second and third years, where your visits to Souta’s grave became more filled with anxiety about your future.

It isn’t until one Summer day during your second year that you seem an all too familiar face standing next to Souta’s grave (or the one next to it).

You try your best to ignore Kageyama as you kneel down in front of your soulmate's grave, but his eyes seem to find you immediately. “Do you mind if I talk?” You ask, not looking up at him for fear you might break. He didn’t answer, so you took matters into your own hands.

You talked to Souta about this week. About how you visited his family the day before and how his mom said you were growing to be a lovely young woman. About how you hadn’t cried this week, and you were proud of yourself. You told him that nothing exciting had happened since he was gone, and that the world seemed to lose more colour with each passing day.

You were talking without realising you had someone actually listening.

“Does that help?” He asked without thinking. Maybe he made a mistake, because the light in your eyes seemed to flutter out, but you answered him nonetheless.

“I guess so, although I’m not doing it to help.” You sighed, brushing your fingers over the petals on the flowers placed there by someone. “I’m doing it because I love him, and he deserves to hear this. To talk to me. Ya know?” And he nodded as if he understood - but you knew he didn't.

That was the start of a small arrangement with Kageyama Tobio. Once a week, he’d show up at the graveyard (not just because you were there, but also because that was where his grandfather was buried). You’d both talk to your respective people, and it was nice.

You stopped seeing Kageyama as a wrong version of Souta and started seeing him for himself.

One day, near the end of your third year, you somehow end up arguing with Kageyama. “Yeah, well, you hated me for no reason all throughout my first year.” He bit back at a comment you made and you shoved your hands into your hair gripping the roots (why is the only thing you can think is how your Souta would never act like this).

“I didn’t hate you!” You cried back.

“Then what was it?” He hissed.

You wanted to explode, everything hurt all over again.

“You reminded me of him. Of Souta.” You said, hoping he wouldn’t ask for an explanation.

“But I’m not him, so how?”

That was enough for you to realise that Kageyama had never seen what Souta looked like. He wasn’t aware of the fact that he was the spitting image of your soulmate. So, as you’re rummaging through your bag for a picture you kept on you, you start explaining to him. “Because Souta was sweet, and kind, and considerate, and loving.” You say, and you can tell he’s confused. “And you’re sweet but blind, kind but dense. Not quite as considerate and loving, but you try even when it doesn’t look like you are.” You sigh, ignoring the pang of pain in your heart. “You play volleyball - a setter - and you play it so effortlessly. You remind me of him in every single way without knowing it, but I know it and it hurt me. It still hurts me. Because how am I meant to feel when I look up at you and somehow stopped seeing him and started seeing you?” You ask, though you aren’t really asking him. It’s a general question.

You manage to find the picture and pass it to him. His reaction speaks a thousand words, the way his eyes widen because this boy does look like the spitting image of him and he can see why you were hurt by him.

He explains that he didn’t understand what the big deal about soulmates was until he met you. That the reason he’d never really cared about that was because he was born without a soulmate mark (you traced the numbers on your jaw); he had to be like the many who just had to make their own soulmates, but he’d never even have the option to meet a soulmate. You almost felt ashamed. He told you you didn't need to feel ashamed.

That night, as you sat watching a movie to forget about the argument, you’d experience your first kiss with a boy that wasn’t your soulmate. You didn’t feel any guilt about it. Because you knew Souta would want you to be happy.

You and Kageyama had a rocky friendship; your relationship wasn’t any easier. But you made it work. Because soulmates normally don’t get to meet, but you can make soulmates with enough time and care. And, luckily for you, Kageyama was willing to give all the time in the world to you (as long as you didn't get in the way of volleyball, but you normally didn’t).

----

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[until-theend-oftheline]

Finding Neverland - Part 2: Aimless

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader 

Warnings: PTSD, Survivor’s guilt, Insomnia, aimlessness, mention of character deaths.  

Squares Filled: Tony Stark for @star-spangled-bingo 2021 and Insomnia for @badthingshappenbingo

Word Count: 1400ish

A/N: Still no reader in this part - we will meet her in the next part. 

Betaed by: @blacktithe7​ - thank you love

MASTERLIST - TAGLIST

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Bucky couldn’t tell you why exactly, but his first stop had been visiting the lake where Tony had been put to rest. He parked some distance away from the house. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb or cause any pain to Pepper or the little girl. Instead he quietly snuck up to the lake across from the house. 

Bucky wasn’t sure how long he stood there letting the night of December 16th 1991 play over and over in his mind. He had done a lot of things he wished he could have stopped himself from doing. Things that kept him up at night or pulled him from his sleep screaming at himself to stop. Every life he had taken haunted him and caused the insomnia he had battled ever since he had gotten control of his mind back. Every single one, but somehow, that night was clearer than the rest. Maybe it was because Howard had once been a friend, or maybe it was because Tony had grown up to become a friend of Steve’s. He wasn’t sure. He also knew he should have been angry at Tony for trying to kill him and Steve that day so long ago, but he wasn’t. He never had been. Bucky hadn’t wanted to die, but if he had died that day, it would have been justified. Bucky even resigned to his faith back then and had only started fighting back when Steve wouldn’t stop helping him, and Tony’s rage had turned on Bucky’s best friend. His only friend. The only man that had never given up on him. 

Bucky didn’t realize he had started crying, and he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even heard her walk up next to him. He only became aware of her when she handed him a handkerchief.

Bucky’s eyes briefly met Pepper’s as he took it before her eyes drifted to the lake. They stood there silently watching the stillness of the water, and Bucky desperately wished he knew what to say. He didn’t. He hardly ever did, so he kept quiet, not wanting to leave, but not sure if he had any right to stay either. 

“He didn’t blame  you anymore.” Pepper’s voice was quiet, hesitant almost but she sounded sure. “After Morgan was born, I think he started seeing everything differently. He felt betrayed by Steve to a degree, but he was also ashamed of what he had done. He never spoke about it much, but I knew him. Better than anyone I suspect.”

“He was right to blame me,” Bucky lowered his head. 

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Pepper turned around to face Bucky. “It’s so much more complicated than that Bucky. He was angry and hurt, but like I said, when Morgan was born he let go of all of that. If he had been here with us, I know he would have told you to do the same. What they made you do, there is no changing that. There is no bringing back Tony. We just have to find a way to live with the past. We have to live though, for the ones we lost.”

“I don’t know if I know how,” Bucky answered truthfully, his voice heavy with grief and guilt. 

“When you figure out how to let go of it all like Tony did,” Pepper smiled, reaching out to give Bucky’s arm a slight squeeze, “then you’ll know.”

Bucky looked down at her hand before meeting her eyes. He gave her a sad grateful smile. He didn’t know what to say so he didn’t say anything. 

“Do you want to come back to the house? Meet Morgan?” Pepper offered, making Bucky quickly shake his head. He didn’t want to do anything to upset the child.

“Okay. I’m heading back to her,” Pepper sighed was she turned to walk away but stopped, looking back up at him. “You’re always welcome here Bucky. You don’t have to try and sneak in. I doubt with all of Tony’s tech and Happy keeping an eye out, you could if you wanted too.”

Bucky smiled. He had been an idiot thinking no one would know he was here.

“That’s good,” Bucky nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

He stayed in front of the lake for a few minutes after Pepper disappeared back toward the house. He walked back to his bike, feeling a little lighter, but still not able to forgive himself for what he had done to the Stark family or to any of his other victims. He had hope though, hope that he would be able to find a way to live with it all, just like Pepper had advised him. He just had no idea how yet. So Bucky drifted around from town to town for a few weeks. He never stayed in the same place for more than a day. He told himself he was exploring his country, but he wasn’t. He felt aimless. He had no idea why he had left a place where he was at least doing some good to drift around with no direction at all. When he was on the run he had a goal; stay under the radar - don’t get caught. Now he was just… drifting. 

He had no one left but Steve and maybe Sam. He had left the two of them behind to look for something; he had no idea what. He felt useless, and was almost ready to go back a month after he left, sitting awake in a hotel room hundreds of miles from New York. He had just about made up his mind when his phone suddenly rang, and Steve’s face appeared on the screen. 

Bucky grumbled, slightly annoyed that Steve somehow always seemed to know when he needed to talk, even if Bucky never wanted too. 

“Steve, it’s the middle of the night,” Bucky groaned into the phone, and he could practically feel Steve rolling his eyes at him. 

“You weren’t sleeping, and it’s not night here yet,” Steve retorted, before pausing. “Bucky I have to tell you something… Becca she…”

“She died while I was gone. I know,” Bucky interrupted Steve. That was one of the many things that haunted Bucky at night. He had the chance to go see her when he was on the run or in exile. It would have been risky, but she had been alive.

“Yeah… I’m sorry Buck. I found out where she’s buried,” Steve said hesitantly.

Bucky felt as if the air was knocked from his chest. He hadn’t looked for her resting place, because visiting her would make it real. His little sister was no longer breathing the same air that he was. He no longer had a family, not aside from Steve that was, and with his decision, chances were Bucky would be forced to outlive him too. 

Bucky had understood. He wanted Steve to be happy, and he wouldn’t have wanted Steve to choose any differently. He had encouraged his choice, and he would again. 

“Stevie… I don’t know if…” Bucky stammered, and he heard Steve take a deep breath on the other end of the phone. Just like he usually did when he was getting ready for one of his speeches. Only nothing came. 

“I’m gonna text you the address.” Steve announced, and it was Bucky’s turn to take a deep breath. 

“Okay…” 

“Bucky,” Steve tried, making Bucky shake his head even if he knew Steve couldn’t see him. 

“I’m fine Stevie,” he lied. 

“I think you should go see her. I think… well I think that might be where you need to go,” Steve said, without really saying anything. It always annoyed Bucky when he did that, but he was also too tired to argue. 

“I might,” Bucky promised without promising too much. “Goodnight Steve. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” Steve’s voice sounded before Bucky ended the call, waiting for the screen to light up with an address. He stared at the phone for a few minutes before tossing it onto the bedside table and throwing himself back onto the bed. Tears flew down Bucky’s cheeks as he stared into the ceiling. For the first time in forever, he let himself feel the loss of his family, and it hurt so badly he could hardly breath. 

Reblogs spread my work and make me happy. Got a favorite part/line? Did something touch you? Do you relate in some way? Please tell me and make my day.  

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[marcilled]

[this is gonna be a big long post about minecraft youtuber drama... press J to scroll past this if you don’t care about that. lol. sorry]

idunno if anybody took my post the other day as me “cancelling dream for cheating in a videogame”, i posted it mostly out of bemusement of the whole situation, and because that video was really well put-together. (context: his 1.16 speedruns were disqualified by the minecraft speedrun.com moderators & there was a video & document explaining why).

I definitely don’t correlate cheating a speedrun w/ ableism, racism, etc etc. I already knew about a lot of nasty shit dream has done, like the video he did with Notch, and how all of his early content was about pewdiepie, just further normalizing those two to his young audience. I’ve always disliked him for those things, which I’ve been aware of pretty much as long as I’ve known of him, and he has never apologized for those things. It’s why whenever I posted about him before (which was... maybe once or twice?), I always say “don’t stan him or anything he sucks”.

I had no idea there was so much more to it honestly. It’s kind of galling seeing the full context now, because whenever I’ve seen any kind of criticism against him, it’s been him presenting it in an apology. I dunno why I wasn’t suspicious of this given what I already knew about him, but the guy seems to be very clever with how he damage controls any sort of possible controversy regarding him. He presents a really heartfelt, honest apology for whatever happened and gives a few cherrypicked examples of things that people said about him and says how wrong he was and how he doesn’t want to alienate his viewers.

The fact that it’s Dream presenting the evidence of his controversies, means that he gets to control how the conversation goes. Instead of a popular “mcyt” stan account getting to control the conversation, pointing out the shit he’s said and done, he addresses it in a livestream, and does not provide the original context. Huh, I wonder why. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want everyone to see that his mistakes are more than just little “oopsies”, it’s him being actively malicious and getting so defensive that he tells off anybody who could possibly disagree with his view of things.

While his actions and words are pretty horrid on their own, I think the thing that has me most concerned about Dream is... He seems pretty fuckin’ good at manipulating peoples’ perception of him.

-----

After the video about his speedruns being cheated came out the other day, he had this to say on twitter (this is his second, “personal” account):

Now, as I said before, cheating in a videogame isn’t at all comparable to racism or ableism. What I’m trying to point out here is his response to any sort of criticism.

The video he’s referring to is this one, published by Geosquare 2 days ago (dec 11th). What’s interesting to note here is how he singles out Geosquare specifically in this tweet. If you click on the video, the first few seconds establishes that it’s a video made by the entire Minecraft java edition speedrunning mod team (which is made up of a team of over a dozen people). The video and document was a true team effort from every single one of them, and it only got posted to Geosquare’s account (& got his narration) because he’s already a youtuber with a pretty comfortable amount of subscribers.

So, instead of pointing his ire (and those of his many, many fans) at the whole speedrun mod team, instead, he points it squarely on Geosquare, so that people have a convenient name to latch onto. He then accuses Geosquare of using his name as “clickbait” in order to get “easy views”, sowing the seed of this idea that Geosquare is doing this in an opportunistic grab for personal gain. If you clicked on the video and saw the description/pinned comment, you’d see that not only did Geosquare disable monetization on the video, he disabled monetization on his entire channel for as long as this drama goes on (and he knew there would be drama, dream made extra sure to threaten the mods with a video of his own in retaliation if they ended up banning him).

Then, in a reply to the first tweet, he says that there are “multiple moderators” messaging him saying the verdict was “biased” and that they may quit the mod team. He provides no evidence for this. However, if you click on the tweet and view any of the thousands of replies from his fans, it doesn’t matter that he gave no evidence, his word is enough. If you’re wondering, Geosquare and a few other mods have stated many times that it was a group decision on their part, and nobody had any question in their mind that Dream must have cheated. So... Dream, who are these “mods” that are messaging you? He won’t say.

Lastly here, I want to point out that in his next tweet on the matter, he makes this very bitter comment about how useless it was for them to investigate a “16th place run”. It’s a minor detail, but I think it’s worth mentioning; this kind of downplays how impressive his run was at the time. At the time he submitted his sub-20 minute speedrun, it was a top 5 run, in a very competitive category of speedrunning the game. In the 2 months since, several people have passed his time using new strats, but that doesn’t diminish the fact it was a pretty amazing “run”... if it weren’t cheated of course. But, I’m just rambling on about how petty I am about him cheating at this point so let me get back to the main point here.

If you see the numbers on these tweets (hundreds of thousands of likes), you’ll understand why this is pretty scary for those speedrun mods. The same day this happened Geosquare joked around “I’ve only gotten one death threat so far!”. Dream’s fanbase is unparalleled in minecraft youtube, and incredibly sizeable for a youtube channel overall. If you’re not familiar with this new wave of “mcyt” minecraft accounts, it’s... it’s pretty much exclusively because of Dream’s fame. He’s the driving force of minecraft youtube content right now. Any youtuber who even breathes near the guy blows up in subscribers & views. His minecraft server, “Dream SMP”, is like... it has a legitimate cultural impact, whether that sentence disgusts you or not. Especially for young gen Z kids.

The point I’m trying to make is, ever since he came onto the scene in early 2019, he’s grown and grown at exponential rates, and I can’t understate the kind of influence he has on not just his own fans, but the fans of like. Pretty much anyone who is plugged in to anything minecraft youtube related right now.

People have discussed this before, but Dream’s sudden rise to fame happened shockingly quick. So quick that it’s almost impossible it were by accident. He’d spent something like a year or two studying how the youtube algorithm works, how famous youtubers grow their popularity, etc. He spent a lot of time studying, and it paid off for him. It makes me wonder if he’s studied how youtubers deal with controversy as well. Because it seems like he’s doing everything right to keep his fans “loyal” to him.

So I think it’s not unreasonable to say that it is pretty goddamn concerning when he reacts to criticism like this. His immense fanbase, who are often worryingly obsessed with him, of mostly impressionable kids... It’s a recipe for disaster, in the hands of someone so entitled and immature.

I think what really has me worried, though, is a video he published to his second channel the other day. Recently, he published a video about his “stans”. The entire video essentially boiled down to him disputing claims that “dream stans” were toxic, or that stanning people or “stan culture” was creepy/unhealthy. He spent a lot of the video comparing stans of content creators to passionate fans of football teams, and expressed repeatedly how he thought it was normal and OK to be totally obsessed with a content creator and engage in “stan culture”, as long as you weren’t being a legitimate stalker. He pretty much only talked about the positives of being a Dream Stan, and how positive the “community” is. The whole video painted this really idealistic image of what it means to be a Stan of a person, and fandom in general.

Now... I don’t know about everyone else reading this, but I found that video to be... incredibly creepy and weird. It completely ignores any actual arguments about how stan culture can be unhealthy, and how engaging so heavily in parasocial relationships can be quite damaging, especially to younger people.

But, mostly? It seemed like the whole video was basically designed just to reinforce the most unhealthy impulses of his stans, and reward them with the positive encouragement that he actually enjoys it when they are obsessed with him so much that they can’t imagine he could ever possibly do anything wrong.

And that? That is fucking dangerous for a person with such a huge fanbase to be peddling to their fans.

Surely, he must know- a great deal of his fans are so obsessed with him, that they think they know him as well as, if not more than, a personal friend. So that when he does something disagreeable and wrong, and he claims “no that’s not how it happened, they’re biased and trying to cancel me because they’re jealous”, they just take that at face value, because why would he lie? He’s so honest and genuine in his videos and livestreams!

This sort of behavior from Dream, along with his tweets I posted earlier, reads to me as if he knows exactly what he’s doing. I think he is purposefully insulating his fans from the truth of his actions, so that he can present this idealistic picture of him in their mind, so that it seems absurd that he would do something wrong.

I think it’s only a matter of time before it comes out he’s done something much worse, honestly. What it is, is hard to say- he’s already done so much that anyone reading this should rescind their support for him, imo. But, I know that none of this matters to his millions of fans. While I worry for them, I also worry for anyone who becomes a target of Dream. I could see this speedrunning drama being the start of a downward spiral for him. Things could get real ugly with all that minecraft clout getting to his head... I guess we’ll have to wait and see.

TL;DR, dream sucks, and not just because he cheats at videogames.

I apologize again for writing a multi paragraph post about a minecraft youtuber. I will not post about this anymore (probably) please do not unfollow me .

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 3.6}

*Severus Snape x OC*

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

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

Words: 5.8k

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

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Unsurprisingly, working with Snape was absolutely demanding and still (or therefore) absolutely delightful. The Sunday evening they had started the slow process of making the potion, Robin had mostly watched Snape working and listened to him explaining what he was doing as he moved along. But over the days and weeks, she was allowed to do more and more herself, and somehow, miraculously, a second chair had found its way to the laboratory by the end of the third week. Being allowed to do more practical work, however, had come at the cost of Snape correcting literally everything Robin was doing for a good amount of time. Whether it was cutting something up, separating something else, or even something as simple as stirring… he always had something to complain about.

Robin loved every second of it dearly, even though she would accidentally sass him sometimes in return to his corrections of whatever she did. There also was no denying that she was learning more than she had ever expected, and even though the times when they actually had to work on the potion were not more frequent than two to three nights a week, she always looked forward to it from the very moment she left the lab in the first place.

Unfortunately the two months came to an end eventually, and Snape summoned her to the lab on a Saturday night in December to bring their work to an end with the very procedure this all had led up to. The restoration of the page. Honestly, Robin didn't know what to expect of it. They still had no idea what was hidden on that page, but she felt honoured that she was allowed to be here for the final revelation nonetheless. He was by no means obliged to keep her around at any point, especially not now, and Robin was well aware of that, which was what had led her to be all the more grateful in return.

"What do you think we will find on that page, professor?" She asked as she sat on her stool, observing how he placed the old book on the table, opening it to the two pages that enclosed the missing one.

"If I knew, we would not have to go through with this entire procedure."

"I know that you don't know… But what is your assumption? What do you think is worth hiding like this?"

"I do not know, Miss Mitchell." He sighed, but then turned to her as he lifted an eyebrow. "What is your assumption then, if you expect me to have one?"

"Well… I've actually spent quite some time thinking about this." She smiled to herself for a moment. Truth be told, she had been thinking about little else over the course of the last two months. "Seeing as this page is probably from the Renaissance, it would be something THEY deemed worth hiding. So I asked myself: What was worth hiding in the 15th and 16th century? The answer would be: basically the same as today. Sex and power, the driving forces of mankind since the very beginning. Now, I honestly doubt, or rather I want to doubt, that this entire spell is about sex, so I'm staying with power. The means to power are control and protection, which leaves us basically with weapons and security. Now back to the Renaissance: as far as I remember and as far as the library here allows me to research, most of the European countries weren't actually counties but basically a rag rug of principalities and such. That again leads me to believe that wars, especially of the magic kind, weren't actually fought on a scale large enough that would bring forth a weapon strong enough to be worth hiding like this. That leaves us with security, and thus protection. Which is, to finish this off, what I believe this page is about. A protection spell."

Mildly amused and badly hiding it, Snape raised an eyebrow at her once again. "You seem fairly confident in your thesis."

"If I wasn't confident in it, it would hardly be a thesis worth upholding." Robin smirked. "I would even bet my non-existent birthday presents on it."

"If they are non-existent, that statement hardly counts for anything, does it?"

Now Robin had to laugh out loud indeed. "True, unfortunately. But I'm still fairly certain about my thesis."

"Then we shall see if you are correct." Snape mused and finally moved on to follow the instructions in Robin's literature spell book. First, one had to make the potion. They'd done that already, at least. Then the potion would have to be drizzled over the part of the spine on the inside of the book where the page was missing. Snape allowed Robin to do this step, and it admittedly was an easy task, but she was only too happy to get to do something in this procedure at all. Next, the actual spell had to be spoken, which Robin gladly left for her professor to do, as she honestly didn't even know how to pronounce the words she'd read on the page. After that was done, the instructions merely said to wait, and then they would be done. So that's what they did, merely sitting on their stools and staring at the book while waiting for something to happen.

"Do you think it worked?" Robin asked after five minutes of silence, when still absolutely nothing had happened

"Yes."

"I honestly can't believe it was this easy after freaking two months of making that potion."

"Luckily efficiency not always correlates to effort."

"I hope you know that I'm very grateful that I got to help you in this, sir, no matter how difficult or easy it is. I've learned so much, and I truly believe that I've never felt so filled with… passion, and joy, and curiosity, in anything ever before."

"I know." It was a simple statement, but Robin understood what he meant to express. He wouldn't have made an effort to teach her any of the things she'd learned if he didn't know she appreciated it.

"Good." She returned with a smile, then looked at the book once more only to jump in her seat. "Bloody hell! It's glowing! It's actually working!"

Snape rolled his eyes, but still had to suppress the not-smirk at the same time, which was only a partial success, seeing as Robin still noticed it. "Of course it's working, Mitchell, get over it."

"Sorry." She bit her lips and tried to contain her sheer excitement, but it honestly was difficult. It was actually working! "It's just… a spell I found, in my book, with a potion we made, restores your book page! How amazing is that!"

"You seem to have had fairly few successes in your life if you get that excited over this one."

