#also london boy being Immediately followed by soon you’ll get better was a Choice

[andwewerehappy]

i have a new lover (2019) opinion

[yyuangss-main]

i. will rules

— Dearest Daddy is a collaboration with many other writers about Haikyuu boys. At the bottom of the chapter, I will link the material list to Dearest Daddy and you can find other stories to read. Thank you!

TW: Character death

You gather with friends all the time and think about the future. You’ll guess who will get married first, who will be the one to have children, the one to stay single and travel the world. Have you ever gathered and thought about who might be the first to leave this world? Because you don’t want to think of what you know will be a reality. At one point, everyone will pass away.

“Thank you Takahashi. Any expenses on Wakumi, I will pay you.” Sakusa said. The collar from his suit pinched the skin on his neck. Emiko Takahashi, the babysitter, has stayed with Wakumi since Yoichi and Tadema arrived at the hospital. “For now, you can go rest. Wakumi’ll be under my care.”

“Ah, no worries Sakusa.” Takahashi said, “Yoichi and Tadame were your friends. Not mine. I will gladly take care of Wakumi until a family relative fixes up adoption papers.” Sakusa exhaled.

After the funeral, everyone went to (L/N)’s home for a repast. She sat in her living room, bags under her eyes shown noticeably. (L/N) seemed to not listen to what everyone said. What could she be hearing? The sound of Yoichi and Tadema’s flatline? Her piercing scream that awakened Sakusa from his slumber?

“My condolences (L/N).” Takahashi gripped her hand. “If you need anything, you’re allowed to call me.”

“Thank you Takahashi.” Her lips moved, the dry tears on her cheeks stretching. “Did Wakumi fall asleep upstairs? If she did, you can spend the night here.” Sakusa subtly rolls his eyes.

‘Just say you want someone by your side.’ Sakusa maneuvered through familiar faces, unknown friends, and family members to get to the kitchen. He feels more secure, still hating large crowds. Leaning on the countertop, the male checked his notifications. A bunch of missed calls in a thread from an unknown number was at the top.

Sakusa’s head cocked to the side. Whoever was the caller left a voicemail too. He clicked on his phone, heading to the back door in the kitchen. His foot was wedged between the door, keeping it from closing on him, the sound of a male voice entering his ear.

“Hello Mr. Sakusa. My name is Hansuke Fujioka. I’m leaving a voicemail hoping you can call me as soon as you can. An urgent matter needs to be spoken about. Thank you and have a nice day.”

Sakusa went to his missed calls and clicked the top notification. It began dialing.

“Hello?” Said the same voice.

“Hello, this is Sakusa Kiyoomi. You called me about an urgent matter?”

“First, I’d like to give you my condolences on your loss. Secondly, yes. I am Hansuke Fujioka, the Suzuki’s family attorney.” Sakusa leaned in closer to the phone, pulling down his mask to his chin. “My reason for calling is because I’d like to discuss their will with you. The information is much to process over the phone.”

“Understood. Would you like to make a meeting?” Sakusa mentally remembered his free days. “I’m available to meet up this upcoming Thursday. Maybe around ten in the morning?”

“Works well for me. Come to Fujioka Attorneys.”

“Thank you.” Sakusa said, hearing a ‘You’re welcome’ and Mr. Fujioka hung up. Sakusa entered the house through the way he came out. He quickly typed out a reminder in his calendar for Thursday. He heard the clicking of heels and a ringtone. Sakusa’s eyes darted up to see (L/N)’s figure exiting through the back door. He wondered what that could be about but he dismissed it as uninteresting.

“It’s good to meet you.” Fujioka shook Sakusa’s hand. “Please, take a seat.” The male sat on the left chair. Fujioka quickly aligned documents spread on his desk. He stacked them together and cleared his throat. Sakusa sneakily checked the time from his Black Jackals coat.

“We’ll start? I assume?” Sakusa sat up straight. Mr. Fujioka spared him a glance and held up a finger.

“Just a moment, Mr. Sakusa. I’ll be right back.” The attorney ushered out the room, leaving Sakusa alone. He craned his neck to see