"Well, all successes I've ever had were utterly unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Getting good grades, winning minor quarrels, scaring scummy shop owners… It wasn't anything worth mentioning. But this could be something amazing! Something that actually matters!"

"We will see in just a short moment." He mused, then turned towards the book and once the page was entirely restored at last, he went to read it over once, twice, another time…

"And?" Robin asked anxiously, after giving him almost fifteen minutes to read that one single page. Nobody needed that long to read a couple words!

"Shush."

She rolled her eyes, but complied. If the past two months had done anything, they had proven to her that the odd amount of trust she put into Snape was actually justified. And thus she waited another ten minutes until he finally turned to her with a grave expression.

"Is… is it something… bad?" Robin tried again, and her insecure frown met his stoney gaze for a moment until she looked back at the book.

"You should read it." Was all he said, before standing up from his stool and busying himself with whatever he could to obviously distract himself from whatever it was he had just read. To think about it, perhaps.

In an instant Robin's eyes were glued to the book. It was a protection spell indeed! The grin was on her face immediately, and she felt proud to have come to the right conclusion. As she read on, everything became a bit clearer, and yet also a great deal more confusing. It wasn't a spell… it was a potion. After reading it a second time, she looked up from the book and her eyes found her professor's across the room. "Quite frankly, I'm not sure I understand."

"I would be surprised if you did."

"Why?"

"Because I am not certain I understand it either, and I would much prefer if I didn't."

"What?!" Robin frowned at him in honest question. "Why would you hope you don't understand? What exactly is it you believe to understand?"

"You were the one to guess that it was a protection spell. Why don't you tell me what you understand?"

"Alright…" Robin sighed and let her eyes travel over the page once more, before looking back up at Snape. "As far as I got any of this, it's a potion, not a spell."

"Good. Go on."

"Well, it is supposed to protect the person drinking it from the influence of any kind of magic. But not their own, somehow. So… it's like a two-way mirror, kind of. Nobody can magic you, but you can magic everyone else."

"Precisely."

"But…" Robin added reluctantly.

"But?" Snape frowned in return, clearly not having expected her to continue.

"Yeah, but…" Robin frowned as well, as she looked at the page once more. "It seems like this spell will only protect…" She stopped there, feeling like this was probably a really silly thought. If Snape hadn't understood it this way, it was probably wrong anyway.

"Do go on." He encouraged, or rather demanded though.

"It sounds like it only protects half bloods. Or maybe also muggle borns, I'm not sure… but definitely not pure bloods."

In an instant, Snape was by her side and looking at the book as well in an astonishing intensity. "Where did you read that?"

Robin pointed to a paragraph at the bottom of the page. "Here it says 'Only thee who is't hast ventur'd both worlds shalt beest the one who is't dwells in the safety of the beshrew's blessing'. In my opinion that would roughly translate to 'Only you who has ventured both worlds shall be the one who dwells in the safety of the curse's blessing' in modern day language. And seeing as the entire book is a mixture of the muggle and wizarding world, I just thought that those are what's meant with 'both worlds'. The only people who usually know both worlds are muggle borns or half bloods. So… yeah."

Snape read the short paragraph again, then looked up at Robin in sincere astonishment. "I believe you are right, Miss Mitchell."

"Wait, what? Really!?" Robin stared back at him in equal surprise and doubt, eyes wide as they searched for any sign of mock in his own. But he was entirely serious.

"It seems fairly obvious now that you pointed it out, but I must admit… I failed to notice it before." He commented, reading the paragraph yet another time.

Had he just-... No, surely not… but he definitely had admitted that she had found something he hadn't, right? Right?! Robin was too stunned to even give any proper reply, so she simply offered him a happy half smile.

"However I am not certain if this means that pure bloods cannot make the potion, or if it will not affect them, in disregard of the ones who made it." He mused after a few seconds, and Robin finally snapped out of her daze as the words sunk into her brain.

"Them?" She asked before she could stop herself from saying anything at all. "Do you mean… you're not…?"

Immediately he shot her a defensive glare. "That is not even remotely of your concern."

"I'm sorry." Robin replied quickly and while she still felt curious, she also regretted bringing it up. "I really didn't mean to pry, sir."

"Simply forget about it, will you?" He murmured, then turned towards the book once more.

"So… why does it matter if they cannot make it or if they merely cannot use it?" Robin asked for the sole sake of a change of topic.

"You know the answer to that." He replied with a pointedly annoyed expression.

"I do indeed…" Robin whispered to herself, then looked at the book in front of her, and finally to the ingredients on the shelves. She really had screwed this up, hadn't she… It had been truly stupid to ask him something that personal. "Sorry…"

"Don't apologise. You had a crucial part in the project, and this discovery is your merit as well as it is mine. A potion like this has been searched for for centuries, and would any of this become known… It would be revolutionary."

"...would? We're not going to… to tell anyone about it?" Robin asked in surprise, and a mild twist of disappointment. "But… we can try it out at least, right?"

"No." He replied with a quiet solemnity that made Robin's heart sink even further. "This potion is dangerous, more so than you likely realize."

"But how? Why?!" Robin asked in desperate incredulity. "What's wrong with protecting yourself against your enemies? This potion could help so many people…"

In a moment's notice, Snape turned to Robin entirely, not even an arm's length away, and looked down at her with such a seriousness and intensity that she inevitably shuddered. "Nobody can know that this potion exists. Not a single soul but you and me, do you understand that?"

"I do." Robin replied quietly, as she still looked up at him with sad eyes. "But please, at least tell me why."

"Promise me that you will never lose a single word about it to anyone but me. Not the other teachers, not a friend, not even Professor Dumbledore or the Minister of Magic himself." He really seemed to be dead serious about this, and Robin started feeling sick with anxiety again. If he truly wanted her to swear her silence, he had a reason to.

"I promise." She replied in complete seriousness and utmost honesty. "I don't know if it means anything to you, but I promise."

"It does." He replied a little less gravely, and took a step backwards, out of her personal space. "Coming from you, it does."

"Can you… please tell me why this is so dangerous? Please… I just wanted to understand." Robin tried once more after a moment of silence, not even caring if her begging was pathetic, but she needed to know.

"Do you know Oscar Wilde, Miss Mitchell?" He asked completely out of context, or so it seemed, and Robin only looked even more lost.

"Yes, I… I've heard of him."

"I thought so. He supposedly said: 'Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth'." Snape made a small pause, and Robin considered the quote for a moment before he spoke on. "In my eyes, the same principle applies for might. Make someone believe they are invincible, and they will show their true self in their actions. Now, I'm certain you are aware of the propensity of mankind to oppress their oppressors, if given the chance. What do you think would happen to the muggle borns after centuries of being oppressed by the pure bloods, if they gained access to a potion that makes them invincible?"

"Oh…" Robin's face softened from pouting incredulity to actual understanding, but her chest still felt painfully small for her thudding heart. "It-it could lead to some very serious damage in the world, I guess. There's always someone willing to start a revolution… but we mustn't give them an opportunity for that." She finally concluded on her own, nodding to herself as if to help the words sink into her mind and shake out the disappointment.

"Precisely." He confirmed, back to neutrality if not even a subtle touch of calmness. "That is why nobody can know of its existence. Do you understand that now?"

"I do… and I agree, even. I just didn't really consider that something so good could be used for something so bad." She sighed, picking at the buttons of her shirt subconsciously rather than by choice, and looked from Snape down to the book. "What do we… what will you do with it?"

"The very same thing the previous possessor did. Destroy the page, keep the book of nonsense safe." He replied as he sat back down on his own stool, and Robin could feel his eyes on her even though she kept staring at the book to hide her tears.

"So all efforts were for nothing, huh?" Her voice was throaty and thick, and Robin felt like they got stuck in her chest in the first place. She had been so focused on this whole thing, had put so much of her heart into it… and now it would be destroyed, and thus every chance of possibly continuing this out of class work with Snape was over once and for all. That maybe –no, definitely– was even worse than the loss of this remarkable potion that had been lost in the first place anyway.

"Will you stop being so dramatic, now…" He gave right back, feignedly scolding, but it did its job and Robin pulled herself together as he spoke on. "Nothing about this project by any means was in vain, seeing as we both learned a valuable lesson. And wouldn't you say it was our aim to solve a mystery rather than strive for material gain?"

Once again, Robin had to realize that Snape was right. Of course he was... It was ridiculous to be upset over this, she should be happy indeed that they had actually managed to solve the mystery. That she had gotten to help, and that she had gotten to learn so much over the last two months. In this new light, the tears stopped burning in her eyes and she could blink them away before looking up at her professor with an attempted half smile. Better.

"We definitely did solve the mystery." She said, and the smile reached her eyes a moment later. "And I definitely learned a lot from all of this, and from you, professor. It truly was a joy."

"Your understanding of joy is rather curious, if you consider being constantly corrected one."

"I consider potions a joy. And learning." Now she had to smile for real, and the sadness faded from her mind like clearing fog. This wasn't the end.

"That is… acceptable."

Robin had to snort at his choice of words. "It's 'acceptable'? May I ask, what did you learn, sir, if you say we both learned something from it? Is it just the spells and potions or… something else?"

His face went straight back into stony nothingness, and Robin believed she had said the wrong thing again as he got up and walked across the room to fetch an empty bottle, probably to store the remainder of the potion.

"I learned that at least one person in this school full of dunderheads is worth my time and efforts." He finally replied, likely as indifferently as he could manage, but the words were clear enough even without any means to convey them appropriately. Professor Snape deemed Robin worth his teaching. He didn't regret allowing her to help. Maybe he would even let her do it again. Robin's smile widened into a grin before she could help it.

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me, I believe." She smirked before she could think better of it.

"Who said I was speaking of you?" Came his immediate reply, but now both his tone and expression clearly gave away the obvious tease. Robin found herself enjoying it… those extremely rare moments when he wasn't void of any sentiment, on the outside.

"I beg your forgiveness for being so pridefully assuming." She laughed, and there it was again, the sarcasm she got scolded for more often than not. And still Robin couldn't wipe the smirk off her face.

"Forgiveness granted."

"That was easy…"

"Careful."

"I'm in the potions master's private laboratory… whatever else would I be but careful?" While her tone was still anything but serious, he actually seemed quite pleased with her statement, and that made Robin smile even more. Slowly her cheeks were starting to hurt again… it was odd how she always seemed to go through a wide array of emotions in the shortest time spans whenever she was around Professor Snape. He was irritating, and everything he did was too. That must be it.

While Snape filled the remainder of the potion into the bottle he had just retrieved, and then labeled it and put it away into one of the shelves, Robin looked over the page with the dangerous-protective potion again (she couldn't find a name anywhere and thus that's what her mind had labeled it, for now). Would destroying it really prevent it from being found in the future? Sure, Snape was brilliant, but if a potions professor and a third year student could restore it almost by chance, then who said nobody else would in the future?

"Professor… can I ask you something?" Robin started her attempt to voice just that thought in a way that wouldn't possibly sound like an insult to him.

"You may ask, but there is no guarantee that I will answer."

"So… I was wondering if the spell we used to restore the page in the first place, and with spell I mean potion and spell and the entire thing, if, you know…" Just get the question out, idiot! "Don't you think someone like us will eventually do the same thing we did? I mean restoring the page that you're destroying now. Wouldn't that simply be a delay of things, if the next person finding it isn't as considerate of its dangers?"

He seemed to really consider her words for a moment, which he had done quite often over the last weeks actually, before he looked at Robin when answering. "That is possible, yes."

"So maybe… a repetition of history wouldn't necessarily be the… best idea?" Robin suggested vaguely and already made a face that clearly showed what she expected him to reply with. A scold, namely.

"What would you suggest I do instead?"

Now, she hadn't expected that. But she'd take the opportunity to voice her thoughts a little more in detail. "So this is the point where my logic kind of depends on my very limited knowledge of things, but… I was thinking, if there really isn't another possibility but to restore the page with a spell-potion-whatever thing like we did, then one should consider how the process of restoration works. From what I understand, the spell in my book refers to the destruction of the page itself which is, kind of, reverted by the procedure we just did as well. Seeing as you said two months ago that all the book restoration spells you tried didn't work in this case, that would –with a bit of corners and loops– mean, in the end, that the page needs to be destroyed first to be restored in the book. If it's not destroyed, while it simply being taken out of the book wouldn't qualify as destroying it I believe, one couldn't restore the page with the book alone."

"So?"

"So… You could take the page out of the book, but NOT destroy it. Because if the only means to getting the page back into the book is a restoration spell or potion, which in return only works if the page was destroyed in the first place, then nobody will be able to get their hands on the page if they have the book." Robin suddenly wasn't so sure about her idea anymore… what if he deemed it stupid? But she'd already voiced too many dumb thoughts around him to let that stop her now. "That of course would still leave open the possibility for the page itself to be found, when it's not destroyed, especially since it's no longer hidden by the book… However if you find out just what exactly counts as for the page being 'destroyed', you could always do something else to it to make it useless. Something that doesn't count as destroyed, and thus will make a restoration impossible, but will also make the page useless. In the end you will thus have a useless book, and a useless page, and neither can be made to function again."

"Where, pray tell, did you get that idea from in this instant?" He raised an eyebrow at Robin, but otherwise didn't give away what he thought of her suggestion. Idiot…

"I… think. A lot." Robin replied lamely. "I mean, I don't know much, and I can do even less, but I'm fairly decent at thinking… I think."

Snape rolled his eyes at that admittedly silly statement, and Robin tried to force the heat out of her face. For a minute, it was completely silent.

"Your mind truly is an ever-surprising quarry to delve in, Miss Mitchell…" He commented then, with a frown and a curious look at her, and while it wasn't really a compliment, his words still made Robin shiver for some reason. "I will consider your suggestion before making my decision about what is to do with the page and the book."

"Thank you, sir. I'm just glad it wasn't complete nonsense." Robin replied with a nervous chuckle, then scooted herself off her stool and awkwardly took a step towards the door before turning back once more. "Uhm, is there… anything else for me to do tonight?"

"If I'm not mistaken, you have an essay to write for my class." Aaand he was entirely back in professor-mode, scowl, bored indifference and all.

"I finished it last night, sir."

"I assigned it last night, Miss Mitchell."

"Yes, and I wrote and finished it after dinner. Proofread it this morning. Edited it this afternoon. All done now."

"The class really is too easy." Snape sighed dramatically. "Unfortunately, all the other students would fail if I made it any more difficult."

"Don't they fail as it is already?" Robin whispered more to herself than to him, and still received a glare and a not-smirk in return.

"Goodnight, Miss Mitchell." He said after two more seconds of silence, and Robin understood a polite invitation to leave when she heard one.

"Goodnight sir." She gave back before she let herself out, with a smile that didn't leave her face for the rest of the night.

_______________

It was almost a month later when Robin heard about the book, and the dangerous-protective potion again. Just as last year, she had decided to stay in the castle over Christmas break. However this year she actually knew from the start what she would be doing, and Professor Sprout seemed rather delighted about Robin's enthusiasm to help her out again. But one thing did change in comparison to last year. This year, Robin received a Christmas present. Not in the traditional sense, admittedly, but to her it would always be one all the same.

Seeing as she would only get the money from her parents once she would go home in the summer, Robin hadn't exactly expected to be given anything at all. And it surely wasn't given to her the way she would expect either. While usually the students who stayed here over the holidays received their presents in the common room upon Christmas morning, this is not how Robin came to hers.

Christmas arrived in a whirlwind of snow and cold, just like last year, and it also went that way again. Robin worked in the greenhouse most of the time, but occasionally she would be sent to Hagrid's for a change. She hadn't really had much contact with the man in question before this particular Christmas break, but seeing as Professor Sprout didn't require her assistance every single day, the herbology teacher still was kind enough to refer Robin to the gamekeeper. He wasn't the brightest fellow, admittedly, but good-natured and kind to the bone, and that made Robin like him in an instant. She helped him out with all kinds of things, from taking care of the magical creatures (which she unfortunately knew nothing about since she hadn't taken this particular class) to simple work in the school garden, and admittedly, she did learn a lot from Hagrid, too.

In the evenings Robin would still come to sit in Snape's classroom, alone, for she still couldn't stand to be in the common room even though it had become rather deserted. The overwhelming panic she had felt in the beginning of the term hadn't been back since, but Robin assumed that it was solely due to the fact that she had been avoiding situations that made her panic in the first place at all costs. Christmas came and went this way, without a present, but with a good lot of practical work every day. She actually felt content, with enough decent company throughout the day, and enough time to read by herself at night. The only thing that nagged at her mind from time to time was the absence of a certain potions professor from the classroom or his office in the evenings, but then again, she reasoned that since he still showed up for most meals, he surely was fine. Still, she felt worried about him. A little. An appropriate amount. It was perfectly normal to worry about someone you usually saw every day. Almost. She didn't let his absence stop her from making good use of his classroom every evening though. The first night she didn't spend in there was New Year's.

After her work of the day in the greenhouse was done, she got cleaned up and tidied her part of the room, then wrapped herself in her warmest clothes, and in sweet remembrance of last year headed out into the arcades that surrounded the courtyard at roughly eleven. With a soft smile she sat down in the same arch as last year, crossed her legs underneath her, and started to read her book on the care of magical creatures. Maybe she could convince some people to let her join the class after the holidays, if only she caught up with the class material before then. It's what she'd been trying to do ever since the first day of working for Hagrid, when she had discovered that magical creatures actually were a very much similar subject to herbology when it came to its usefulness for potions.

"Becoming predictable, are we?" Snape's voice called out to her even before he was anywhere to be seen.

"I'd rather say I've been spending surprisingly little time out here this Christmas." Robin replied with a smile, but kept her eyes on the book. At least she hadn't jumped again.

"What are you reading this year?"

"The textbook for the 'care of magical creatures' class. I thought about convincing whoever teaches it currently to let me join the class after the holidays."

"Where does the sudden interest stem from?" His voice had gotten closer now, and Robin believed he had once more taken a seat in the arch next to hers.

"It's surprisingly handy to know a bit about the creatures whose body parts and liquids we use in potion making. Just like it's useful to know herbology." She smiled to herself, eyes still on the book while yet she had stopped trying to read.

"Clever."

"That's what I’d rather hoped."

"Consider it done."

"What exactly?"

"Your inquiry to participate in the class. I will speak to Professor Kettleburn, and he will let you join once term resumes."

"Wha-... Thank you! That's… amazing! Really, thank you so much." Robin's eyes finally lifted off her book and she looked towards the arch next to her, but yet again could see nothing more than stone and ornamentation.

"Yes, well… just do me the favor and make sure you are not ahead of the class right on the first day already." He mumbled in the usual discomfort upon being thanked, and still Robin had to snicker at the comment.

"Then I better stop studying their textbook now and leave the last two chapters for another day." She commented with a grin, and indeed closed her book in her lap only to rest her forearms on it to lean forward just enough to get a glimpse of her professor in the next arch. He looked gnarlier than usual, if one could even say that about someone that young, and Robin seriously wondered what he'd been up to during the holidays. But it wasn't her place to ask.

Thus they merely sat in silence yet again, watching the snow falling slowly and calmly as the minutes ticked by without their notice. Robin did wonder for a moment why Snape was out here with her, but she dismissed the question when she couldn't even tell the reason why she was here herself. Maybe it was the calm, or the solitude. Even if technically it wasn't solitude in the first place, with it being the two of them, but still it was like solitude from all the stupid people. Just two people who understood the silence like a part of themselves. At least that's what Robin thought, and for her it was a good enough theory to stick to.

At last it was the noise coming from Hogsmeade again that made Robin aware of the turn of years, and she smiled to herself as she realized that she had spent another new year's out here with the potions professor. Maybe it was turning out to be an odd little tradition, just like Professor Sprout's –who had told Robin that she always spends new year's sitting in her room's window with a piece of cake, watching the fireworks in the distance– which she had told Robin about the other day. While Robin found the herbology teacher's tradition quite charming, she preferred her own that hopefully would come into existence for real. Just Snape, and silence, and darkness, and Robin. She could very well live with that. Too well, perhaps.

_______________________________

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[horansqueen]

You & Me : chapter 45

A Niall Horan fanfiction ; rated MA

Sequel to AM CONVERSATIONS

CHAPTER 1 || CHAPTER 2 || CHAPTER 3 || CHAPTER 4 || CHAPTER 5 || CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7 || CHAPTER 8 || CHAPTER 9 || CHAPTER 10 || CHAPTER 11 || CHAPTER 12 || CHAPTER 13 || CHAPTER 14 || CHAPTER 15 || CHAPTER 16 || CHAPTER 17 || CHAPTER 18 || CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 20 || CHAPTER 21 || CHAPTER 22 || CHAPTER 23 || CHAPTER 24 || CHAPTER 25 || CHAPTER 26 || CHAPTER 27 || CHAPTER 28 || CHAPTER 29 || CHAPTER 30 || CHAPTER 31 || CHAPTER 32 || CHAPTER 33 || CHAPTER 34 || CHAPTER 35 || CHAPTER 36 || CHAPTER 37 || CHAPTER 38 || CHAPTER 39 || CHAPTER 40 || CHAPTER 41 || CHAPTER 42 || CHAPTER 43 || CHAPTER 44

NOTES:

-one chapter is her pov, the next is his -4k -im sorry, i never proofread, i hate it. -there WILL be smut. but not only smut. -this is a romance, comedy, smut story. -for the summary, check my MASTERLIST.

READ AM CONVERSATIONS AGAIN ON WATTPAD HERE

- notes: please take note that this is mostly a filler chapter, just like chapter 46 and 47 will be. I have everything planned for 48, 49 and 50 tho. and then the story will be over :( if you want anything added to the filler chapters, please message me. tbh i would love you so so much lol! so yea, im super stressed about ending this story, i cant even explain. ALSO: time will pass quicker in the last few chapters so check the dates!

if you want to be on the list of blogs i notify when this is updated, just message me :)

requests! : the 2 requests added will be posted at the bottom of this post to avoid spoilers!!!

TAKE A LOOK AT THE CHARACTERS HERE

Chapter 45 : His chapter

NIALL

August 16th, 2018

I didn't know exactly what woke me up but I just turned around in bed, wrapping my arm around Liv's body and moving a bit closer before trying to fall back asleep. Unfortunately, my phone started vibrating on my bedside table and I groaned when I realized I forgot to put it on mute before falling asleep. I couldn't remember how long how making love session had lasted and I couldn't even remember when I actually fell asleep.

I grimaced and sighed before turning around and reaching out for my phone, searching for it with my eyes closed. My fingers finally gripped it and I decided to sit up, rubbing my eyes as I tried to read the message I had received. I noticed Louis' face next to the message and I frowned. It's not that Louis never texted me but I was still surprised to see that notification, especially so early in the morning.

'Had fun last night? 😏' was all he had sent me along with a link.

I turned to look at Olivia who was still deeply asleep, laying on her stomach, with the covers just over her butt and I finally got out of bed slowly and gently, making sure I wouldn't wake her up. I walked to the kitchen, letting out a yawn as I passed my hand in my messy hair, and decided to make coffee as I clicked on the link.

I frowned when I recognize my living room and I saw myself get up from the couch, suddenly realizing it was my instagram live from the night before. i frowned more, wondering why Louis would send me the link since I couldn't remember saying or doing anything remotely bad but when Olivia's legs appeared in the screen, I realized my mistake. I had probably not stopped the live properly and my heart jumped in my chest, trying to remember what exactly we had said and done right after.

I heard my girlfriend tell me I was a good person and groaned low again when I heard myself ask her if it turned her on. No one could see us kiss since the laptop was placed on the coffee table and we were standing up but even if I was whispering, the words "I'm gonna miss you so much." could easily be heard before she replied that she was going to miss me more.

"Fucking hell..." I whispered as I blinked a few times, staring at the screen where we could clearly see me leading Liv in the hall as she stepped back, our lips attached to each other's as we made out.

She hit the wall and we both laughed as I let out a 'clumsy ass!' the way I always did before an 'I love you' escaped my lips. I felt my heart jump in my chest knowing so many people had actually witnessed something so personal and I swallowed before sighed and passing my hand in my hair again. We disappeared from the screen as the sound of a door being closed could be heard and I realized the video lasted 4 more minutes where nothing could be heard or seen. It had probably been about an hour since I started the livestream which was why it finally cut and I put my phone away and closed my eyes, wondering what exactly would be the repercussion of this video. I didn't want to go on twitter to read what people were saying but I knew that I would at least have to tell Liv about it.

I poured myself a cup of coffee and my lips curled slightly when I heard my girlfriend yelled from the bedroom.

"HOLY FUCKING SHIT!"

"Okay, she already knows." I whispered to myself, taking a sip from my hot drink and leaning against the counter.

It took her only a few seconds but I saw her appear in front of me, her hair even messier than mine and wearing only my shirt. I wanted to be stressed by all this but when I saw her, my lips curled in a fond smile.

"Did Louis send it to you too?" was the first thing that got out of her mouth and I just nodded before turning around and grabbing a mug to pour her some coffee too. "That's it? That's all I get? A nod?"

I took the time to add sugar and cream in her coffee and finally turned around again to hand it to her. She stared at me for a few seconds before her eyes fell on the mug and she sighed, taking it from my hands.

"Is there anything else to say?" I just asked, shrugging a shoulder. "I mean it's on the internet probably forever and honestly, we've been lucky, especially thinking about all the times we actually just fucked on the couch I mean, this video could be so much worse."

She looked away and her eyebrows raised before she grimaced. "Yea, I guess that's some way to see it." she let out before taking a sip. "I just... Gosh I don't know, I feel violated."

"I'm sorry. Honestly, I feel like shit too. It's my mistake and it's a very bad one." I admitted, raising my nose up. "I'm sorry, petal."

Her eyes met mine and she took a step closer, tilting her chin up to keep her gaze locked with mine. I stared at her back as she blinked a few times and her thin lips curled into a fond smile.

"You're forgiven."

I let my eyes roamed on her face, knowing it was a big thing to be so easily forgiven for something like that, especially that we were both aware she would get a lot of hate because of it. I bent down slightly and let my lips brush against hers before closing my eyes and bringing my hands up to her cheeks to deepen the kiss. When we stopped, she kept hers lips pressed against mine and sighed low.

"I'm gonna turn off my notifications on twitter for a while."

I raised my nose up in a grimace and groaned. "Me too." I kissed her lips again. "We can just ignore the comments together. I promise we'll be fine."

"I know." she whispered, her lips brushing against mine. "I trust you."

I felt something stir in my heart at her words, knowing I had lost her trust last year and I had worked hard to get it back. Still, despite my efforts, she didn't have to give it back to me again, but she had, and I couldn't explain how much it meant to me.

"Thank you, pet."

                                                       ---

August 17th, 2018

I woke up around 10am, knowing I should have been up before. I had a concert on the same night and even if it was barely a two hours ride, we had to get there early to rehearse and make sure everything was in place. I was surprised to realize my girlfriend was not in bed anymore as I reached my arm on the mattress, my hand only meeting the cold sheets of the bed.

Quickly, I opened my eyes, blinking a few times, and stretched before getting up and dressing up. I walked to the kitchen only to see Liv and her lips curled when she saw me. I frowned, still surprised that she was already up, and took the mug she was handing me. I liked this habit that we had to prepare coffee if we were the first one to wake up. We had never talked about it but we just did it naturally and it was one of the many small things that made this whole relationship stronger.

"You're up early." I just pointed out before taking a sip.

"Will you miss me?" she asked quickly, ignoring my comment and making me frown.

"You know I will, petal, why are you asking?" I chuckled, taking a step closer and raising my eyebrows.

The truth was, I didn't want to leave without her but at the same time, I didn't want to force her to come with me. I knew following me on tour was not as fun as it may sound and I also knew she was busy. Of course, the fact that she was done with the season of her show gave her more free time, but the Olivia I discovered after being away from her for over a year was more independent than the Olivia I broke the heart to. She had also been right the last time we had a discussion about being away from each other. She had said it would bring us even closer and stronger together, and it had. We had spent a lot of time texting, facetiming and talking on the phone and I couldn't hide that I had missed her like crazy, but when we finally got to see each other again, it was intense. Besides, nothing would ever stop me from seeing her if at some point, it became too hard to be apart.

"How bad are you going to miss me?" she asked, once again ignoring my question.

"Pet, if I could, I'd put you in my bags and bring you with me."

This answer seemed to satisfy her as her lips curled more and she licked them before putting her mug away. I took a sip in mine but quickly, she grabbed it too and put it next to hers before taking my hand and pulling me with her.

"Are you bringing me in bed for a good fuck or something?"

This time, she laughed and the sound of it made me smile. She brought me to the hall and my lips parted when I saw her luggage in the lobby, laying near the door. I turned to her after a few seconds and she raised her eyebrows.

"If you don't want me to come with you, I'll definitely understand." she just said, shaking her head. "But I've had enough to be away from you. I miss you too much. What do you say?"

I felt my heart jump in my chest and let out a low chuckle before bending down slightly and wrapping my arms right under her butt to lift her up. She let out a short scream and a laugh, making my smile grow.

"Fuck yes!"

"Niall! Put me down! You're gonna hurt yourself!"

I did as she asked and as soon as she was back on her feet, I pushed her against the wall and looked down at her with a smile. She looked up and licked her lips before nibbling on her bottom one, her eyes never leaving mine and a smile still spread on her face.

"I didn't want to force you into coming with me, but fuck, I wanted to ask you to follow me again." I whispered, bending down slightly to brush my nose against hers. "Thank you for coming with me. It makes me so happy, darling."

"I was not sure if you still wanted me to come. I don't want to be annoying, or dependent. I just want to be with you."

My happy smile turned into a fond one. I didn't want her to ever believe she bothered or annoyed me. I was not the kid I used to be when I broke up with her, I didn't see things the same way, and I had learned.

"I always want to be with you. Your presence is a gift for me, I want you to always remember that, okay?" I murmured, feeling my lips brush against hers as I talked. "Don't ever try to be someone else. I love you best when you're just yourself."

She chuckled. "Did you just quote your own song?"

I sent her a smirk and shrugged, my body still pressed on hers. "It's my words, I can use them whenever I want. Besides, I wrote it for you, so."

"Okay but, can I really show you my heart? You promise you won't break it again?"

I rubbed my nose gently and slowly against hers again, making her eyelids flutter slightly.

"I swear." I breathed. "You're everything I want."

                                                   ---

September 12th, 2018

When I walked back in the hotel room after the show, my lips curled when I noticed Liv coming out of the bathroom, her body wrapped in a fluffy white towel. She looked surprised for half a second and finally sent me a smile while tilting her head. I took a few steps closer and placed my hands on her hips but she quickly took a step back and shook her head.

"Nooo, nop!" she let out, making me raise her eyebrows. "You're all sweaty and shit. Take a shower first!"

"I thought seeing me all sweaty made you horny." I argued, my lips curling into a smirk.

"Watching you all wet turns me on too." she admitted, pressing her lips together. "Go shower and I promise to stay naked, deal?"

This time, I smirked even more and waggling my eyebrows, making her laugh. "Can I get a glimpse?" I asked, pulling gently on the top of the towel and letting my gaze drop in her cleavage.

"No!" she argued, slapping my hand slightly and chuckling. "Hurry!"

I groaned and rushed to the bathroom, getting quickly undressed and starting the shower. I let out a sigh as I tilted my chin, feeling the warm water fall in my face and wet my hair. The past months had been exhausting, mentally and physically, but I could actually say that I was in the exact place I wanted to be. I didn't feel this hole inside my chest anymore. Somehow, it was filled with something that I desperately needed without really realizing it. It was not only the love we had for each other that mattered, it was also the friendship, the history, the trust, the hope and the need we felt toward the other... all of this filled everything that needed to be filled. She was my home, and I was hers. I had never felt like that for anyone else in my life.

I quickly got out of the shower and dried my body and hair before wrapping the towel around my waist. When I walked back in the room, my lips parted slightly and I stopped dead in my track. She was laying in bed, on her stomach, her headphones on as she seemed to read something (a book or a magazine, perhaps?), still completely naked. I stared for a few seconds at the back of her head before my eyes moved down to her ass. I didn't know if she did that just to turn me on but it definitely worked. I took the towel off and let it fall next to me before grabbing my cock in my hand and stroking it gently.

She started humming a song low and I was so focused on her naked form that it took me half a minute to realize it was one of mine. It made the left corner of my lips raise up and I let my free hand run down to my balls as I got harder.

Being able to have sex with her every time I came back to the hotel room was one of the perks of having her on tour, along with many others, of course. I normally prefer to be alone but when it came to Olivia, everything seemed different. I didn't feel stuck in this relationship, or smothered by it. I still wanted us to be private and couldn't wait until people would stop mentioning that video or us after my livestream but at the same time, It didn't bother me the way it would have before. After all, I was dating her, and for the very first time in my life, I wanted it to last forever. Just that thought seemed crazy to me and my heart skipped a beat.

I took a step closer to her and without thinking, I straddled her quickly and stared down as I pushed my cock inside her. She tensed and I felt her walls press around the tip of my cock, making me groan.

"Don't move, baby." I whispered before realizing she probably couldn't hear me.

I kept looking down as I slowly pushed myself more inside her until I was balls deep and moaned low. She felt amazing, as she always did, and my whole body started throbbing. I leaned closer to her, holding myself with my hands near her shoulders, and moved my hips back before thrusting in her again.

"F-Fuck."

The way she whimpered made me smile and with one hand, I took her headphones off and it fell off the bed, making a soft sound as it hit the carpet. I bent down slightly and brushed my lips on her ear.

"I don't think what you're reading is as interesting as what I'm doing to you, is it, petal?"

I watched her eyes flutter closed and her lips part before laying on top of her and slipping one  of my arms around her. My hand reached for her neck and I pressed my fingers on her throat as I tried to hold myself with the elbow of my other arm, making sure I didn't crush her or hurt her.

"Is it?" I asked again, a little louder this time.

"Mm, nothing is better than what you're doing to me." she admitted in a whisper, making me smile more.

"How much do you like my cock inside your pretty little cunt, pet?"

She moved her ass up to feel me deeper and I breathed through my teeth at the amazing sensation, remaining motionless for a few seconds. She started wiggling a bit and my grip tightened around her neck.

"So.. so much." she whimpered again, gripping the sheets of the bed with both hands.

"You're so fucking impatient." I whispered with a chuckle, letting go of her throat and sitting back on her legs. "Didn't think I'd find you laying on the bed naked like that, just waiting for me. You have no idea how hard that made me."

I stared down at my cock moving slowly in and out of her as I moved and enjoyed the moans coming out of her mouth every single time I was completely inside her.

"Fuck, Niall, please."

I looked up and grabbed her hair, pulling on it a bit as she let out a louder whimper.

"Fuck, you're so wet." I whispered, gripping her hair tighter. "I want to cum inside you, petal."

I watched her move a bit, her body twisting as she slipped one of her arms under her body to reach for her clit. She rubbed the tip of her fingers on my balls, making me groan, and finally started touching herself, making her ass grind up. I started fucking her harder and faster, in motion with her ass moving up and it only took a minute or two until she started shaking beneath me. The sight was amazing and I groaned as I came too, pushing her hard despite myself in the mattress.

"Jesus Christ." I whispered before going limp on top of her.

I heard her chuckle and my lips curled too as I brushed them on her shoulder. She shivered and I smiled even more when goosebumps appeared on her now damp skin.

"I love having sex with you." she admitted, making me laugh lightly.

"Oh darling, I love having sex with you, too."

I trailed kisses on her neck and shoulder and after a while, I moved next to her, laying on my back and staring at the ceiling. We were on the wrong side of the bed and I felt my heels lean against one of the pillows.

"And I love spending time with you. I love being close to you. I love that you followed me here. I love that you're still my best friend after all this time. I love that we get along so well, that we grew up together, that we're even closer than we used to be." I confessed slowly in a soft tone. "I love that you love me. I love that I love you. I love the team we make. I love you, Olivia."

I turned my head her way and she was staring at her. She seemed on the verge on tears but I knew they were happy tears and I sent her a fond smile before moving on my side to see her better. I brought one of my hands to her cheek and pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"The truth is, I can't wait to marry you, to start a family with you, to grow old with you."

Her eyes roamed on my face and she swallowed hard. We both remained silent for a while and she pressed her lips together. It was so endearing that I smiled more and let my fingertips run on her shoulder and down her sides, until her waist.

"You..." she started, stopping herself again for a few seconds before her eyes met mine. "The first time we dated, it was everything that scared you about our couple. That's why you broke up with me, remember?"

I held my head with my hand, my arm on the mattress, and she moved closer, licking her lips and waiting for my answer. Of course I remembered, how could I not?

"I know." I replied, nodding lightly. "I was a fuckin' idiot. I mean, I still am." I shrugged with a chuckle. "But I'm an idiot who will never make that mistake again. I don't want to be with anyone else. And I don't want to be away from you."

"For someone who supposedly suck at expressing his feelings, you're doing quite well." she pointed out with a big smile.

I laughed too and shrugged again. "I've been thinking about what I was going to say for days." I admitted, glancing away before looking back at her. "I almost wrote a song instead."

"You could have," she whispered, reaching for my hand and squeezing my fingers. "I love hearing you sing."

I smiled again and pulled her closer to me to feel her body against mine. I lied down on my back again and she cuddled my side quickly. We stayed quiet for a while and every time she'd tilt her chin up to kiss mine, it would make me smile. It made me realize I had everything I needed, everything I wanted... I had everything I didn't even know I needed, and didn't even know I wanted.

"Do you still want to elope?" I asked randomly after a while.

"It's still a dream of mine, yea." she replied in a gentle tone. "But I know you'd prefer a normal wedding with our families and friends. I'm okay with that."

"I'm sure we can make a compromise."

She moved her head up to look in my eyes and frowned a bit. "This is... hypothetical, right?"

I let my eyes roam again on her face and something stirred inside me. I had no idea it was possible to love someone so bad. I didn't know it was possible to love someone so much you that you'd be ready to change your life plans for them. But here I was, staring at the only woman I ever fell in love with, knowing that I'd do anything for her, and that I would never stop loving her.

"Of course, we're just talking." I lied, my lips curling more. "So we'd elope and get married in Vegas, and then make a big party with our friends and family. And then what?"

"Honeymoon? If we're not too busy..."

"We'll make time." I replied firmly. "Bali or Bora Bora?"

She laughed and turned to lay on her back, my arm still behind her neck, and she finally shook her head. "I don't care where we go, Niall. As long as I'm with you."

the requests

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty. || 3.

For Your Eyes Only.

Every morning at around 9, if I am not already awake, I am woken by the sounds of the Piper to the Sovereign. My father has a Piper, he hates it but he keeps it around, not only because it is part of the Royal arrangements but because my mother seems to love the morning wake up calls.

The Piper principal duty is to play every weekday at 9 am for approximately 15 minutes under His Majesty’s window when he is in residence at Buckingham Palace.

The piper rang fifteen minutes ago, which only indicates one thing for the day. My parents are soon to be leaving, which means I get to leave soon as well and spend alone time with Harry.

After dancing with Harry last night, I excused myself from the event and found myself wondering the Palace. With 775 rooms, it is easy to get lost and aimlessly wander the palace for quite some time. I weaved my way in and out of rooms, purposely attempting to lose Harry’s trail. He wasn’t too thrilled with me, but I desired to be left alone. I didn’t care if there was a threat or if someone was in the palace after climbing a drain pipe; all I wanted was to be alone with my thoughts. Eventually, I carried myself to my quarters, where Harry let me be, he stood outside my door waiting for my signal to come in, unfortunately for him, I never gave him a signal to come in and kiss me goodnight and to leave security mode.

I bounce down the staircase with glee, and my father rolls his eyes at me the moment I come into his view, “your mother and I are about to leave for Belgium, I need to know you’ll keep to the itinerary of the royal engagements,” my father informs me, once again reminding me of their Belgium tours that will allow them to continue a relationship between two Royal Families by meeting The King and Queen.

I nod my head with a heavy huff; I don’t want to keep to my schedule, but I don’t have a choice. “Yes. I’m going to Hillsborough Castle and I will do everything from there,” I notify my father.

“Have you told the head of security?”

I nod, “my shadow is coming with me,” I flick my head over towards Harry who is standing with his back to the wall, observing with his nystagmic eyes that miss nothing.

I’m already aware of what I’m likely to have to do for my father while I’m in Northern Ireland.

Some of the things my father does when he isn’t on royal tours is answering letters, doling out knighthoods, having meetings with the staff and greeting diplomats, bishops, judges, and military chiefs in engagements across Britain.

“I want you to stick to this list, I’ll send you one daily,” my father's hands me a piece of paper for today, a hard copy of what he wants me to do.

“Read the newspaper,” I raise a brow when I glance up at him.

My father is Head of State of 16 governments, and leader of the Commonwealth of 53 nations, he needs to read the newspaper and have an understanding on what’s going on in the world, but I don’t think it’s necessary for me to do so. This is not the stone ages, there are other ways to get the information that is needed, perhaps the use of an electrical device may work, but according to my father, that is absolutely ludicrous.

“Yes. The letters for the week will be sent to my lady-in-waiting, but I want you to answer your letters and follow the lists I send you,” My father insists, and I can’t help zoning out for a moment. I keep eye contact but my gaze becomes glazed.

“Okay,” I nod, agreeing to my father’s requests.

“Will you be in Ireland the entire time?”

“Yes,” I answer my father honestly, “I was hoping for some alone time. Minimal staff, just the Chef and some security. Very minimal though.”

“Consider it done,” my father nods, “have you made a decision on whom you’d like to date?” My father questions.

I grant him a lacklustre smile, “I don’t want any of them.”

It’s the truth. I don’t want any of the men that were picked out and placed on a list for me. This isn’t like the adoption centre where you go into a room and pick which Dog you’d like to save and adopt. This is a marriage, a marriage that I never thought would be forced upon me. A marriage is meant to be between a loving couple, two individuals who want to spend the rest of their lives together because of love, not because of a monarchy.

My Father inhales a sharp breath, “Anastasia, you can’t take over the sovereign if you do not have a partner. A Queen simply doesn’t rule without a King.”

My father is wrong, a Queen can rule without a King, unfortunately, he is stuck on old fashioned ways and isn’t too fond of the idea of me ruling without a King.

“Queen Elizabeth Ⅰ never got married and did just fine,” I mutter, reminding my father of an ancestor who was successful without a King beside her.

My father is not impressed at all with my comment, and his lips purse like he has been chewing a lemon rind, “it’s frowned upon,” he bitterly comments. He knows that I have a valid point, but just as I am controlled by a monarchy, so is he, and at this point, the monarchy wants to stick to old traditions.

It may be frowned upon, but I refuse to allow barriers to stand in my way. Well, in theory, I’d like to say that I am breaking down the barriers of the monarchy, but I’m not. I’m sadly forced to side with them.

“It was also frowned upon for Queens to rule. England was ruled by Kings until the second half of the 16th century when the crown passed to two Queens. These silly rules need to change. I don’t want to date someone just because he is royal.”

My father arches a sly brow and sighs, “Anastasia–“

My brows bump together in a scowl towards him, endeavouring to defend him for aspiring to overpower me to wed just so I can rule the monarchy the way everyone desires me to. “No, it isn’t fair. Did you marry Mum just because she had royal blood?” I question with frustration.

My parents married for love, not for royalty.

The only problem is, my mother was royalty before she married my father, she had her title. Unfortunately, I fell in love with a man without a royal title. To me, his title means nothing; I love him for who he is, for his personality and for the way he makes me feel. I love him for his devil-may-care outlook and stellar smile. He gives me that sense of normal that I have been craving for years, he keeps me grounded, he is the man I want to marry, with or without a title.

“No,” my father shakes his head, “just give one of them a chance?”

“I have a flight to get and so do you,” I bitterly grouse, ready to end this conversation that isn’t going to get me anywhere.

I am tired of being governed by a monarchy and living up to the expectations of everyone else. I have had expectations bestowed upon me from a young age, it gets tiring and bothersome to continuously live up to them. I want to break free of the chains they hold me down with.

“We will be back Saturday, the 16th of April,” my father informs me and I nod.

My parents’ leaving give me a few days of having some normalcy in my life. Minimal royal services, nobody to wait on me hand and foot, nobody to force me into always looking immaculate.

It will be just me and my bodyguard — Harry— and the walls’ of the castle.

There won’t be a Piper to the Sovereign, there won’t a maid service dressing me or an assistant following me around and making sure that I am completing all my tasks.

For a few days, all I require to do is follow my father's list of conditions while maintaining a balance of common circumstances.

I can run around the fields and allow the wind to swirl through my hair; I can stay up and bounce all over the beds without anyone judging me. I can step outside without worrying about whether my outfit will be a hit or miss in the public eye. I won’t have anybody touring the castle. The next few days will be just me and Harry, perhaps a few staff but not a lot.

No worries and no Princes’. Just me.

After saying my goodbyes to my mother and father, I can’t help but feel a breath of relief escape from my lips. “Princess,” my assistant, Estelle, grabs my attention as I walk towards the stairs where Harry is waiting. “You have a waiting chauffeured car, Lyrebird has landed on the grounds of Hyde Park and is ready to take you to the airport. You need to make sure you are wearing a dress or a two-piece suit,” she informs me, reminding me that my Princess duties must stay in tune until I am inside the walls’ of Hillsborough Castle.

I nod my head with a smile, “yes, I have. What airline am I on?” I question, needing the information that I left her in charge of.

“The 600 G-Huby plane. The Queen signed off on a chartered jet for you.”

“Thank you, I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome, do you need someone to bring your bags down?”

I shake my head and look towards Harry, “no, Mr Styles said he would help me,” I grin, amused by his expression.

Estelle glances over at him, and I can’t help chuckling as he raises a brow, “seems like you volunteered him,” she laughs.

“Same thing,” I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “I will be ready to leave in a few minutes, keep the guards updated, please,” I inform her and she nods, dismissing me to wander closer to Harry.

Harry stares at me with his typical relentless gaze, “volunteering me to carry your bags, are we?” Harry challenges, and from the small smirk on his lips, I know he’s only joking. I quite frankly don’t think he cares that I volunteered him.

“What else are you good for?” I wink, stepping closer to him.

Damn. I want to kiss him and wrap my arms around him right now, but I can’t.

“Oh, darling,” Harry chuckles through a whisper, “not like I am trained to take a bullet for you or anything,” he comments and gestures for me to climb the stairs, “I am sure you will thank me later though,” his voice is soft sounding and has this narcotic power that sends the nerves in my body pulsating. My knees want to go weak.

“Don’t get cocky, Mr Styles.”

“After you, Princess,” Harry allows me to step in front of him to walk up the staircase.

The second we reach my room, my thoughts of kissing him disappear when my maid services are double checking my bags, “Princess, you forgot a black outfit,” one informs me with a smile, “which one?” She holds up two black dresses, and I gesture towards the one on the left, “with the Alexander McQueen coat?”

“Yes, with the Gianvito Rossi pumps, please,” I inform the ladies who nod and search my closet for the particular shoes.

Harry clears his throat, “Why are you packing an all-black attire, Princess?” Harry curiously asks as I turn on my heel to face him.

“I have to have a black mourning outfit in my luggage – just in case a family member dies while I’m away. If anything happens, I can’t be seen in normal attire. Royal protocol.” I inform Harry of just one of the many, many rules I have to follow.

A princess can’t be seen hopping off a plane to tend a funeral in coloured clothes. Oh, no.

“That’s rather sad to think about,” Harry comments, “makes me sad thinking about you preparing for death,” he adds, watching the ladies carefully as they gather my mourning items, “are they… are they pairing it with earrings?” Harry seems perplexed by the entire scene.

“Yes, it’s a full outfit,” I nod, not too phased by the whole thing. I’m used to it. Every outfit must be perfect and put together, even mourning outfits must be accompanied by earrings.

“Wow,” Harry breathes out, “never knew this happened.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “once they’re done, would you grab the bag? I’ll meet you at the aircraft.”

“Princess,” Harry begins, “I can’t let you walk the grounds alone.”

“Ha—, Mr.Styles,” I correct myself, “I’ll be fine,” I attempt to assure him but he doesn’t give in. He never really does. I can’t be too mad though, it’s a part of his job to be so damn… strict.

✿ ✿ ✿

Harry and some of the crew escort me through the airport to the awaiting private aircraft, and Harry caresses his hand into the small of my back as we both climb the stairs to board.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to travel on a private jet unless it was business related,” Harry comments while he steps on board behind me, his eyes scanning the aircraft, “Uh-ah,” Harry’s voice echoes as I go to take a seat.

I turn to face him with a raised brow, “what? And it’s paid from my expenses, not the people’s.”

For personal trips, the royals must pay out of the Duchy of Cornwall, which is to provide a source of independent income to the Sovereign. We are not permitted to use private Jets unless it is a business affair and if we do use a private Jet, we have to pay for it out of our own pocket. The public would be very pissed if they thought that their tax paying money is being used for me to jet set to Ireland for some personal time.

“I have to check the seat before you sit, Princess,” Harry informs me, causing me to roll my eyes. I guess my princess duties don’t stop until the aircraft takes off. “Don’t give me that look, it’s my job,” Harry mutters, and his hands pull on the seatbelt and he makes sure the seat hasn’t been tampered with.

Harry grants me permission to take my seat, and I do so. While I get comfortable and take a few deep breaths, Harry double checks the rest of the aircraft and takes the time to talk to the pilot to go over security measures. I’m sure Harry and his team have a devised plan for when the aircraft lands at our destination.

I watch Harry particularly, cocking my head to the side as he dismisses the pilot with a handshake and a small smile, a smile that is infrequently seen when he’s working. When he’s in work mode, Harry is as stiff as a board, especially when it comes to emotions.

“Are you all right, princess?” Harry softly asks while he takes the seat beside me and I sense the aircraft beginning to get louder, an indication the pilot is getting ready to start moving towards the runway.

I wouldn’t say that I am terrified of aircraft and flying, but I can’t deny the fact that after all these years of flying, constantly, I still get a bit uneasy at the thought of leaving my life in the direct hands of the pilot. “Everything was checked, and double checked, princess,” Harry assures me, and I nod my head.

“It never gets easier,” I whisper with a sigh falling from my lips. There’s always that thought in the back of my mind that something will go wrong. And it isn’t that typical thought of the aircraft falling out of the air by some sort of freak accident, it’s the thought of someone intentionally tampers with the aircraft. Every day for me isn’t a normal day for others. I have to be aware of the fact there are some people out there who want nothing more than to hurt me and my family. I’m always at high risk. Most days, I tend to suppress the thoughts and concerns and carry on with my days.

I welcome Harry’s warm hand press over mine as it rests on the armrest, “I know it doesn’t get easier. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you though.”

“At what point do I get my boyfriend? The bodyguard is sooo... overrated,” I playfully roll my eyes and his fingers intertwine with my own before he leans closer to me.

“Now I’m your boyfriend,” he whispers just before his lips press to my warm cheek, “relax, everything is okay,” Harry assures me with an affectionate voice, “take a few deep breaths, I’m right here and nothing’s going to happen,” he continues sweetly, his thumb grazing over my knuckles in a loving way.

“Reassuring,” I sigh sarcastically. It isn’t his fault, whether he is my bodyguard or my boyfriend, I will always have the lingering thoughts in the back of my head of all the things that could possibly go wrong. Sure, Harry is trained to take a bullet for me, literally, but do I really want him to?

I don’t think I could live with myself knowing he put his life on the line to save mine. I may be the Princess or the future Queen, but my life is no more important than Harry’s or anybody else’s. Status doesn’t mean someone should put their life down in order to save my own, that is just my thought process. Sadly, everybody else doesn’t see it the same way, they see me as a future Queen; I still see myself as Anastasia, the girl who would rather run through open fields barefoot with the wind running through her hair on a warm summer evening.

Unfortunately for me, the days of rushing through fields laden with goldenrod-yellow flowers are over. I want to go back to the days of being somewhat normal.

✿ ✿ ✿

Hillsborough is enclosed by 100 acres of gardens, and each window of the Palace has a scene that is stunning and captivating in various ways. There is nothing better than watching the morning wildlife bouncing around the fields while the morning sun inaugurates to wake up the gardens, and in the evenings there is nothing better than the gold tones pouring in through each windowpane.

“So, is this the last tour before your father steps down?” Harry questions from behind me.

I shake my head, “No, they have the year of tours and then that is it.” I acknowledge Harry while I make my way towards the window that harbours a beautiful landscape, from what I can remember.

It has been a while since I have roamed the manor, with various chambers and windows, it is difficult to remember which one has my ideal view.

“And then you take Queen?”

“Yes. I don’t want to talk about it though, okay?” I softly sigh, inching closer and closer to the window that regularly grants me with a sweet serenity, but today it has the opposite effect.

“Harry… There are paps here,” I acquaint Harry as I peer out the extended window that ordinarily provides me with a glimpse of nothing but serene nature. Today it grants me a flood of people.

It is a bitter disappointment, I had hoped to spend some time unwinding by the windows and observing the landscapes I loved as a little girl. I desired to follow the flowers swaying in the faint wind, stem by stem dancing together in unison, their satin soft petals brushing each other ever so softly with love and grace.

“Step away from the window, sweetheart,” Harry instructs with a stringent tone of voice.

I listen and I back away from the window, enabling him to peer out it and view the array of photographers outside, “I’ll handle it, stay away from windows, yeah?”

“This isn’t how this week was meant to be,” I shake my head in bitter disappointment.

“It’ll be alright,” Harry assures me as he caresses his hands to my shoulders and massages them soothingly.

“No, I wanted time alone, just me and you where I can take care of royal duties in private. They weren’t meant to find me. How did they find me?”

“Let me make some calls.”

“Harry—“

“Anastasia, please,” Harry laments as he runs his fingers through his hair, “let me handle it. Go and relax,” he instructs, gesturing towards the room across the hall that has no windows. If I had wanted to spend my day avoiding windows and under the constant eye of the press, I would have stayed at Buckingham. The purpose of getting away and coming to Ireland was to have the opportunity to decompress and be normal. However, normal is a rarity in my life.

I abide by Harry’s commands, somewhat, and I take myself to a room on the opposite side of the palace where nobody should be able to see in.

✿ ✿ ✿

Harry enters the master bedroom, and before he can say a word, I hand him my phone, “there’s already articles, Harry,” I inform him, his eyes gazing down at the screen of my phone. “I don’t know who told them. They think I’m having a getaway with one of the possible candidates for marriage. How would they even know that?” I question, wanting— needing— answers.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and seems to avoid contact with me. He knows precisely what’s going on, he always knows what’s occurring, “was it you?”

Harry stares at me, his body stiffening at the remark while frustration crinkles his eyes, “bit offended you’d even ask that,” Harry is swift to respond.

“Then why are you avoiding eye contact with me. You know who did it, don’t you?” I challenge, observing his features that I have learned how to read to my advantage.

He inhales a deep breath and blows out slowly, “Anastasia—“ Harry begins, and I swiftly cut him off.

“Tell me, Harry,” I demand, not wanting to be kept in the dark like I normally am.

He’s not my bodyguard at the moment, he’s my boyfriend.

“Love, you don’t want to know. It’s best if you let it go.”

“I’ll just call my press team since you can’t show me your loyalty,” I murmur unhappily.

I’m tired of nobody ever telling me what’s going on. I’m constantly treated like— well— I’m constantly treated like a princess, and not in a good way. I want to be enlightened about events that occur and I I want to know when things happen.

Harry rolls his eyes at me before they narrow to crinkled slits, “oh, the irony,” Harry grumbles, “sweetheart, you really don’t want to do that.”

My brows bump together in a scowl, irritation taking over every nerve that pulsates through my body, “why?” I challenge, unsure as to why he is against me possessing answers.

Harry curls his lips with icy contempt, “because they weren’t loyal to you, that’s why. Your press team are the ones who released the information.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I shake my head, “they’d never, my father would have their heads.”

“Anna, darling,” Harry begins, his eyes softening on me, “it was your Dad who gave them the go-ahead.”

“No,” I shake my head, “he wouldn’t.”

Harry’s lips set in a grim line before he nods, “he did, I’m sorry, Anastasia.”

“It’s not your fault,” I mumble, disappointed my father would do such a thing, “what do we do?”

“Ignore the press outside,” Harry responds, and he leans closer and kisses my lips before moving to trail a luscious line of kisses down my neck and across my collarbone, to my exposed shoulder before he draws away. With a sweet grin, Harry straightens my silky robe to cover my exposed shoulders, “can’t have the princess exposed now, can I?”

I glance at him for a moment, his eyes captivating me with their gleam of softness and the way they are as clear as a spring stream. “Did you just tease me? That’s wasn’t very nice.”

“Mhm,” Harry hums, “you’ve been teasing me all day wandering around the halls in this thing,” Harry gestures towards the black silk robe, “I was thinking since we can’t go outside right now, we can stay in.”

I nod, “I like that idea,” I respond, leaning closer and kissing him sweetly.

“Mmm, not that kind of staying in,” Harry mumbles against my lips before he puts distance between us.

I heavily huff and stare at him, “did you just turn down the princess?”

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes at me, “sweetheart, do I need to remind you that we aren’t alone and there are people outside trying to get info?”

“And?” I offer him a slow and sexy smile in the hopes I can work my charm on him. At this point, things can’t get much worse; my weekend alone has been ruined. At this point, I don’t give a damn if anybody sees the two of us being more than just a Princess and a Bodyguard.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips as he thinks for a moment.

Please, don’t think too hard, darling.

“And as your security guard, I have to inform you that it’s a bloody stupid idea to engage in anything when there’s a swarm of media around.”

“We have the curtains drawn.”

“Anastasia, not loving on you until I know it’s safe.”

I smirk and toss my hair over my shoulder, sarcasm dripping from my lips as I speak,“so what are we going to do? Sit at opposite ends of the damn palace?”

Harry shakes his head, “nope, we are going to play scrabble.”

“Excuse me?” I arch a sly brow.

Scrabble? Did he turn down making love for a game of scrabble? Surely he has lost his damn marbles.

“Cheap wine and scrabble my dear. This is how us commoners pass time,” Harry willingly announces with his a-twinkle with the ‘joie de vivre’ eyes and his affable smile that makes me dizzy in the most wonderful ways.

Harry gets off the bed and wanders towards the closed doors that lead to the hallway, he opens them and wastes no time with wheeling in a Monahan Golden Plated and Black Glass Serving cart that is meant to be for tea.

“Two things,” I begin as he steps back into the master bedroom and closes the doors, “One you do know that is meant for tea? the Queen would have a fit… Two, where in the bloody hell did you get scrabble and ‘cheap’ wine?” I curiously ask, intrigued by him and his gatherings.

Harry gives me a stellar smile and lifts his shoulders into a shrug, “it’s amazing what the staff will do when you simply say the Princess requests this,” Harry responds, “this my darling is a cheap Moscato,” Harry wraps his hand around the neck of the wine bottle, “now, it isn’t the high end you’re used to, but us commoners prefer the cheap Moscato.”

“Way to go in making me sound like a privileged brat, Harry,” I sarcastically smile over at Harry as he hands me a glass of wine.

“Don’t even go there,” Harry rolls his eyes as he crawls on the bed with a box of scrabble, “I can’t tell if you like it or not,” Harry comments while I take a sip of the white wine.

"Tastes... cheap," I trail off, observing as Harry stares at me unamused by my comment, "I am joking, relax," I assure him, delivering him a soft smile, "I like it, honestly."

"Mhm," Harry hums, "okay, do I need to explain how scrabble works?"

"Harry, sweetheart, I may not be a commoner, but I am aware of how to play the game. Don't insult my intelligence."

"I'd never," Harry shakes his head, "I am aware you can speak about three different languages and are highly intelligent."

"Four," I correct him, "French, Welsh, German and sign language." I smile towards Harry. I tend not to speak too much about my education, due to the fact I was very privileged in that area. I was tutored at home as a child by my governess and Mother. I have heard the stories many times; my Father wanted me to attend Willcocks Nursery School, the only modern tradition he seems to have wanted to participate in. But, it was my Mother who wanted me at home at the young age of two.

I was lucky to have the best of the best when it came to education; I attended the most prestigious private schools.

"You know how many languages I can speak?" Harry questions as he hands me the bag to pick a tile from.

"Two?"

Harry shakes his head, "you must think highly of me," Harry chuckles, "one, went to a public school, remember?"

"I do think highly of you," I nod, "you're intelligent, now let's play," I smile, peering over and seeing the tile in his hand that is an N, "you're closer to A, you start," I comment, placing my A tile back in the bag before he can notice.

Harry nods and starts his turn by drawing seven tiles from the Scrabble bag, "Fuck, I have shitty tiles," Harry complains as his brows furrow and he concentrates on the tiles he has. I can't help but smile to myself at how endearing he looks.

✿ ✿ ✿

Harry won our game of Scrabble, it’s really no surprise at all, he is a lot better with his way of words; to be quite honest, I have always wondered why he never got into writing or poetry. The way he converses and the way he genuinely listens to what people have to say intrigues me. Part of me wonders if he has this enigmatic part to him where he writes down his thoughts into a small journal, for his eyes only. Other times I wonder if I'm just making up a version of Harry that doesn't exist. Harry has a lot of potential, but it is dismally dwindling away as he watches over me.

While Harry settles everything back into its box, I take it upon myself to peer out the window of the master bedroom. I grin to myself, observing how the fields are Elysium-green and the way the golden shafts of the sun are casting down on the flowerbeds that are beginning to sway from side to side, unhesitant to fall asleep as the moon rises. By morning, countless glint-silver dewdrops will blanket the fields like a fresh winter snow. “Princess Anastasia Annette Leanor, Duchess of Edinburgh, you are stubborn, please get away from the bloody window,” Harry’s voice distracts me, and I profoundly sigh before I step away from the windowpane.

I glance up at Harry, my lips curling into a pout, “what’s the matter, my love?”

“I want to go outside. I came here to escape everything and to run through the gardens and just breathe.”

“I know.”

“Can we please go outside? We can go to the pond.”

Harry thinks for a moment. I can determine by the way his lips are curved slightly that he’s uncertain, he’s not too fond of going outside. I don’t blame him, he is still on duty, he has to make sure any decision made is a safe decision. “Okay,” Harry nods and I immediately take his hand, “love, can’t leave this room without protection,” Harry murmurs and I roll my eyes.

“Nothing will happen,” I moan, hating the fact that even when it’s just me and him, he still has to have some sort of protective weapon on him. I despise it. I truly despise it.

“Not taking the risk. You know it’s meant to be on my person,” Harry responds, stepping around me and grabbing the pistol where he securely left it when he changed his clothes. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s protocol,” Harry instructs as he places the pistol on his person, disguising it so well that nobody would be able to tell he’s carrying it.

“I know, but still.”

“Jus’ keepin’ you safe.”

“Or you’re just saving your own ass with your job.”

“I love you, you know that; I would protect you even if I wasn’t trained and apart of the SO14.”

“Mhm,” I hum, “where’s the radio and the first aid kit you’re meant to carry on you.”

“Anna, hush,” Harry rolls his eyes, “come on, princess,”

Harry and I step outside of the palace and the second I sense the warmth of the sun on me, I feel at ease with a sweet serenity washing over me. I beam towards Harry and wander along the cobbled path towards the garden that I used to run around when I was a little girl. I’d spend hours roaming the fields, smelling the roses and at times, disappearing amongst the blossoms as if to form my own secret wonderland. I amble along the cobbled path with ease and grace, delighted to feel like a child again.

“Why don’t you look happy?” I softly ask Harry as I turn to face him.

“I am, darling, I am,” he nods, giving me a small angelic smile but his dewy, mist valley-green eyes tell me otherwise. His eyes are darting around and scrutinising every inch he can physically see.

I let out a meagre sigh, well aware of what’s going to happen next.

Protocol.

If at any given point Harry recognises a threat to my safety, he must whisk me away to safety. I can read Harry like a damn book, I know when he’s watching something as a threat compared to when he’s just observing.

“Is it too much to ask to have just five minutes?”

Harry looks at me and sighs, “I’m not going to force you inside,” Harry assures me, “but if I say we need to go inside, we need to go inside, do you understand?”

“Yes,” I nod, “is someone on the grounds?”

“I don’t know. The grounds will soon be guarded by active duty members of the Army like at Buckingham, love. Don’t need to worry, okay?” Harry grants me a petite smile and he leans in to kiss me, but Harry stops himself, “I can’t kiss you, someone might see,” Harry sighs, forcing himself to pull away while his nystagmic eyes continue to scan the area.

I take a breath and continue to walk along the gravel, leading my way towards my winsome serenity of satin soft petals while an amethyst-purple tint overruns the evening sky. I smirk and toss my hair over my shoulder as I glance over my shoulder towards Harry with eyes that are a-glow with love. His honey-sweet lips that are lilac soft, begin to curve slightly before he flashes me an amiable smile.

The further I wander into the garden, the more I feel the golden hour rays kissing my skin with a flawless, bronzed complexion and my opulent hair glittering in the beams of the sun. It feels rejuvenating to belatedly breathe in the mist of scents, the frill of flowers and the scent of the late spring breeze.

"You know what is fascinating, Harry?" I turn to Harry.

Harry gazes at me with his fulgent, smaragdine-green eyes that set my

heart a-thump, "you, my darling, you fascinate me," Harry responds sweetly.

I playfully roll my eyes at him, "charming," I grin, "no. Have you noticed how flowers can wither away during the winter and still come back to bloom in the spring?"

Harry lifts his shoulders into a shrug, "I guess."

"Amazing, isn't it? They can withstand winter’s suffocating skies that

strangle the fields, and then bloom in the spring like they didn't endure a deathly winter."

“When you put it that way,” Harry nods, “it is rather fascinating, my dear. Shall we?” Harry offers me his hand, taking me by surprise as I glance down at his hand longing for mine. His devil-may-care outlook and a stellar smile make an appearance, causing butterflies to rise in the pit of my stomach.

I grant him my hand before taking it upon myself to guide him further into the astonishing gardens I love to get lost in while followed by the flower blossoms wavering in the air.

Howling laughter pervades the air while the two of us, clumsily dance our way within the gardens laden with goldenrod-yellow flowers. I welcome the flowers grazing against my every move, their buds swaying in the slight breeze, almost as if they're dancing with us, stem by stem, overflowing the silence between our giggles with their own delightful love song.

“Choose me,” Harry breathes out, just for the two of us to hear while we stand in the middle of a garden, completely lost within each other.

“I do,” I respond with a small smile, looking up to gaze at him.

I chose him the day I agreed to be with him, and I choose him every day.

Harry shakes his head, “No, choose me; marry me.”

My heart sinks and leaves me with a dismal, heart-wrenching feeling, almost like a double inch blade is carving into my chest. I love this man more than anything, but I can't marry him. I can't marry him under such circumstances. He isn't trying to propose to me because he wants to, he is doing it because he feels obligated to.

I shake my head and muster up the strength to find my words, "I can't, you know it."

"You can, you just don't want to," Harry responds, respectfully stepping away from me and establishing distance between our bodies that moments ago were pressed together, felicitously dancing amongst the flowers.

"Harry-"

"We should go inside, Anna," Harry cuts me off, gesturing towards the palace that I have only managed to escape from for a small amount of time.

"You can't get mad at me for this, Harry."

Harry clears his throat, "I can, I have every right to."

"How? You don't even have a ring, you don't want to marry me, you feel obligated to," I bitterly respond, stepping around him and beginning the short walk back towards the estate.

Harry benevolently grabs my hand and draws me back, “is that what you need? A bloody ring? Do you need a ring for me to prove to you that I fuckin’ love you and want to be with you? You need a ring from me for you not to marry someone else?” Harry questions with hostility laced to his voice as he shakes his head, disappointed in me.

“Harry—”

Again, Harry cuts me off, “No,” he shakes his head, “even if I had a ring, you still would say no. Let’s just go inside,” Harry mutters, letting go of my hand and stepping behind me as he does when he is ‘the bodyguard’ and not ‘the boyfriend.’

The walk back towards the estate was filled with nothing but utter silence. It killed me, but what am I meant to do?

The monarch will never accept my marriage to Harry, he is my bodyguard, he isn’t of any royal status, and he never will be of royal status.

“Can we talk, Harry?” I ask as he walks me to the master bedroom, not stepping outside of ‘bodyguard’ mode, not even for a second.

“About?” Harry questions blandly, having absolutely no enthusiasm to his voice.

He doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to be around me at this point, he just has no choice. It is what he gets for choosing to date the woman he is meant to be working for. This is the downside to our relationship, even when we want time apart, we have to stay around each other.

“Us. I can see you have more to say, you’re just holding your tongue because God forbid you to snap out of hiding behind being the bodyguard instead of being my boyfriend.”

My words strike a nerve in Harry, and he bites the inside of his cheek, “I’m not hiding. Princess Stephanie of Monaco memorably married her bodyguard Daniel Ducret in 1995, so why can’t you?”

“Because you know I can’t right now, please don’t do this. I can’t do this,” I shake my head, “I love you, is that not enough?”

Harry's lips set in a grim line, “considering you have to choose a royal boyfriend, no,” Harry shakes his head, “when we get back, your parents are holding a luncheon or one of those garden events where you will have to announce your choice. I hope you make the right choice, even though I know it won’t be me.”

“Harry—”

Harry shakes his head and cuts me off, “it is fine, Princess. I am going to sleep, if you need me, I will be next door,” Harry gestures towards the room the shares a wall with the master bedroom.

I grow withdrawn for a moment, disheartened at his comment, “you’re not sleeping with me?” I challenge, already knowing the answer.

I don’t want to sleep alone; I want to sleep with him beside me, I want to sleep with him beside me knowing he still loves me, even if I can’t marry him right now.

Harry shakes his head, “not tonight, Princess.”

I curl my lips with icy contempt, “Harry, please don’t do this,” my voice slips from my lips as a whisper, a plea, you could say.

Harry manages a deadpan expression, "goodnight, sleep well,” he responds, granting me a meagre and faked smile before he steps out of the bedroom and closes the door behind him, leaving me feeling desolate and empty.

[trulymadlysydney]

Somewhere In Time: Three

“It's being here now that's important. There's no past and there's no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we can't relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we don't know if there is one.” 

― George Harrison

Previous Chapters HERE Songs mentioned in this chapter: x and x

tw: Death, Loss of Parent

***Please do not repost without permission***

2:17pm, June 16th, 1985

“But do you have to go to work today?”  Eleven year old Roni whines as she watches her mother apply her finishing touches to her look.  It’s always been the same routine, a few dashes of perfume, a bit of lipstick, and one more coat of hairspray for good measure.

Tanya sighs.  “Peanut, you know I do.” 

Roni frowns.  “You know I don’t like it when you call me ‘peanut.’  It’s so…. childish.”

Tanya giggles but says nothing as she applies the lipstick.  Roni’s always envied her mother’s lips.  Plump and full and beautiful.   

Actually, Roni has always envied just about everything about her mother.  She’s never known her father, but she thinks he was an ugly man-- especially considering how he left her mother-- and when she looks at how beautiful her mother is she feels almost inadequate.  She worries she inherited her father’s looks.

“I’m sorry, darling.”  Tanya rubs her lips together, then pulls them apart with a smacking noise a few times before she seems completely satisfied with her look. “And I’m sorry I have to leave.”

“Can’t you call in sick?”  Roni follows her mother as she bustles around the bedroom, getting everything together and grabbing a few items to throw into her handbag.  “You never call in sick.”

“Honey, if I called in sick I wouldn’t make money.  And then what would we do?”

“Hang out and go swimming.”  Roni pouts, and it makes Tanya chuckle.

“Don’t you want to go on the eighth grade field trip next year?”

“Well yes, but--”

“I want you to, too.  And money, unfortunately, doesn’t grow on trees, sweetheart.  I want nothing more than to stay home and swim with you.  But I also want nothing more than for you to go on that trip with your classmates.  So I have to do what I have to do.”

Tanya stops moving and takes Roni’s chin in her hand.  She pulls Roni forward and presses a long lingering kiss to her forehead before pulling away with a smile.  “Regardless,  I’ll be back here quicker than you can say Jack Robinson.”  She picks up her purse from the bed and makes her way into the living room with Roni close on her heels.

“Who’s Jack Robinson?”

“Never mind that,” Tanya says over her shoulder.  “It just means that I’ll be back before you know it.”  Tanya grabs her car keys off the hook by the front door.  “Why don’t you call grandma?  I’m sure she’ll take you swimming.”

“It’s not the same,” Roni grumbles.  “She just complains about how hot it is and wants to leave within the hour.”

“Grandma will be happy just to spend time with you.  You know that.  And who knows, maybe I’ll get off early and meet you guys there, hm?” 

“Early as in like, you go to work and tell them you’re taking the day off and show up at the pool in less than an hour?”

“Ha ha.”  Tanya unlocks the front door.   “I’m serious though.  Call grandma and ask her to take you.  Today will fly by, and I’ll be back before you’ve even gotten used to me being gone.  Alright?”

Roni sighs as Tanya slips through the front door.  “Alright, but I doubt it.”

“Be a good girl.  Don’t forget to feed the cat.  I love you.”  Tanya starts to leave, but pops her head back in through the door quickly.  “Oh, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve got a little something there, Peanut.”  Tanya points at Roni’s forehead with a smile before winking and closing the door behind her.

Roni rolls her eyes at the pet name, but she misses her mother’s presence the moment the door closes.  She hates when Tanya has to work, especially during the summer.  During the school year it isn’t so bad, because she has her classes and her friends to distract her.  But during the summer she finds herself home alone more often than she’d prefer.  And it isn’t that Roni doesn’t enjoy her alone time, it’s just that she doesn’t enjoy it when it’s an everyday occurrence. 

Approaching the mirror in the bathroom, Roni lets out a groan when she looks at her own reflection and notices what her mother was referring to.   Her lipstick stain, bright red against the skin of Roni’s forehead. 

Roni rolls her eyes as she grabs the nearest washcloth and runs it under cold water before attempting to rub the lipstick stain off.  She’s going to get her mother back for this when she gets home.

-----

11:11am, January 1st, 1925

Roni hates mornings.

She’s hated mornings since she was a little girl, and waking up is number one on her list of least favorite things to do.  This morning in particular, however, feels more miserable than usual. 

It’s the kind of morning where Roni knows she could sleep for several more hours if she allowed herself to.  Her entire existence just feels exhausted, and after giving her body one long good stretch, she rolls over and cuddles the pillow beside her.  Oliver, who's always been an early riser, always leaves his pillow within her range of motion when he gets up. He's well aware of how Roni is not a morning person, so he'll make sure to push his pillow a bit closer to her so that she can cuddle it close in his absence.

Only this pillow doesn’t smell like Oliver. 

It smells like boy, for sure, but it isn’t Oliver’s boy smell, and there’s a touch of a cologne that is unfamiliar to Roni.  She inhales once more, searching for some sign of familiarity, but all she gets is a hint of shoe polish.

Oh god.

Roni opens her eyes and shoots straight up in bed, taking in the room around her and realizing, with absolute dread, that this whole thing hasn’t, in fact, been a dream.  She is in Harry’s bed, in his tiny room, in an unfamiliar New York City.

In 1925.

“No, no, fuck.”  Roni rolls out of bed, the wooden floor cold against her bare feet as she rushes to the window overlooking the city.  It’s much more alive than it was last night, and everyone is dressed the way she’s only seen in black and white photographs in history books and films.   

How can this still be happening?  It can’t still be a dream, because she knows for a fact that she just slept for at least 8 hours-- and that wouldn’t have happened if this were a dream.  But logically, this isn’t even a little bit possible.  She’d done everything right.  She’d made sure she was trying to reach 1985. Not 1925.

Roni rushes for the bedroom door, stopping in her tracks when she realizes how cold her legs are.  She hadn’t bothered with pants last night because she hadn’t anticipated waking up in a strange boy’s house in 1925.  She turns in a flurry, opening each drawer of Harry’s dresser until she finds the one that he’d mentioned contained pants.   She finally finds the drawer of his underwear-- not quite like the men’s underwear she’s used to seeing-- and realizes with resignation that she has no other choice.  She haphazardly pulls them up her legs-- nearly tripping over herself in the process, and ties them tightly around her waist. Since when did boxers have drawstrings?

Swinging the bedroom door open, Roni stumbles through it, realizing she must look a mess when she is met with a startled yet amused grin from a fully dressed Harry.

“Oh,” he says.  “Good morning.”  He goes back to his eggs on the stove.

“I’m still here!”  Roni exclaims, infuriated that Harry doesn’t seem as shocked about this as she does.

“You are.”  Harry nods, the scrambled eggs in the frying pan sizzling under the spatula.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Harry, holy fuck, how is this happening?”  Roni doesn’t dare move, as if moving is going to trap her even further.  She feels like the walls are closing in on her as the full extent of the situation hits her.  She hadn’t allowed herself to fully feel these feelings the night before, because she hadn’t seen this as a permanent issue.  But now here she is, in a year that doesn’t even feel real, with a bastard who doesn’t even seem to care about her concerns.  

Harry smiles to himself.  “I don’t know, pet.  Honestly, I was kind of thinking that maybe you were drunk and just forgot where you were last night.”

“I wasn’t drunk, and I didn’t forget, but thank you for completely invalidating me.”  Roni huffs. Stomping across the living room and plopping down onto the most uncomfortable couch she’s ever felt in her life, she figures this is an appropriate time to just pout-- especially considering that Harry isn’t going to give into her panicking.  “What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”  She props her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her hands.

“Eat some breakfast and relax,” Harry answers.  “We’ll figure this out. Would you like some tea?”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me. Seriously?”  Roni lifts her head to shoot Harry a dirty look.  Why isn’t he concerned?  Why is he so fucking chipper? 

Harry pauses, eyeing her as if considering his next words.  After a beat, he speaks.  “I also have coffee if you’d rather.”

Roni lets out a loud, angry groan.  “Dude, this literally isn’t about the fucking coffee even a little bit.  I am stuck in a year that is fifty years before I was even born, with absolutely no idea how to get back to where I belong-- which is like, seventy-five years into the future.  Do you not understand how fucking massive that is?”

Harry makes a face, eyes rolling upward with an equation hovers above his head while he tries to compute what Roni just said. Finally, he shrugs and turns back to the stove.  “I’m sorry.  Perhaps I’m making too much light of this situation.  I understand you’re frightened.  I’m just trying to help you.”

Roni rolls her eyes, immediately feeling terrible for lashing out at him.  It’s just that everything feels awful right now, nothing makes sense, she’s alone-- but not really, because he’s here-- and she’s scared.  She is actually so beyond terrified because she doesn’t know how or why she got here, and she has no idea how to get back, and this boy is being so fucking nice to her with absolutely no reason to be.  But he’s calm, and it’s both comforting and infuriating.  Nothing connects in Roni’s brain, and she feels small and alone.

She runs a hand through her messy morning hair and sighs as she glances back at Harry, who is now taking a long sip of something in a mug.  “I know,” she says.  “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m being a huge dick aren’t I?”

Harry coughs into the mug, sputtering as he puts it down.  “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, haven’t you?”

It makes Roni want to scoff at his reaction but, to be fair, she knows that in these days, it isn’t common for women to curse as often as she does.  She shakes her head.  “Sorry, I-- this is just weird for me.”

“No, no, you’re quite alright.”  Harry bustles around in the cupboards now, retrieving a plate and putting it down on the counter.  “By all means, please don’t apologize.  It’s just strange for me as well.  I’ll get used to it.”  She sound of metal on metal fills the room as Harry scoops the eggs out of the frying pan.

He turns moments later, holding a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, and walks to the dining table with a soft smile.  He places the plate on the table in front of an empty seat and looks at Roni expectantly. 

Awkward silence smothers them for a moment until Roni realizes that he’s expecting her to come eat at the table.  “Oh.” 

She rises to her feet and makes her way over to where he’s currently pulling her chair out for her.  She sinks into the uncomfortable wooden seat with a soft, “thank you,” and Harry moves to take his own seat beside her.

It’s so strange, Roni thinks.  She hardly ever eats breakfast at home, and if she does, it certainly isn’t at the table.   It feels so formal, and she grows nervous under his gaze as she takes the first bite.

Harry doesn’t even sense her nerves, launching right into casual conversation.  “So. I was thinking about your predicament all night.  I don’t know how, and I’m still not certain I understand, but we are going to get to the bottom of this, love.  I promise.”

Roni smiles thankfully at him around a mouth full of eggs, which seems a good enough answer for him. Harry beams, then nods his head toward the plate of eggs.  “Also, I didn’t get a chance to ask you how you like your eggs, so I hope you like them scrambled.” 

Roni swallows. “Scrambled is great.  You didn’t have to do all this.”

Harry dismissively waves her comment away with his hand, picking up his mug of tea.  “I don’t mind it.  It’s nice to not be alone for once.”

As he sips, Roni catches a good glimpse of his still purpling eye, and she frowns.  It looks even worse than she’d remembered it from the night before.  She speaks with her mouth full.  “God, your eye looks like shit.”

Harry sputters into the mug for the second time that morning, and Roni realizes that she’s going to have to be more conscious of her vocabulary.  Luckily for her though, she sees that he’s laughing as he sets the mug on the table.

“Sorry,” she mutters for what feels like the millionth time today. 

“No no,”  Harry laughs.  “It’s alright.  It does look sort of awful, doesn’t it?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah.”  Harry shakes his head, but Roni knows he’s lying.  She only frowns deeper, making Harry giggle harder.  “What?”

“You’re just like, stupidly nice to me.  I punch you in the face, and I blow up on you in your own home, and you’re all, ‘Here sleep in my bed.  Have some eggs.  My eye feels great.’”

“It does feel great.”

“Did you even eat?”

Harry nods.  “I did actually.  A few hours ago.”

“Oh.  What time is it?”

Harry grins sheepishly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the handle of his mug.  “Nearly 11:30.”

“Oh my god.”  She hadn’t meant to sleep that late.  She hadn’t even realized she was that tired, but now she’s here as a guest in someone’s home, and she’s slept the entire morning away.  “Harry, why didn’t you wake me?”

“I was going to if you didn’t wake up by the time the food was finished.  But I think the smell may have taken care of that for me, hm?”  He nods his head towards her plate.  “Is it good?”

“So good,” Roni admits, “but I’m sorry for sleeping so late.”

Harry stands up, beginning to tidy up the kitchen as he talks.  “Don’t worry about it.  You needed it.  You had a big night.”  He turns on the sink and scrubs at a dish.  “Any big plans for today?”

Roni shrugs, chewing her food before answering him.  “Doesn’t matter, I’m gonna be back home by tonight.”

“Are you?”  Harry cocks his head again, the same condescending but amused tone in his voice that Roni had grown so endeared yet annoyed by the night before.   “Have you got a plan?”

“Well,” Roni explains through a yawn,  “I figure since this isn’t a dream, I’ll just have to actually put effort into getting back, you know?  Which shouldn’t be hard.  I’m just gonna do the same thing I did to bring me here.”

“Interesting.  Which was?”

“Lie blindfolded on my bed and listen to a recording of my own voice used to guide me through a sort of lucid dream.  If I can get back to that lucid state, I should be able to find my way back the same way I found myself here.  Which reminds me, do you have a tape recorder?”

“A what?”

Roni frowns.  She knows she’s in 1925, but these constant reminders feel like little slaps to the face.  “God,” she mutters, “this is gonna be so much harder than I thought.”

“I’m sure it won’t be,”  Harry says nonchalantly, scraping at the dishes.  “I think you’re right.  And who’s to say you need one of those… recorder things?  Couldn’t you just…”  Harry trails off, eyes to the ceiling as he thinks.  “I don’t know.  Couldn’t you just talk to yourself for the same effect?” 

“I guess so,” Roni pouts, “but it kinda ruins the momentum.  Relaxation is key, you know?”

“Say, I know! You could write me a script.”  Roni can practically hear the smirk in his voice.  “And I could just sit on the bed and read it to you.  Maybe get some relaxing harp music playing softly in the background.”

“Harry--”

“I’ll even fan you with a palm leaf.”  Harry pauses as if realizing what he’d just said, then shakes his head.  “Actually, scratch that.  Not going to find one of those anywhere near here.  Maybe one of those trees from the park down the street.  I’ll get a leaf from there.”

“Harry, that’s not--”

“Although I am afraid you’ll give me another shiner if I get too close to you while you’re defying the laws of space and time, so maybe I’ll just sit on the other side of the room.”

Roni scowls.  “You aren’t taking any of this seriously, are you?”

Harry doesn’t answer her, he only giggles, and it makes Roni roll her eyes.  “God, you’re just like Oliver!” 

“Who’s Oliver?”  Harry only seems to be halfway paying attention, but his question hits Roni like a ton of bricks.

Oh god.  Oliver.

“He’s my boyfriend,” Roni says, horror flooding her features as she realizes how long she’s been here.  “Shit, I didn’t even think-- god, I was only supposed to be in and out.  He wasn’t even supposed to realize I was gone.”

“Don’t worry,” Harry says, turning off the sink and wiping his hands on the dish towel.  “I’m sure it isn’t as bad as you think.  Maybe a day here is only about a second in the future. A minute at most.”

“But what if it’s not?”

“And what does worrying so much about it now do to help, hm?  One way or another, we’ll get you back to Mr. Ollie.  You can explain the situation and Bob’s your uncle, everything is back to normal.”

Roni frowns.  “Who the hell is Bob?”

“What the hell is a tape recorder?”  Harry counters.

Roni buries her face in her hands, only then realizing that her makeup from the night before is still caked onto her face.  God, she’s a mess right now.

“In the meantime,”  Harry says, completely changing the subject.  “I say we get you some more appropriate clothes.”  He shoots Roni a pointed look.  “Not that there was anything wrong with what you wore last night, but because it’s cold outside and I don’t think that dress is going to cover it.  Plus, I’m not sure if you’re comfortable with being an alien from the future, but I would imagine you’d want to fit in while you’re here.”

“There’s no point.”  Roni finally lifts her head from her hands, little pieces of mascara crumbles stuck to her palm.  “I’m going back today  It would be a waste of money.”

Harry shrugs, smiling as if he knows something Roni doesn’t. “Suit yourself. I’m going into town today anyway, but if you don’t want to join me—“

“Seriously? What, do you have to work?”

“Something like that.”

“Jeez,” Roni says. “On New Year’s Day. They don’t mess around in the 20s, huh?” A sudden thought occurs to her, and she turns in her seat to fully face Harry. “Has the Great Depression happened yet?”

“The what?” Harry snorts.  “That sounds awful.”

Roni freezes mid-bite, immediately wanting to take back the question she’d so inconveniently word-vomited.  Is that even something she can talk to him about?  What year did that even start anyway?  “I… it’s… I... don’t know.”  Her sentence sounds like it should end in a question mark, and she offers Harry a measly shrug. 

A few awkward moments pass, in which Harry stares expectantly at Roni and she stares miserably back.  When Harry realizes she isn’t going to say anything, he laughs.

“Alright.” The word has a finality to it, and Roni is relieved that Harry is dropping the subject because really, what does one do in that situation?

 Harry picks up a cap from where it rests on the corner of a chair at the table. “Anyway. If you aren’t coming with me, I’ll just be on my way then.  I’m going to pick up a few things, do you need anything?”

“Again,” Roni says,  “No point.  I’m going back.”

“Right.”  Harry nods, placing the cap on his head and securing it with a little head nod.  “Well, you’ll still be here when I return, yes?”

“I dunno.”  Roni shrugs.  “I’m gonna try to go back like, as soon as I finish eating.”

“Well, at the very least, don’t try to go back before I have the chance to say goodbye to you.”

Roni doesn’t know why Harry’s words strike her so heavily, but the way he says them mixed with the genuine, dimpled smile on his face tugs at her heart, and for a split second she doesn’t want to leave.   Her whole body physically relaxes into the seat, and she swallows thickly. “But, I have to…. I mean, Oliver--”

“Oh right,” Harry says, seemingly completely unfazed.  “I forgot about that fellow.”  He makes his way towards the door, then stops.  “You know, Veronica, I mean no offense by this, but I don’t think this is going to be as easy as you seem to think it will be.”

And just like that, any soft feelings Roni was harboring evaporate.  “Why not?”

Harry shrugs.  “Just a hunch.”

Roni huffs.  “Well just for that, I think I will try to leave before you get home just to piss you off.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Harry beams now, turning on his heel and opening his door. “Well in that case, goodbye Veronica.  Safe travels to the future.  I’ll be back around seven.”

Harry is out the door before Roni can get another word in edgewise, and she groans in the silence that she’s met with the moment the door closes behind him.  

Fucker.  

Regardless of his annoying antics, however, she does sit and take her time finishing her breakfast because, if anything, the boy is a damn good cook.  She meanders around the kitchen, helping herself to a glass of orange juice while she chews her food, and when she’s finished she sets to work washing the dishes that remain in the sink.  She’s never had to spend this much time hand-washing dishes, and she sighs in frustration once she’s nearly done, because god, she’d never realized how much she’d taken her dishwasher for granted.

Orange juice in hand, Roni makes her way to the single window in the living room that overlooks the city.  The people below bustle around in outfits that Roni has only seen in the old films she binges on her guilty pleasure days.  It’s surreal to see, yes, but it’s also so incredibly strange how normal it all is.  People living their lives with not even a hint of an idea about the world Roni comes from.  It’s so casual, and it’s just like any other day in New York, except they’re dressed like that, and the cars look like that, and Roni is so ridiculously out of place that she almost feels she’s barging in on something she wasn’t meant to see. 

Logically, she’d known that the world wasn’t actually black and white during these times, of course, but for some reason her brain had never processed it this way; seeing it alive and in front of her is the weirdest experience she’s ever had. 

And then there’s Harry, so beyond kind to her with zero reason to be.  Roni knows that if the shoe were on the other foot-- if she were just living her life and was approached by someone claiming to be from the future-- she’d laugh in their faces and call them crazy.  Maybe even call the cops.  But sweet Harry is so unconditionally compassionate, (albeit a bit of a pest), and if Roni thinks about it too much she might cry, because she doesn’t feel she deserves it.

She glances around the kitchen then, a sudden idea popping into her mind.  She’s a woman of her word, and she does intend on being out of here by the time he returns from work-- or wherever it is he’s off to.  But at the very least, he does deserve a goodbye.  And a ‘thank you.’  So she searches until she finds a piece of paper and what looks like the fanciest pen she’s ever come across in her life, before sitting down at the table to jot down a quick, yet heart-felt goodbye note.

---- 

5:04pm, October 29th, 1987

Thirteen-year old Roni has a lot on her plate-- literally and metaphorically.

She uses her fork to push her food around the plate slowly, watching it with dull eyes.  Her chin rests in the palm of her free hand, essentially scrunching up her face so much that her eye is nearly shut.   She’s got far too much on her mind to even think about dinner right now; and besides, her Grandma Judy’s chicken and broccoli casserole has never quite sat right with her stomach anyway.

“Veronica darling, sit up,” Judy scolds, bringing Roni back to earth.  “What’s the matter with you tonight?”

Roni says nothing, she only sits up and frowns at Judy, offering her a half-hearted shrug.

“Well you’re not getting up from this table until you finish everything on that plate, so I suggest you start eating.”

Roni groans, holding her fork properly and stabbing a piece of broccoli.  She shovels it begrudgingly into her mouth and slouches in her chair.

Judy sighs, her features softening.  “Honey.”  Her voice is sweet and calm, and it makes Roni want to cry because it reminds her of her mother.  “What’s on your mind?”

Roni chews her food slowly, thinking about how to properly go about this conversation.  It’s been on her mind ever since her mother had passed, and with each day she grows increasingly more frustrated trying to find a solution to her problem.  She shrugs again, settling on a simple non-committal answer.  “I don’t know.”

Judy’s lips form a line, and she knows Roni has more to say.  “Well,” she says slowly,  “Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”

“No.”

The only noise that follows is the ticking of the grandfather clock that looms in the corner of the dining room.  Roni hates how thick and almost threatening it feels, and she clears her throat as she stabs another piece of broccoli.

Judy clears her throat, reaching for her glass of water.  She knows Roni well enough to know that she’ll come around when she feels like it.  Especially in the past two years that Roni has lived here, Judy has had many conversations with Roni that turn out similarly to this one, and she’s always ended up getting to the bottom of things.

“Actually--”

Judy smiles into her glass.  Bingo.

Roni sighs, her ears tinging red as she refuses to look her grandmother in the eye.  “Grandma,” she says slowly,  “Do you believe in time travel?”

“Time travel?!”  Judy scoffs.  “Oh sweetheart, not you too.”

Roni isn’t sure what kind of answer she was expecting but it most certainly wasn’t that.  She scowls. “What does that mean?”

“Your mother had a strange fascination with traveling through time.  I don’t know where she got the notion that it was possible,  but she was obsessed.  She was constantly asking me about it, always riding her bike to bookstores to pick up books about it.  She never gave up, even after you were born. She was always speaking about it.”

“And?”

“I loved your mother, sweetheart.  I still love her.  But that was one thing I’ll never understand about her.”

Roni blows a bit of her hair out of her eye, realizing that she’s leaning across the table excitedly.  Her grandmother’s words are meant to discourage her, yes, but they don’t.  They do the opposite, in fact, only spurring her on further.  She takes this as a sign from the universe that this is absolutely something she must look into.   “Did she ever… try it?”

“I think so, yes.  Although I always discouraged her from doing it.”

“Where did she try to go?”

Judy raises an eyebrow. “You seem awfully interested in something that is entirely impossible, Veronica.  In any case, I’m not sure.   She did love the 1920s, though.”

“The 20s?”  Roni giggles.  “Why?”

Now Judy laughs, softening once more at the memory.  “As someone who was alive during the 20s, I can assure you I have absolutely no idea.  She loved the music, the clothes.  I don’t think she understood how hard things were. She just fell in love with all the positive things she saw.”  Judy’s smile turns sad, and her voice grows quieter.  “That was so like your mother.”

“Yeah,” Roni says, eyes growing misty.   

Roni misses her mother.  She knows Judy does too.  Not a day has gone by in the last two years in which she and her grandmother haven’t spoken of Tanya.  Every day there’s another memory, another story shared that has them laughing, crying, or even sometimes both simultaneously.  Sometimes on school nights, Roni will sit on the floor in front of Judy’s chair, and Judy will tell a story about Tanya as a child while she braids Roni’s hair.  Tanya very much lives in every corner of the house; she is kept alive in the stories and the laughter, and she lingers in the comfortable silences.  Roni feels her every day, but it doesn’t stop the pain of missing her. 

“You remind me so much of her,” Judy says with a smile.  “And it terrifies me.”

“Why?”

“Because you question everything,” Judy laughs.  “And you are so incredibly smart that I can’t even begin to wrap my mind around it.  You know what you want, and you’ve never given up until you’ve gotten it.  You are strong-willed, and stubborn, and brave just like her.  You have her sense of humor.  Her smile.  Her beautiful eyes.”  

Judy trails off, voice wet, and Roni knows that if her grandmother thinks much longer about this she will cry. “I watched your mother work herself up over this topic to the point of getting sick.  I watched her cry over being unsuccessful.  I watched her want it to work so badly, just to be let down so many times.”  She takes a shaky breath, fingers drumming slowly on the table before lowering her voice. 

“I know why you’re asking me this, Veronica.  And don’t think I haven’t thought about it myself.”  Her blue eyes glisten with moisture, and she reaches across the table to take Roni’s hand.  “I want her back just as much as you do.  But I don’t want you to get into something that’s going to break your heart.”

Roni swallows, absorbing the seriousness of her grandmother’s words.  She’s about to speak, when Judy cuts her off once more.

“To answer your first question,” she says,   “I don’t know what I believe.”  She gives Roni’s hand a squeeze before adding pointedly, “But, I know I met someone when I was a little girl.  She was… this beautiful woman with the kindest heart.  And she had a mood ring, similar to the one your mother wore. Those hadn’t been invented yet, which hadn’t occurred to me until I was several years older.  And she seemed…”  Judy trails off again, smiling to herself.  “Otherworldly.  I don’t know how to explain what I saw in her.  I don’t think I ever will.”

“Was it mom?”  Roni’s voice is hardly above a whisper, and Judy shakes her head.

“It definitely wasn’t your mother.  I don’t know who she was.  Just a stranger, I think.  But I could just tell that she knew something I didn’t.  I’ve always wondered what happened to her.  Where she came from.  Where she went.”

Judy sits back in her seat with a quiet exhale then, taking a few more sips of her water while Roni hardly even moves.  Her hand remains frozen in the spot where Judy’s had been holding it, and she doesn’t even want to blink as she tries to register everything going on.

“Do I think time travel is real?”  Judy asks, setting her glass down.  Her voice carries a tone of finality, and Roni knows this is the end of the conversation.  “Possibly.  Do I think it’s safe?  No. So please, Veronica, for my sake, just quit while you’re ahead.”  She picks up her fork and stabs a piece of broccoli to it, raising it and pointing it towards Roni’s plate.  “And finish your dinner.  It’s getting cold.”

----

7:11pm, January 1st, 1925

It’s nearing seven-fifteen when Harry returns to his apartment with arms full of grocery bags. His wallet feels like he’s just burned a hole in it, but his logic had been that he may as well spend the money he has now (albeit very little) to buy enough food to last him through the week.  He’ll secure himself a job, he knows it.  But for now he needs to focus on surviving long enough to see that day. He lets out a long sigh of relief the moment the door closes behind him and he finds himself back within the comfort of his own four walls.  

As it turns out, job hunting is much harder than he’d anticipated-- especially on a holiday. All shops were either closed or insanely busy to the point where he couldn’t even speak to someone without waiting for hours on end.  So here he is, returning home fruitless with a bruised ego, a bruised eye, and a hungry belly. 

Much to his chagrin, Roni is nowhere in sight, and his heart admittedly sinks a little.  To think that she actually did leave before he had a chance to say goodbye. He didn’t think she’d find a way. He frowns as he twists his way through the apartment, careful not to drop the several bags he’s carrying.  As soon as he plops them on the counter though, he realizes his bedroom door is cracked open, and a little bit of hope is restored. 

Harry tiptoes his way over and peaks in through the open door, relief washing over him when he finds Roni lying flat on her back.  She’s on the bed, hands folded across her stomach, eyes closed, as she mutters something to herself through a most displeased frown.   It takes everything in him not to choke out a laugh, and he knows Roni can hear him, but she doesn’t even acknowledge his presence. So Harry decides its best to leave her be, and closes the door for her.

He smiles to himself as he makes his way back to the kitchen to put away the groceries.  Truth be told, he doesn’t know why it makes him so happy that she’s still here, and he shakes his head when he realizes how red his cheeks are.  She makes him laugh, he thinks, and that is why he wants her around so badly.

It’s been nice having company, and Harry really does look forward to spending a little bit more time with her,  however short that time may be.   He finds her so interesting and funny, especially considering the fact that she comes from a year that doesn’t even seem real.   He wants to ask her so many more questions, he wants to hear her curse like nobody’s business, and most of all, he just wants a friend.  She brightens his small world, which is something he hadn’t realized he’d needed until he’d met her.

Christ, he’s only just met her yesterday.  

Harry shakes his head again, the cap placed on top of his curls jostling a bit.  He puts away the rest of the groceries, shifting his focus instead on what to make for dinner.  He doesn’t want to bother Roni now, not when she’s so determined, and he’s sure she’s eaten while he’s been gone.  He, however, had not had the chance, and he decides to make himself a chicken sandwich.   If Roni is hungry later he’ll make her one as well, but his belly groans in protest of the thought of waiting any longer for food.

Harry wanders over to the Victrola Phonograph in the corner of the room, a gift from his father many years ago.  His favorite record sits on the turntable just itching to be played, and he flips the switch on the side of the box, watching it slowly whirl to life.  With delicate fingers he takes the needle and presses it against the grooves, and he smiles to himself when his favorite song fills the silence of the room. 

With one last nod towards his closed bedroom door, Harry sets to work making dinner. 

---

It’s an hour later, and Harry is beginning to think that Roni has either fallen asleep or actually figured out his whole time traveling business.  He's considering checking in on her, when out of the corner of his eye, he sees her approaching from his spot on the couch."

Her figure makes him nearly jump out of his skin, and he has to take a few moments to calm down once he realizes he is, in fact, looking at her and not a ghost who’s found its way into his apartment.  

She looks worn out and frustrated, and she doesn’t so much as blink when Harry flinches.  She just stares back at him, emotionless, while he tries to catch his breath.  The only sound between the two of them is the record he’s playing, and she blinks uninterestedly.

Harry clears his throat.  “I take it you didn’t make it back.” 

This time Roni does show signs of life, shooting Harry a scowl from hell that makes him laugh out loud.  She ignores his remark. “I thought it might be a nighttime thing,” she says.  “Like, I thought maybe it would only work at night and that’s where I was going wrong.”

“That would be strange.”  Harry rises to his feet and takes his cap off to run a hand through his hair.  “Like conditional time travel.  I suppose it makes sense though.  Did you eat today?” 

Roni sighs, folding her arms across her chest and trudging defeatedly over to the dining table.  “No, just breakfast.  I was too busy doing this shit.”

Harry frowns.  “That’s not good.  You need to eat something.”  He makes his way into the kitchen and opens the cabinets.   “I bought some things to make sandwiches.  I know that’s not much, but I’ll make you one.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

Harry busies himself, ignoring her half-hearted protest.  “You’re going to need all the energy you can get to travel back to the future.”

Roni glowers at him.  “I literally cannot tell if you’re on my side or if you think I’m crazy.”

“Perhaps a bit of both.”  Now Harry does meet her gaze, a soft smile on his face.  “You’ll make it back, but I think you’re trying too hard.”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“No,” Harry admits, turning back to the food.  “But I suspect that if you gave it some time, we could probably figure it out together.  Like I said, I don’t think the answer is really as simple as you’re hoping.”

“Harry, I don’t have any more time to give this.”

“I’m not sure that you have a choice, love.” 

Roni rolls her eyes, mostly frustrated because she knows he’s right.  “Well, you’re wrong.”

Harry doesn’t respond to her. Instead, he just continues retrieving everything he needs for her sandwich and placing the items on the counter.  Roni watches him for a moment, all tension in her body starting to fizzle out when she realizes there’s no point in trying to convince him.  She sighs.  “How was work?”

Roni doesn’t notice the way Harry tenses up for half a second, or the way his breath hitches in his throat.  He coughs, and Roni thinks nothing of it-- thank God.  “It was good.”

“Yeah?  What did you tell your boss about your black eye?  I can just picture you all, ‘Hey man, I met this crazy chick from the future.  She can really pack a punch.’”

Harry snorts.  “Yeah, something along those lines.  It wasn’t a big deal.”

Roni laughs to herself, tucking her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs.  The tips of Harry’s ears go beet red when he sees her sitting this way, and he tries desperately not to gawk at the way his own boxer briefs-- which are already too large for her-- ride up the delicate skin of her thighs.  He’s never seen a girl sit so comfortably exposed like this and, as much of a struggle as it is for him not to stare, he can’t say he doesn’t love it.

They spend the next few minutes in silence, and Harry is about finished with her sandwich when she nods her head towards the phonograph.  “Who is the guy playing?”

Harry stops moving and gapes at her, his jaw nearly reaching the floor in shock, and it annoys Roni. She rolls her eyes.  “What could I have possibly said now?”

“You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of Louis Armstrong?”

“What?”  Harry’s question takes Roni aback.  “No, of course I have. I just didn’t realize…. This is him?”  Roni trails off with a smile.  This is another one of those moments where she finds herself coming face to face with the fact that she truly is in a whole different world.  She grew up on Louis Armstrong; her mother owned nearly every record there was to own.  He’d died three years before Roni was born, but now she’s living in a time where he isn’t someone who used to exist; he exists.  Present tense. And he’s still so early in his career.

“You’re surprised?”  Harry walks over to the dining table and sets the plate in front of Roni, along with a glass of water.  “He’s one of the best.”

“Agreed,” Roni nods.  “And he is for like, ever.”

“Yeah?”  Harry beams, walking over to the phonograph.  “So he’s a big deal where you’re from, too?”

“Oh god, yeah.”

“I can’t wait to hear more from him, then.  What else can you tell me about the future?”

Roni speaks through a mouthful.  “What else do you want to know?”    Harry’s back is turned to her, so she isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing.

“Hmm.”  Harry thinks out loud, bending down to rummage through a cardboard box at the foot of the phonograph.  “Do I ever become a world famous singer?”

Roni raises an eyebrow.  “You want to become a world famous singer?”

Harry shrugs.  “Never thought about it until right now.  Could be fun.”

“Oh,” Roni giggles.  “Well I’m sorry to say I’ve never heard of you.”

“Figures.  Ah, here we are!”   Harry straightens himself up once more, holding a record in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Roni pouts as Harry switches out the records on the strange machine.  “I was into that.”

“I want to see if you know this one in the future as well!  No peeking.”  

Despite his command, Roni still tries to get a look at the title of the record in his hand.  Her eyesight, of course, fails her, and she’s forced to sit and wait impatiently until the scratchy music begins to pay through the horn.

She recognizes the tune almost instantly and beams.  “Oh my god,” she shouts over the music.  “Is this the Charleston?”

“So you do know it!”  Harry’s beaming right back at her, swaying his hips in time to the music and snapping his fingers.  He taps his toes a bit, kicking his legs every now and then and slowly getting into the rhythm.  “Do you know how to do the dance?”

Roni giggles with every sway of his hips, especially the more elaborate he gets.  “I don’t, I never learned.”

“What?!” Harry stands up straight, halting his movements.  “You must be joking.”

Roni shakes her head, her smile only growing wider because she knows exactly what is about to happen.  “Not joking! All I know is there’s like, some sort of…. This action… type thing…”  Roni wiggles her pointer finger and her head simultaneously, and Harry bursts into the loudest, happiest laugh Roni thinks she’s ever heard.

“Oh my god,” He says, the crinkles around his eyes becoming so adorably apparent.  “I mean,” he makes his way over to the phonograph to restart the song,  “You’re close.  It’s a very good attempt.  But we’ve got to teach you.”

Harry launches right into it the moment the music starts again, and Roni covers her face with her hand.  “Noo,” she whines,  “I’m not a good dancer.”

“You don’t have to be!”  Harry says, perfectly executing the dance moves that Roni has only seen in old films.  “It’s quite easy once you get the hang of it.”

Roni snorts at how goofy he’s being, but she’s actually impressed.  His timing is impeccable, and he’s right on beat with every step he takes.  His whole body seems so effortlessly into it, and he shoots her a silly face that makes her belly-laugh.   

“Come on!” he says, waving her over.  “You aren’t going to learn this sitting down.”

“I can’t!” Roni says again, giggles now completely overtaking her.  It’s the first time in the past twenty-four hours that she has felt this genuinely happy, and she doesn’t notice the way Harry beams every time she laughs.  

She needs this.  So does he.

“Come onnn,”  Harry says again, dancing his way over to her.  He takes her hand in his own and yanks her to her feet, not giving her a choice in the matter.  She squeals when he flings her around a bit, and its an awkward shuffle as she tries to mirror his feet.

“You’ve got it!”  He says.  “Step, kick, step, kick, step-- good!  See?”

Roni knows she’s a mess as she fumbles around through every beat.  She keeps stepping with the wrong foot despite keeping her eyes glued to the floor, and she’s out of breath within fifteen seconds from laughing so hard.  While she watches their feet, Harry watches her, and he giggles every time she does.  

“Come on,” he encourages, “now a kick to the side… no, the other side… Veronica, oh my god.”  His eyes grow misty with tears from laughter, and Roni nearly shouts in his face through her own guffaw.  

“I told you I’m not good at this!”

“You are, you just need to practice!”  Harry continues to move, practically swinging her around like a ragdoll now.  He’s half given up on giving her instructions, and he grunts when she accidentally kicks him in the shin.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry!” She says, hardly even intelligible through her cackle.  She stops attempting to move all together,  doubling over and letting her laughter bubble up throughout her entire body.  “I can’t do this!” 

“You can!” Harry insists, bending down to try and look at her face.  “It isn’t that hard!”

“It is when you’re me!  God, did this song get faster?” 

“You’re doing fine!”  Harry takes her hands and straightens her up again.  “Come on, the song is almost over.”

For the next minute and six seconds, more laughing and shouting is done than actual dancing.  Harry and Roni trip over one another constantly, and neither is sure why this is so incredibly funny but here they are, tears in their eyes and cheeks hurting from too much laughter.  

When the song comes roaring to an end, Roni flings herself down onto the couch, clutching at her belly.  Harry collapses onto the ground in a fit of giggles as well, only just now realizing that his hat has come flying off and now sits discarded on the floor beside him.  He picks it up and runs a hand through his sweaty hair before placing the cap lazily back on his head.  

“God that was fun,” Roni says through her residual giggles.  “I don’t even know the last time I laughed that hard.

“Me neither,” Harry admits.  “Sorry to interrupt your eating.” 

“What?”  Roni’s sandwich sits completely abandoned at the table, and she laughs when she sees it.  “Oh!  Forgot about that.”

Roni rises and heads back over the table while Harry remains on the floor,  smiling to himself and wanting nothing more than to keep dancing with her.  Before he even has a chance to bring it up, however,  Roni is off on a tangent about how different dancing is in 1999.

“Don’t get me wrong,” she says,  “it’s a lot of fun.  But dancing here is so like… pure, I guess?  Just like, pure fun?  And there’s something to be said for that, there really is.”

Harry is only half-heartedly listening to her.  Instead he’s watching her, fascinated by how casually she sits cross-legged on his uncomfortable dining chair, as if it’s no big deal that her bare legs are so exposed to him. How her hair falls into her face so frequently that she doesn’t even realize how often she brushes it back.  How much more chatty and bubbly she is when she’s completely comfortable.   And the way her eyes sparkle when she smiles.  Had they sparkled like that last night?

Roni chats away, and Harry occasionally adds in his two cents when it’s needed.  But in his mind he’s trying to pinpoint that exact moment where he started noticing these things about her.  Where did the shift occur, and why is it occurring?  

Harry tries to be quicker than Roni when she finally stands with her now empty plate.  He jumps to his feet and rushes to her side.  “I can take that,” he says, but she twists away from him, taking the plate with her. 

“Nope,” she says.  “Dude, relax.  You’ve done like, way too much for me already.  The least I can do is wash my own plate.”  She smiles at him from her new spot at the sink, letting the water run over the plate.  “Gotta earn my keep around here somehow, yeah?”

Harry smiles, frozen in place.  He senses that she’s going to suggest going to bed soon, and his brain scrambles to come up with any excuse to keep her awake with him.  He swears it isn’t anything more than a fascination with her.  He just considers her an interesting person and that is all.  There is nothing more to it. 

She yawns as she finishes up her scrubbing and turns the faucet off.  “Anyway, we should head to bed.  I know you must be exhausted after working all day.”

Harry doesn’t allow himself to dwell on that comment, instead just blurting out, “Wait!”

Roni seems almost startled by his outburst, but she covers it quickly with her signature smile.  “What’s up?”

There’s a moment where he isn’t sure what he wants to say, and he realizes he’s holding his breath.  He laughs awkwardly.  “I’m not exhausted.  Not yet.”

“Oh. But I thought--”

“I want to teach you one more dance.”  It isn’t a lie.  

“Oh god, Harry I don’t know if I can handle--”

“You can,” Harry insists, immediately feeling bad for cutting her off.  “This one is much easier.  Promise.”

When Harry is met only with a skeptical look from Roni, he points to his face.  “You can give me another good sock to the face if I’m lying.”

This coaxes a laugh out of Roni, and she shakes her head.  “You’re so stupid. Fine.”

Harry grins in triumph, already heading back to the phonograph.  “Wonderful.  I bet you’ll love it.  And if you do, I’ll take you out dancing tomorrow.  I know tons of great places.”  Harry pauses, shooting Roni a pointed look over his shoulder.  “That is, if you’re still here tomorrow.” 

Roni rolls her eyes.  “You know I’m still gonna be here tomorrow.  We have established that I will be here until we figure something else out.”

“Then it’s a date.”  Harry smirks, turning back to the task at hand.  When he finds the record he wants, he replaces the current one, taking care not to scratch either of them.  He can feel Roni’s eyes on him, and he takes his time in the process of starting the new song.  When the jazz music starts, he turns slowly on his heel and holds his hand out to her.   “May I have this dance?”

Roni laughs, but she makes her way to him anyway.  One arm slings loosely against his shoulder, and she slides her free hand into his.  She looks up at him expectantly, waiting for him to lead the way.  He wants to linger like this, but he realizes that if he stares too long his slight fascination with her will blossom into something he isn’t quite sure he’s ready to admit to.

So he takes the first step.

Harry marvels at how easily Roni falls into stride with him, this dance clearly coming more naturally to her.

“You’ve waltzed before?” he asks.

“Kind of,” Roni admits.  “Like, I know enough about waltzing to know how to do it, I think.  Why, do I suck at it?”

Harry snorts.  “No, not at all.  You’re actually quite good.  You’re redeeming yourself from earlier.”

“Yeah well,” Roni shrugs, “I’m a woman of many talents, what can I say?  Plus this song makes it easy.  What is it called?” 

Harry continues his movements around the living room with Roni in his arms, happy that she seems to be enjoying this just as much as he is.  “It’s called What’ll I Do. It’s a bit of a sad song.”

“Is it?”  Roni asks.  “I was gonna say, it doesn’t have a necessarily sad vibe to it.  Just more melancholy than anything really.  Does it have any lyrics?”

“It does.  I mean, obviously not this version, but yes.”

“Oh, yeah?  I want to hear them.”

Harry smirks down at her.  “Are you trying to get me to sing?”

“I want to see if you have a future as a world famous singer.”

“Oh, I already know that I do.  Just because you’ve never heard of me--”

“You’re stalling.”

She’s got him there, and Harry chuckles to himself.  “Alright,” he says after a beat.  “I got you to dance with me again, so I suppose it’s the least I can do.”

It takes him only a split second to realize where exactly the song is at, and he subtly pulls Roni closer so that he can sing softly by her ear. 

The moment hits them both at once, and Harry realizes that this is the closest he’s ever physically been to her.  He clears his throat, eyes cast straight ahead but lips caressing the stubborn wisps of hair around her ears. Through a shaky voice, he half sings, half speaks, and he isn’t sure if she’s moving her own body closer or if he’s selfishly pulling her in. 

 Admittedly, this singing isn’t his best. But for some reason this moment seems too soft, too fragile, to be shattered by full on singing.  

With her this close to him, he can smell a hint of the perfume that lingers on her skin from whatever she was doing the night before, and it smells so wonderful that he almost pauses a tick too long.  He chuckles when he realizes he’s skipped an entire line of the song, then falls right back into the melody, crooning gently into her ear.  

It isn’t long before they’re swaying more than waltzing, and Harry feels Roni physically melt into him the closer he gets.  Her stiff arms become loose against his own, and the hand that rested on his shoulder nervously slides its way further along his back and around his neck.  She allows him to really guide her, as if she’s completely unsure of her movements. He gives her hand a squeeze, a silent reassurance, and continues to sing.

He doesn’t know when this moment turned into something so intimate, but he is sure as hell significantly more self-conscious than he had been before. Now, he is suddenly so acutely aware of the warmth radiating from small of her back beneath the palm of his hand.  She feels delicate, like one squeeze too hard could break her-- and yet all he wants to do is hold her as close as possible. 

Roni is so close to him now that he feels her eyelashes flutter closed against his chest. He hadn’t realized how much taller he was than her, and it makes his breath catch in his throat.   She’s so lovely he could cry, and his cheeks grow hot.

“I’m not a very good singer,” he mumbles.

“You are.”  Roni doesn’t even lift her head, and her voice sounds far away and slow.  “Keep going.”

What the hell is happening to him? He hardly even knows her for fucks sake,  and suddenly he’s in this dream-like trance, holding her and swaying around his living room to a sad song about a relationship that’s ended.  He can’t get enough of her smell or her warmth, and he wishes more than anything he could see her face right now.

“With just a photograph… to tell my troubles to…  when I’m alone… with only dreams of you…”

Harry and Roni seem to realize at the same time that they are no longer waltzing, and hardly even swaying, and Harry swallows thickly around a newly dried throat.  

“That won't come true… what’ll I do?”

Roni stops completely now, and Harry stops singing.  The song continues to play softly, and neither makes an effort to be the first to move.  Harry wasn’t expecting to feel this way when he’d woken up this morning or hell, even when he’d met Roni last night, but dammit, here he is, body on fire and heart pounding in his ears.

It’s Roni that breaks the tension first, but she takes her time doing it.  Without removing her hand from his or her arm from neck, she clears her throat and looks up at him, completely doe-eyed. “That... that is a sad song.”

“It is.”  Harry’s voice sounds thick and distant and strained in his own ears.

Still neither of them move, letting the song play away in the background and looking at one another’s faces-- something fizzing in the air that hadn’t been there before.

Roni doesn’t look scared, but she looks almost surprised. Harry refuses to exhale, watching her eyes scanning his own face as if she’s looking for something. He can’t tell if she wants to say something, and he isn’t sure of what he’s even thinking right now.  His hand feels sweaty around hers, and he licks at his lips.  It’s the most intense tension he’s ever felt, but in a refreshingly good way.  He feels like he never wants it to end.

The song, however, has other plans, and the last few chords echo through the room before stopping completely.  This seemingly breaks Roni from her trance, and she finally pulls away, averting her gaze to the floor.   “Um,” is all she manages to say. 

Harry isn’t even sure what to do in this situation; he just stands there blinking stupidly at her until she smiles again.

“I do think you have a future.  In singing I mean.  That was great.”  She’s smiling like nothing has changed, and Harry isn’t sure if it delights him or crushes him.

He returns her smile with one of his own, and he gives a half-hearted laugh.  “You think so?”

“Definitely.  You’ll be the next big thing for sure.”  She reaches up to run a hand through her own hair, and it makes Harry laugh because he hadn’t noticed her doing that until he’d realized how often he did it himself.

“Anywho!”  Roni’s voice is completely back to normal now, and she turns on her heel to head to the bedroom.  She speaks over her shoulder.  “That was super fun.  I’d love to take you up on that whole ‘going out dancing’ thing tomorrow night.”

Harry’s ears perk at this.  “Really?”

“Yeah! I can show off my new moves.”  She turns in the doorway, putting her hands on either side of the frame. “And besides like, maybe you’re right.  Maybe I need to get out and like, see 1920s New York or something.  I’m clearly not going to find out how to get back by just sitting in your room all day every day.  Let’s go out and like, have fun and stuff.  Not every day I get this opportunity, you know?”

Harry nods, already planning out everywhere he’s going to take her tomorrow.  “Exactly.”

“Awesome.”  Roni forms her fingers into the shape of a gun and uses her thumb to pull an imaginary trigger.  “Soo, yeah.  Cool.  See ya there, dude.  Goodnight!”

Roni doesn’t even wait for him to respond before she’s closing the bedroom door behind her.  The moment she’s safe in the confines of her-- his-- room, she lets her jaw fall practically to the floor. 

What was that?!

One moment it was two friends having fun and the next she was feeling things.  Things that she’s not sure she’s ever even felt with Oliver.  How?  Where had that initial switch happened, and how does she put a stop to it?  Why is she suddenly feeling glad that all of her attempts to go back so far have failed?

Fuck, she’d only just met him last night.

She rubs at her face, realizing how disgusting her skin feels. She’s definitely going to need to shower tomorrow, which presents an entirely new set of challenges like asking for more clothes to borrow and being naked in this boy’s home and… god, figuring out how the hell that weird looking shower works. 

Roni decides that, to the best of her ability, she’s just going to ignore her anxiety (and the dull tingling between her legs that had started the moment she’d gotten close enough to smell Harry’s cologne) and just hop into bed.  If she pushes the feelings down far enough, they’ll probably evaporate. She’s done it with so many other things, so she knows that it’s going to work with her situation, or whatever this is, with Harry. 

When she glances at the bed, however, she sees the goodbye note she was leaving for him to find, completely untouched, and she feels ridiculously silly.  Why would she have any reason to leave without saying goodbye to him in person?  After everything he’s done for her?  She takes the note and tosses it onto the floor before turning off the light and sliding in between the sheets.

It doesn’t take her long to get situated, and she gives her eyes a moment to get used to the thick darkness of the room before letting out a deep and heavy sigh.  She uses all of her efforts to not think about her current situation and to ignore the delicious smell of the sheets she’s wrapped up in, opting instead to hum softly to herself.   

She hums every 1990s hit pop song that her brain can remember until she finally forgets that the light under the bedroom door is still on, and that probably the most handsome and lovely person she’s ever known sits right outside her door.  And to the tune of some Backstreet Boys song, she finally drifts.

[365daysoftododeku]

16th Decemer 2019

Author: Kenyoda

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Behind the scenes

Izuku was rushing across the parking lot, cursing his luck. He was going to be late for shooting. He was never late! And on the first day, too! In his rush he nearly bowled over another person entering the building. He tried to stop but his momentum carried him forward anyway and he ended up pinning the poor stranger against the door, glass rattling ominously. 

“I am— so sorry!” he panted as he tried to regain his bearings. He finally pulled back, allowing the person to step away from the door and shuffle away from him a bit. 

“I-it’s fine,” came an equally strained voice. Izuku winced, he had already made a bad first impression. Oh no! Still running late! He sketched out a messy bow before racing through the doors with another apology ringing over his shoulder.  He made it to set with 3 minutes to spare for make up call. 

“Hey! You made it!” greeted a voice, enthusiasm on full blast. He looked up from being hunched over to see blonde hair and wild red eyes. 

“Morning Kacchan!” he gasped as he stood up. 

“You were almost late, ya dingus!” he huffed as he swept him under his arm for a noogie. 

“Ack! Kacchan no! My hair is a rat’s nest on the best of days! Don’t make more work for them!” he groaned. Kacchan just laughed and rubbed harder. 

“That is what they are paid to do anyway!” he chortled as he let Izuku go. 

“That’s rude, Kacchan!” Izuku hissed, mortified slightly as he watched a few of those makeup and hair people glare their way in offense.

“What? It’s the truth,” he stated, confusion evident in his tone. Izuku sighed, he loved his childhood friend, but he had all the social graces of an elephant in a china shop. Bakugou Katsuki was enthusiastic and well meaning but unbearably blunt. Most people blew him off as an airhead and rude. When he was actually quite intelligent and not prone to sugar coating things. Which in Japan, could easily be considered rude. His attention was caught when two deep voices reverberated across the set.

“I am telling you Toshi this is not a good idea!” 

“Calm down, Enji! Most of the show’s main cast are children! He will get to spend time with some of his peers. At least give the boy a chance.” Izuku looked up and about expired on the spot. Yagi Toshinori and Todoroki Enji were making their way onto the set. Between the two actors there were nearly 20 different acting awards from stunt work to acting. They were his and Kacchan’s idols!

“It’s— It’s Yagi-sama and Todoroki-sama!” Izuku couldn’t help but squeal in delight. Katsuki let out a gasp beside him.

“I know that, but you know how Shouto is,” Todoroki continued. 

“Yes, I am well aware of my honorary nephew’s tendencies. This will give him a controlled environment to practice in.” Yagi soothed. Shouto? As in, Todoroki Shouto, one of the few well known student directors in Japan? Son of the man himself?

“Yes, I know I said I wanted to get him out from behind his camera but I was thinking more of a school setting Toshi! Not a mid level production with him in a semi recurring role! This is his first one and you throw him in with sharks! Not to mention you know that Aizawa Shouta is set in his ways! Ways that make little sense to the rest of us mere mortals!” the man complained. Izuku’s curiosity is piqued. Todoroki Shouto will be acting in this production, not directing?

“I tried to find him something smaller but with a similar age range. There was nothing else!” Yagi protested. “Besides he insisted!” Todoroki sighed reluctantly. 

“Where is the boy anyway?” After a moment, another person shuffled onto the set, but Izuku’s attention was drawn by the director. 

“Midoriya! Bakugou! Get to make up. Now’s not the time to gawk we all have busy schedules!” barked Aizawa Shouta. Izuku squeaked in terror and rushed off to the other area.

 After a whirlwind of makeup and hair spray, Izuku finds himself scaling the fire escape of a low income building. He leapt onto the roof with the shadow of the thief ahead of him. 

He was now Valor, a parkour crazy sidekick that was on the heels of a thief with known ties to a cartel that he and his hero mentor were tracking. This was going to be his first capture, he was so close… 

An arch of lightning lit up the night before slamming into the would be thief. Valor slides to a stop as the thief slumps to the rooftop, unconscious. 

“The reward for this one should be good,” a smooth voice purred. Out from behind a duct vent came a lithe figure. They topped Valor by a head. Their streamlined shape and deep timbre suggested that they were male. 

A bounty hunter. 

They were vigilantes that exchanged villains with prices on their heads for money, rather than turning them over to the proper authorities. This was usually bad on the heroes end if they needed information or to retrieve stolen items or people. Because the bountied person usually was never seen again. 

“I can’t let you have him,” Valor called, stoutly. “He is wanted for questioning by the Heroes Alliance!” The hunter looked over at him and Valor could feel the smirk on the man’s face. He bristled at that. Two eyes flashed at him from a window in a hard mask. It was as dark as the rest of his clothing. The end of the staff in his hands arched with electricity. 

It was just his luck that he ran into a bounty hunter with backing! Just as he finished the thought, he had to dodge an arc of electricity. Instead of retreating he rushed forward, using his momentum to knock the weapon away with one hand while punching at the bounty hunter with the other. He fell with a grunt as his weapon clacked onto concrete before rolling away. Valor pinned the hunter’s legs with his own, before slamming the hunter’s arms above their head. 

“Who are you?” Valor barked. The masked figure laughed. 

“You ask me that after you straddle me?” he teased. Valor pushed the blush and embarrassment away. 

“I-I asked you a question first,” he ground out, frustrated at the slight tremor to his voice. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the hunter sneered. Valor snarled in anger before pinning both arms down with one hand and ripping the mask from the stranger’s face. 

He gasped. 

Skin the color of porcelain housed thin pink lips and eyes the color of smokey quartz and turquoise. A bright red birthmark covering the left side. A halo of ruby and crystal hair fell around an angelic face, the strands having slipped free of a ponytail. 

Izuku froze and his heart stuttered violently. He could not recall another one of his lines. His entire brain had decided to devote all of its remaining firepower to committing such a lovely face to memory. The porcelain skin turned into rose gold as his co star flushed under his scrutiny. 

“Who— are you?” he found himself whispering. His co star gasped and began to struggle against him. Izuku pressed his weight down automatically. They stopped moving. 

“I’m— ”

“Valor! Valor, my boy!” Ever Bright’s voice snapped Izuku from his daze. Oh my god, I zoned out in the middle of scene!

“E-ever Bright! There is a— ack!” he cried out as the hunter gave a hard buck and finally unbalanced him. He landed hard on his side. By the time he got his barings, the hunter was on the other end of the roof, preparing to jump. 

“Halt, vigilante!” came Ever Bright’s booming voice. The hunter turned his head back to stare Izuku down. The well timed wind blowing a few strands of ruby hair across the piercing jewel colored orbs, obscuring his face. 

“Valor, huh? How fitting!” he taunted, before leaping off. 

“And cut!” came Aizawa’s voice. “Y’all aren’t useless after all! I might need to do some revisions.” Izuku sunk to his knees at the off handed praise. 

“Well done, young Midoriya! You are carrying your role well for your first day!” Yagi said as he patted his shoulder. Izuku felt light headed. He had been complimented by Yagi Toshinori! Even after monumentally screwing up a scene because his useless bi ass was floored by a pretty boy! “You too, Shouto!” Izuku’s head snapped up. 

The young hunter had come back onto the roof and was gathering the props to hand off to the assistants. He jerked up reflexively before turning crimson. One of the assistants took the items and scurried away. Once there was nothing in his hands, the boy immediately began playing with his fingers and looking anywhere but at them. He mumbled something unintelligible to the air.  

“Shouto, I have heard you be louder than that when you are giving stage direction!” chided Todoroki Enji as he made his way over. “But I agree with Toshi! That was excellent work, son!”  

Shouto shuffled in place, a small pleased smile tugging at his lips. 

“T-thank you, but was it really ok?” he asked softly. Izuku felt the equivalent of mental whiplash. This was the same person that was borderline flirting with him mere moments ago? It was had to believe it! It seemed that not only was Todoroki Shouto a talented director, but also a pretty talented actor, too. Not to mention just plain pretty. Most anyone ever saw of him was half his face hidden by a hoodie.  

“Ah! How rude of me!” Yagi cut in suddenly. “Young Midoriya, this is Todoroki Shouto! He is like one of my nephews! He will be playing the vigilante and bounty hunter, Nexus.” Izuku nodded, unable to speak and wrestle his inner fanboy into submission at the same time. “Shouto, this is Midoriya Izuku a newcomer that is already showing promise!”  

“H-Hi! I love your work, Todoroki-kun! I hope you don’t mind the -kun. Wow, the make up artists must be really good, your hair and eyes are really striking!” he said, babbling slightly out of nerves and butterflies in his stomach. The boy blinked at him, before his eyes went wide. Once again Todoroki Shouto turned bright red. He worked his mouth but no sound escaped. Izuku decided then and there that a strategic retreat was in order. He politely excused himself and bolted for the nearest exit. Just as he passed to the outer edges of the set, he heard Yagi-san’s voice. 

“Just as well he doesn’t know that these looks are natural, eh, nephew?” This was followed a weak whine that Izuku could easily identify as one of embarrassment.

“Toshi!!!” chided Enji. 

Yep, Izuku was going to go find a hole to crawl into. 

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Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[ruleroflimbo-a]

Healing Touch

Events: Illyana has a bad idea to get her magic back which involves Rogue, who for some reason, while reluctant, agrees to it. Illyana gets her first scar and Rogue gets something too Date: July 16th Involved: Illyana Rasputin and Rogue @apoisontouch Mentioned: some brief mentions I think but idr Trigger warnings: injury tw, scar tw, death mention tw Word count: 3769

ILLYANA:  Ever since her encounter with the fear demon when he stabbed her with her own sword and she lost her magic she'd felt like part of her was missing, in some way it was. She'd been spending most of her time after trying to find a way to regain her magic, looking through every book she had, researching artifacts and who knows what else... she'd found nothing. She was starting to think she'd never find a way to get back what she'd lost. She'd almost given up when she had an idea, probably a terrible idea but she was desperate, she didn't feel like herself without her magic so even if the risk for this was enormous she was willing to take that risk. Once she'd made up her mind she went to find Rogue to speak to her. "Hey" she said as she found her walking up to her, she hadn't really thought of what to say so she figured she might as well just get right to the point. "I need a favor, a huge one" she paused for a moment "I need you to use your powers on me."

ROGUE: It wasn’t often that people showed up at Remy’s apartment looking for her, most days, it was people looking for him. He had always been the more social one... the more likable one. But when Illyana came over and was standing in the living room of the apartment, Rogue realized that there were still people out there that would talk to her. “Hey, sugar,” Rogue said uneasily. There was no reason for Rogue to think that this conversation would be anything but casual, but Rogue had this feeling crawling up her spine that said there was a reason that Illyana was there. And it wasn’t to socialize. “That... that is a big ask, Illy.” She took a single step back, her hands behind her back as if she was scared that Illyana might reach out and take them. “The last person I touched with ‘em... I killed. Ya get that, don’t ya?”

ILLYANA: She knew she was asking for a lot and she hadn't expected Rogue to say yes, at least not right away, she just hoped she'd be able to convince her. "I know... I know it's a lot to ask" she'd exhausted every possibility to regain her magic before she even thought about this but as of now she was out of options. "I get that, I do" she really did but she was willing to try anything if it could get her magic back. "I wouldn't ask this of you if there was any other way, but your powers might be the only way for me to regain my magic" Illyana explained, she'd understand if Rogue said no but she hoped she'd agree to help. "I'm willing to take the risk because without my magic... I might as well already be dead."

ROGUE: “Ya must be real desperate, sugar.” Rogue brought her hands forward, looking at them, wondering if this would end like Jean had. Though she had gotten lucky — if she could even call the phoenix lucky. But Illyana didn’t have that to keep her alive, she didn’t have a way of coming back if Rogue killed her. But she was looking at her with desperation in her eyes and Rogue, as much as she wanted to tell Illyana to hit the bricks, couldn’t turn her away. “Ya want me t’ use my powers cause without ya own... ya already feel like ya dead?” Rogue almost laughed, a sad smile on her face as she shook her head in disbelief. She would have done anything to trade her powers away, to have a normal life, even if it was only for a day. “Okay,” Rogue said quietly before nodding her head. “Okay. Just --- do ya know what I’m tryin’ t’ absorb? I don’t know if I can focus what I’m takin’ from ya, but it might help.”

ILLYANA: "I am" she nodded, the least she could do was be honest with Rogue when asking this much from her. "I would never put you in this position if I had any other option" she wished she has some other way to get her magic back but the power from the sword would make sure any magical attempt would be futile, maybe even fatal. This could be fatal too, she knew that, but at least it had a chance of working, that was enough for Illyana. "I don't know how to explain it, but I got my magic because part of my soul was turned into bloodstones. I was turned into part demon and all that has been a part of me since I was six years old, without it... I don't know, I just... I don't feel right" she hadn't felt right after she'd been brought back from the dead either, but this was different, she couldn't really explain either feeling though. "Thank you" she said with a small smile when Rogue agreed. "I think I can do better than that" she lifted her shirt enough to show off the wound from her sword, only partially healed with silvery-white veins surrounding it and going outwards, spreading. "When all the power from the sword is absorbed the silver veins should disappear and the wound will heal" at least that's what she hoped for.

ROGUE: She crossed her arms and tried to hold Illyana’s gaze, but her stomach was in knots. Illyana was saying that she was desperate, that she needed this. But how could she do this again? How could she put her friend in danger? It didn’t matter that Illyana didn’t care if it was dangerous... Jean hadn’t cared either. And Rogue had decided to trust in Jean’s belief in her. And that had been a mistake. (And now she was doubting every decision she made. Questioning how much faith to put into who she trusted — how much to trust herself.) “I get it, sugar.” Rogue might have felt a different way about her own powers, but she had seen people without, seen the broken look in their eyes because they were missing a piece of themselves... and if Rogue could help make Illyana whole again, she’d try. Leaning over when Illyana pulled up her shirt so that she could see the wound, Rogue grimaced. Her eyes flickered upwards as Illyana explained. “Ya... are ya sure?” Her heart was thumping loudly in her chest and she couldn’t breathe. Rogue knew what was about to happen, and no matter what she said, no matter what she agreed to, she was scared. But she tried to push that as far down as it would go. “Ya think ya power might counteract what I’m about t’ do?” There was this flash of hope in her heart, like maybe, just maybe, Illyana could protect herself from Rogue’s power. “Sit down on the couch. I need t’ position myself so I can pull away if it’s too much.” So she didn’t get stuck... so she didn’t kill Illyana.

ILLYANA: She knew this was risky, and she knew she was being selfish by asking Rogue to do this, she was the one who had to live with it if this went wrong. She knew this was selfish but it was also her only chance. This couldn't be fixed with magic, the power from the sword still left in her would counteract it and Rogue was the only one she knew who could absorb powers, hopefully she could absorb this too. "It's not just my magic being gone either" though that was the main reason, she'd always felt empty when not practicing her magic and now that it was gone it was worse than just feeling empty, a big part of her was missing and she felt lost. "It hurts... all the time" the pain from the wound wasn't as bad now after she'd stopped trying to use her magic and let it heal as much as it could but it was still worse than any pain she'd ever felt before. When she'd first thought of this, that Rogue's powers might help get her magic back, she'd spent some time thinking about if she was sure she wanted to do this and she was. This was her last hope to get her magic back, even if it was dangerous she was completely sure she wanted to try this. "I'm sure, one hundred percent" Illyana said, she was aware this might not work, that it might kill her but she had to try. "Maybe my magic will once it's back" or if her eldritch armor returned it might protect her against Rogue's powers but she wasn't sure. "I'm sorry for asking you to do this" she told her as she sat down on the couch, she was being selfish by asking this of Rogue but she was desperate.

ROGUE: Illyana came with a shopping list of reasons why Rogue should follow through on this. Why she should do it. And Rogue was having a hard time coming up with a reason why she shouldn’t do it that Illyana hadn’t figured out a counter to. But aside from killing Illyana or wounding her greatly and stealing a part of her… there was nothing else that Rogue could warn her against. Permanent coma, like her ex-boyfriend? Nothing was going to convince Illy that this was a bad idea — because a piece of her was missing. Something that made her whole was absent. And who was Rogue to tell her that she was wrong for looking in the most extreme places to fix herself? “Okay.” Rogue inhaled deeply and nodded her head. She didn’t feel right about any of this, didn’t feel good. But neither did Illyana and Rogue had a chance to fix that. “No one is ever a hundred percent on anythin’, sugar,” Rogue retorted with a half-smile on her face. There had to be some doubt there, in the back of her friend’s mind. “If ya have any chance of healin’, ya need ya magic. And if ya want to be whole again… ya need it for that too, right?” Rogue followed Illyana to the couch, sitting down next to her as she started taking off her glove, nervously adjusting the edges of her jacket that kept most of her skin covered. “I want t’ help if I can,” Rogue finally said, meeting Illyana’s gaze. “And if ya think I can help — I’m honored, sugar. Really.” There was a pause where Rogue remembered all the times that this had gone wrong… but maybe there was a way that Rogue could do this — she could pull away before she did too much damage. Before she stole too much of Illyana. “Put ya hand on ya leg. Palm down. I don’t want ya holdin’ my hand — I need to be able t’ let go when I’m done.”

ILLYANA: Before she had even considered bringing up her idea with Rogue she'd thought about a lot of reasons to give Rogue to get her to agree to doing this, she was fully aware that the other mutant's fear of killing her might be enough for her to say no, fortunately that wasn't the case. It wasn't right, putting Rogue in this spot, but she was the only one with the power that might be able to help her right now. She knew the risks, she knew what could happen, she still wanted to try. She wasn't going to stop attempting to get her magic back until she had tried everything, that included having Rogue use her powers on her. "I am" Illyana replied, and it was true, she was absolutely sure she wanted to do this. "If you'd asked me a few months ago I would have said no, after Darkchylde I was terrified to use my magic but after being without it... I don't know it's complicated" she'd spent a lot of time being afraid of her magic, afraid of what people would think if they knew about that and her demonic side, not anymore, she refused to be afraid of herself any longer. "Yes, as long as the power of the sword is in me I can't access my magic, I can't heal and I don't feel like myself" being without her magic was the hardest thing she'd gone through, which said a lot considering how her life had been. "I don't know if this will work, it should in theory but we won't know until we try" if this worked she'd get her magic back, if it didn't she might die, or at least never get her magic back, she wasn't sure which was worse. She nodded and did as Rogue told her to, placing her hand on her leg with the palm down.

ROGUE: She continued to explain and Rogue tried to do her best to understand. They were from different worlds in this aspect. Rogue would have done just about anything to get rid of her powers and Illyana was crawling her way back to the ones that she had lost. And Rogue wanted to understand. She wanted to support Illyana. She wanted to do all those things for Illyana bc she was a friend. “Ain’t it always complicated, sugar?” Rogue tried to quip, but it didn’t quite land. “Ya don’t gotta explain. Some things... ya don’t have words for, ya know?” Some things in their lives were beyond words. They had learned that several times over. Sitting down next to Illyana, Rogue pulled her glove off and stretched out her fingers carefully. It was always strange feeling the bare air on her skin. She had gotten so used to not feeling the weather or any of the elements that when she did, it took her a moment to adjust. “Then, we try, sugar.” Rogue reached over and placed her hand over Illyana’s, the transfer began immediately.

ILLYANA: Words wasn't something Illyana had ever been good with, unless it was for a spell or ritual as that's really all she needed in Limbo. She especially wasn't good with words when it came to how she was feeling, she'd had to hide and repress most of her feelings in Limbo, especially around Belasco and S'ym. While she had gotten better over the years it still wasn't something she was good with so she was glad Rogue understood when the only explanation she could give was it's complicated. "Something like that" Illyana replied with a slight smile. She had no idea if this would work, and if it did she had no idea what would happen when her magic returned, but she had to try. She kept her shirt up so the wound was visible and they could see when it healed... if it healed. Rogue placed her hand over Illyana's and the transfer started. She wasn't sure how it would feel, Rogue using her powers on her, and at first it wasn't too bad, it was weird and tingling maybe. The pain from her wound instantly flared up though, Illyana clenched her jaw, the hand holding her shirt up clenching the fabric tight. It felt like she was being stabbed all over again, and it only got worse over time. The feeling of Rogue's powers also shifted from weird to painful, she thought she'd never be in as much pain as after the demon had stabbed her with her own sword, she was wrong. It felt like her skin was on fire and she was fighting hard to keep herself still, this was her last shot at getting her magic back and she wasn't going to mess it up, even if she was in a tremendous amount of pain.

ROGUE: Mentally, she was preparing herself for Illyana’s pleas to stop once they got started. Getting ready to hear her beg for the pain to stop or for her to pass out during the process — and she was getting herself ready to receive all of the memories that Illyana had locked up in her head. This was more than just the possibility that she might kill Illyana, it was everything that came with that physical contact. The memories, the pain, the powers — absorbing a person was… an intimate experience. She wouldn’t have a chance to hide any part of herself, and Rogue was afraid that if she lost focus for even a second, she’d take too much of her friend and leave her with nothing. (Was it worth the risk? Illyana’s voice rang in her head over and over again, being powerless was worse than death for her.) The physical reaction of Illyana’s body was immediate. Rogue watched as Illyana clenched her shirt and as her jaw tightened, knowing that nothing she could do would help until this was over. So, she held on. Her eyes focusing on the silver glow of Illyana’s wound, waiting for the glimmer to leave before she drew her hand away — But then it stopped. All at once it stopped, and it looked, from Rogue’s perspective, that the glow in Illyana’s wound was gone… but Rogue’s own powers now had stopped. Her hand still on Illyana’s but the transfer at a stop. Everything — it all stood still. Rogue took in an unsteady breath, feeling her powers still fluttering just beneath the surface, but blocked — waiting to be called on. It was an unreal feeling. Taking her hand away, Rogue glanced up at Illyana, unsure if she should panic or celebrate. “Did it work?”

ILLYANA: Pain was something Illyana was very familiar with, she'd learned to deal with it in Limbo, learned to hide it, but there was only so much she could take before it showed she was in pain. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes, keeping her breathing as even as possible, it was clear she was in pain but she refused to show just how much, not wanting Rogue to stop too early. She didn't know if it was working but Rogue's powers definitely did something to make the pain from her wound flare up even worse. It felt like hours before the pain stopped but she knew it was only a few minutes. The pain stopped and Illyana opened her eyes, looking down on her wound, it seemed the power from the sword was gone and the wound was healed, that wasn't what she was focused on though. Rogue's hand was still on her own but she didn't seem to be absorbing anything from Illyana anymore. She was going to say something when she felt a very familiar pain in her side, the silver veins came back, branching outwards and ripping the wound open again. The pain was spreading throughout her body as Illyana screamed, she felt like she'd been stabbed again, which she might as well have been. She was good at handling pain, she could push it away, ignore it, but this time she screamed in pain, she couldn't remember having done that since she was a child in Limbo. Once she stopped screaming felt like the breath had been knocked out of her, her mouth hanging opened as she struggled to catch her breath.

ROGUE: There was a moment of peace, a brief quiet where Rogue thought that it was over  — that they had won. But the world never worked that way for mutants. It was never so kind as to let them have even a small victory. Not without asking for more in return. Rogue looked at her hands, letting the strange sensation flow through her body before Illyana started screaming again. “It shoulda  —” It didn’t matter what it should have done. It clearly didn’t work. And now Rogue was working herself into a frenzy trying to get the feeling to go so that she could help Illyana again. But a minute passed and it hadn’t faded. And then two. It wasn’t ending. Whatever Rogue had taken in from Illyana had made a home within Rogue. “Illyana we — I think we got a problem, sugar.” The screams were filling the room and Rogue couldn’t hear herself think — and she doubted that Illyana had heard her speak. Rogue waved her hands in the air frantically, as if she could wave it off her body, but that feeling was still there. Holding her powers just below the surface of her body. Like a gate holding it all back. A gate... maybe that was the key. Rogue closed her eyes and put her hands back on Illyana, whispering to herself to open that gate — willing, for once in her life, for her powers to work. “Come on,” Rogue whispered to herself, squeezing her hands on Illyana — and then it happened. Her powers came forth and Rogue could feel herself taking in parts of Illyana again. A wave of memories and powers and everything in between. Her eyes flickered open and she started to watch the wound close again. And this time, when the silver coloring vanished from her view, Rogue closed her eyes again and tried to close the gate again — and it worked. Rogue was holding onto Illyana still and the transfer had stopped. “Tell me we don’t need a round three, sugar. Not sure if ya body can take this again.”

ILLYANA: The pain was excruciating, she felt like she was dying, actually she'd been in less pain when she died, this was almost unbearable, Illyana thought she might pass out, or maybe hoped so she could escape the pain. She didn't register Rogue's words, or feel Rogue's hands back on her skin, the pain was all consuming and the only thing she could feel right now. Then suddenly the pain started easing up, Rogue once again absorbing from Illyana, though unlike before it didn't make the pain worse, it was easing her pain and she finally felt like she could breathe again. The power from her soulsword, which had caused her to lose her magic, was absorbed from her body by Rogue and this time she knew it worked. 

 She could feel the magic once again coursing through her body, she could feel her sword again, waiting to be called to her hand. The silver-white veins from the wound was gone, the wound healing leaving behind only a scar and Illyana's eyes glowed the same color the veins from her wound had been. "Huh, my first scar" she said as she tiredly ran her thumb over it, then she turned to Rogue with a smile on her face. A genuine smile, a happy smile, not one that was put on simply to hide how much she was struggling. "Thank you" she whispered.

[aquilasmoon]

The Knight Family

Patrick Knight

Full Name - Patrick Neil Knight

Birthday - 10th November 1971

Sexuality - Straight

Role in Family - Father

Age at beginning of story - 48

Juliet Knight (nee Evergreen)

Full Name - Juliet Lily Knight (nee Evergreen)

Birthday - 13th April 1972

Sexuality - Straight

Role in family - Mother

Age at beginning of story - 47

Francis Knight

Full Name - Francis "Fran" Serina Knight

Birthday - 6th December 1993

Sexuality - Bisexual

Role in family - Oldest child

Age at the beginning of story - 26

Alice Knight

Full Name - Alice Rose Knight

Birthday - 6th December 1993

Sexuality - Strsight

Role in family - Second oldest child

Age at beginning of story - 26

Samantha Knight

Full Name - Samantha "Sam" Rachel Knight

Birthday - 19th February 1995

Sexuality - Bisexual

Role in family - Middle child

Age at beginning of story - 24

Hope Knight

Full Name - Hope Olivia Knight

Birthday - 13th October 2000

Sexuality - Asexual

Role in family - Second youngest child

Age at beginning of story - 19

Chase Knight

Full Name - Chase Roman Knight

Birthday - 15th December 2003

Sexuality - Gay

Role in Family - Youngest child

Age at beginning of story - 16

Information

Patrick Knight and Juliet Evergreen were high school sweethearts. They were your typical teenage love story. Most popular in school, and prom king and queen. They got married at 19 and at 21 they had their first birth. Two twin daughters named Francis and Alice.

A year later they had their second daughter Samantha and decided that three girls was enough for them.

They brought the girls up close and throughout their childhood they were irrespirable. Fran and Alice were parically close. The two girls loved each other, they were each other's best friend and this often left Sam feeling left out. This led Sam into misbehaving to get her family's attention. She became angry whenever the twins would do something without her, even if it was something neither of them could control like joining school a year before her. Because of her anger, Alice and Fran tended to keep away from her and wouldn't want to play with her by the time she was able to join school, making Sam even more mad and lonely.

Sam was over the moon when her parents told them that they were pregnant again and hoped that her new brother or sister could be her new friend.

Unfortunately, her parents didn't let her be with Hope much when she was first born. They didn't want her to act up and scare the baby. Francis and Alice spent most of their time playing with baby Hope and trying to get her to laugh, once again leaving Sam out.

By the time Hope had been born, Patrick and Juliet felt bored. They didn't want another kid and were tired enough by having to deal with the other three. They became even more infuriated when Juliet fell pregnant again five years later. Still, despite their desire to have no more kids they still tried to raise all five of them as best as they could.

The Family lived in a 5 bedroom house in Wales by the beaches. In this house the majority of the ground floor was taken up by the kitchen, with the only other room there being a bedroom which belonged to Sam. On the first floor was the main bathroom, the twins room and the living room. The second floor had Juliet and Patrick's shared room along with Hopes right next to their and Chase with the box room.

Sam had always liked her room. With where it was in the house it meant that she didn't have to interact with her family much. She had the kitchen right at her doorstep and never really would ever need to go upstairs if it wasn't for the bathroom. Having her room on the ground floor and her parents on the top also made it easier for her to sneak out of the house without anyone noticing. The family could go a week with only seeing Sam during family meals which Juliet and Patrick insisted they had every evening.

Both twins grew up with big ambitions in their life. With Samantha acting like she was they were determined to prove to their parents thag they were better and that Sam wasn't a reflection on any bad parenting. They both tried hard in school and got amazing grades. Francis planned to become a writer while Alice wanted to be an actress, they knew thag they were hard industries to get into but both truly believed that they could do it together.

On top of thag they also helped with looking after Hope and Chase. They would babysit without question and with their parents obviously growing tired of the whole parenting thing they made sure that both of them got the same opportunity's they did like taking them to after school clubs. But when they went off to university their parents didn't bother carrying on sending them to the clubs anymore. Luckily for Hope, she had just joined High school and had her own bus pass to get herself around.

With the twins gone it felt as if Juliet and Patrick had given up in their other three kids. Family dinners were no more and they didn't even bother picking Chase up from school anymore, Samantha started picking him up and dropping him off herself as she had the free time by skipping her lessons at college.

During the time that the twins are away, Patrick and Juliet do the minimum of amount of work they have to. Hope had started to follow in Sams footsteps and misbehaves during school but doesn't seem to care considering she knows her parents won't. She also goes out with her friends a lot leaving Chase alone in the house a lot while he's only eight.

When the twins come back after their first year and see what has become of their family Fran suggests that they spend their next year at home so they can look after their family. Alice disagrees and says that it's not her problem and it won't do her any good not going back to uni. Alice believes that they have done their bit and shouldn't have to look after everyone when they can become successful.

When September comes around, Alice is the only one out of the two to go back to uni. Patrick and Juliet are furious at Fran for dropping out and call her ungrateful. They told her that if she wanted to play the parent so much then she should and refused to do anything for their kids. This made it easier for Sam and Hope who became close by Sam teaching Hope how to do make up and roll a cigarette and buying her booze. Meanwhile Chase became incredibly clingy from being left alone too many times. He wouldn't want to go into school because he was scared thag nobody would be there to pick him up and he rarely left Frans side and even spent a lot of nights sleeping on Alices old bed because he felt rejected by everyone else.

Fran takes up a few side jobs to try to pay for essentials. Luckily for her, their parents still live with them so they still payed the rent, water bill and electict but every thing else was up for Fran to buy. Hope and Sam didn't have jobs so whenever they wanted money they would go to Fran, and if Fran didn't have any money to give then they would steal off their parents. Fran knew about this but didn't bother telling them off or not to do it. She knew it would go nowhere and if she was honest she would rather them steal from them than her.

When Alice graduated none of her siblings were there. Patrick and Juliet had banned them all from attending but told Alice that they didn't want to go. Alice felt betrayed by her siblings and got into an argument with Fran about it that night. She didn't belive thag her parents would live to her.

The next morning on June 16th 2014, Fran woke up to a note stuck on her bedroom door with an envelop full of money and different bills. The note said that her parents and Alice had gone off for a two week trip to America and would be back soon.

Fran didn't think anything of it at the time.

Two weeks passed and they still hadn't come back. They wouldn't for another six years.

During those six years Fran had managed to get through to Hope and Sam pretty early on. Sam agreed to get a job and they both started to help out more. Hope started working on her school and ended up doing reallt well in her GCSEs. Their main motivation was proving to their parents that they're not failures.

Chase has started high school and was doing average. He wasn't as bad as Hope and Sam but wasn't as good as Fran and Alice.

After a year they began to run out of money and were evicted from their home. They brought a one bedroom flat not far away so Hope and Chase could continue with school. They had to sell a lot of their things and all ended up sharing one room while sleeping on matresses on the floor.

When Hope left school she got a job straight away and went into a science course for college. Fran bad ended up giving up on her dream of becoming a writer and Sam knew that she wouldn't bet a career with her grades. Hope doesn't go to uni because they can't afford it.

On January 1st 2020, Alice comes knocking on their door. Fran is ready to kick her out before she tells her that their parents had been wrongfully accused of several murders and she needed their help to clear their name.

I am fully aware that the actors don't really look that much like siblings but i did the best i could.

Also Emília is three years older then Alicia and Lily but we're just going to ignore that.

The Knight family are the main character in a book i've decided to write called The Knight Trial. So here's some info on them and their backstory.

Also now after writing all of this I low-key wanna start writing one shots about their life before the murders.

[rasoir-national]

5 male characters I love

So I got tagged by @antirococoreaction​​ to name 5 male characters I love, and as always I asked myself the immortal question : do I pick characters I love as characters, as in, characters I love for how interesting they are, or do I pick characters I love as people ? And for once, I decided to go with the narrowest of the two, the second one, for two reasons.

First, because there’s this latent belief in media that bad is more interesting than good, leading to the pernicious trope that characters who are “good people” are boring. That’s patently false : just as it’s difficult to be a good person, and I think we should highlight characters who demonstrate that.

Second, because there’s this tendency, in tumblr culture, from which I am not at all exempt, to avoid giving focus to masculinity in a positive manner, because mainstream media would do that already. But you could argue that mainstream media is much more focused on toxic masculinity and masculinity as a “default” than on exploring masculinity in its richness and uniqueness. So I want to do that too : to highlight characters whose masculinity is a inherent and essential part of who they are and why I love them. Let’s roll.

Dionysus/Umar from The Wicked+The Divine (Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie)

He is such a good person. That’s what you think the first time you meet him, and that’s what you’ll continue to think, even as the comic goes on and adds nuance upon nuance on every character. The god of wine and parties reincarnated as a young man with rave/hivemind and ecstasy-like powers. And also a kind friend, a sensitive listener, someone who is keenly aware of the limits of what you can do for other people yet will give all he has so people can have at least that, be it one good night amidst sorrow and depression, or a shoulder to cry on. Dio is good to a fault, as in, his goodness is arguably his flaw. He gives himself so completely, to everyone, that it endangers his own sanity, and make other people’s selfishness and entitlement come out. He is a perfect illustration of why putting yourself first is not just a flaw when done in excess, it is at its core a survival skill : if you do not put barriers between you and the others, you will crumble. Dio is a study in true altruism that not many stories have the courage to make. He is also canonically asexual, and strongly implied to be biromantic, although that’s almost incidental in Wicdiv, in which almost every single character is lgbtqia+ and treated with respect. Seriously, read Wicdiv guys.

Kurama from Yu Yu Hakusho (Yoshihiro Togashi)

YYH is one of the most insidious yet brilliant deconstructions of the shoûnen tropes out there. While some of its material, while groundbreaking at the time (starting with a fleshed-out, sympathetic gay character coming with a critique of japanese homophobia), has aged with the strides made in matters of representation, its commentary on masculinity and especially how it’s usually handled in the typical shoûnen holds up extremely well in my opinion. And one of its centers is Kurama. Created to be a riff on the classic “bishounen” character (to the point that one of the running gags of the manga is Kurama getting increasingly annoyed with the attitude of female side characters around him), Kurama is my favourite kind of good person, the one who is deeply aware that he is capable of horrible things. He is the rare character who begins the story at the tail end of his redemption arc, having already decided to change ; his arc in the manga is about trying to figure out what that means. And the manga does not pull punches with him : he has to reckon with what he’s done, to try and navigate his new moral compass in a world that’s just waiting to use it against him. And it gets... cruel. Kurama is a perfect example of how quickly and often certain traits can toe the line between making you a terrible person or a good one. Everytime he fights, Kurama has to make the choice to do good, over and over. And it’s not easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. And if YYH has one message, it’s that everyone who tells you otherwise is lying.

Father Marcus Keane (Ben Daniels) from The Exorcist series

Memory functions best by association, so reading @antirococoreaction​‘s list immediately got me thinking about The Exorcist and Father Marcus. Just like Cardinal Gutierrez, he is both a man of faith and a mlm. And while his orientation is not the focus of the show, it’s present, layered and realistic in all of it - credit to openly gay actor Ben Daniels who portrays him. It’s especially present in his relationship with the other lead, portrayed by Alfonso Herrera as a young, charismatic priest whom the Church sees as a political pawn, whom I could also have chosen for this list. Just like I could have chosen John Cho as the single foster father of adopted “problem” children who has to cope with the death of his wife. See, what’s extraordinary about The Exorcist series is exactly what I was talking about in the intro : whatever masculinity means, it doesn’t take it for granted. Which is why the second season manages to have three male leads that are all incredible characters, incredibly good people, while vastly different from one another. Marcus is probably the most “morally grey” of the three, but in what that term sholuld mean rather than what mainstream media tends to make of it. Marcus in an unquestionably good person in a world where doing good often means making excrutiating choices. Marcus is someone devastated by these choices, who has to try and find hope again, guided in part by the young Father Tomas. While Marcus roughly fits the “jadded brooding lead” archetype, but in every detail of his character and portrayal he is imbued by a depth that’s rare in the horror genre. I will never forgive Fox for cancelling this gem of a series right as both the plot and the main characters were coming at a turning point. My advice if you want to watch it : don’t read anything, just go in blind.

Jean-Baptiste Adamsberg from the Adamsberg novels (Fred Vargas)

Adamsberg is a cop. I know that’s a dealbreaker for some people, and I respect that. But his profession seems almost incidental to the character. Adamsberg shouldn’t be a cop, Adamsberg is that guy you see in the street who stops all of the sudden, fascinated by something, and it drives you crazy that you don’t see what. Adamsberg is a dreamer, he feels things rather that he knows them, and yet somehow is always right in the end. He’s like a magician. He’s not always kind. He can be violent. He’s not always clever. In fact, sometimes he acts downright stupid. Yet there is always this kindness, this intelligence around him, about the way people are and the way people should be. When I was a kid, the Adamsberg series was the first I read in which, hearing another man using a degrading language to talk about women, the main character immediately shut him down. As I grew up, I came to think of Adamsberg as the way women wished men were, though they weren’t. In reality, there is a lot in Adamsberg that’s exactly how men are, both good and bad. He’s a character who shouldn’t feel real yet does in the strange, poetic world created by Fred Vargas for what is one of the strangest crime series I’ve ever read. If the Doctor was the protagonist of a crime series, they would be Adamsberg. Growing up afab, Adamsberg was one of the few male protagonists I didn’t feel actively disrespected by as I was reading. The first four books of the series, The Chalk Circle Man, Seeking whom he may devour, Have mercy on us all and Wash this blood clean from my hand, are absolute classics I heartily recommend. It’s some of the smartest, weirdest crime novels out there.

Zeno Ligre from The Abyss (Marguerite Yourcenar)

I... God, what do you even say about what may well be your favourite character in all of literature, in what may well be your favourite book ? I fell in love in Zeno when I was fifteen, fell as hard as you could for someone who didn’t exist. Zeno starts the story as a young adult and ends it as an old man. You follow his entire life, from his childhood as the bastard child in a rich belgian family in the 16th Century, to becoming a respected yet feared and misunderstood alchemist, all through the turmoil of religious and political wars and plagues. Zeno is the best representation of what it was truly like to be a man ahead of his time in a time of intolerance and obscurantism. As an isolated high schooler who felt like I had nothing in common with my peers, you can imagine how I could relate. The Abyss is a strange, dense book which I probably read too soon, but which absolutely enthralled me to the point that I refused to even open another book weeks after finishing it because I simply couldn’t bear the thought not to be still reading The Abyss. It made History and Philosophy realer than any of my classes. And front and center of it is Zeno, Zeno you see grow and age, with whom you discover and fear, who utterly captures you with how grand a man can truly be, how extraordinary life itself, from beginning to end, is. Zeno is a man trying to shine a light on the world, trying to live by the precepts of philosophers, and once again is faced by what being a good man means, and whether it even matters to be one in a world such as the Middle Ages. I don’t know what to say except read it, and you’ll see why I’m at such a loss for words. Oh, and you might cry a lot. I know I did, not necessarily because it was sad, but simply because it was over, and I couldn’t read it for the first time again.

Here you have it. Wow, that was way too long.

And of course there’s almost no one left for me to tag, because we’re like 15 people talking in a circle.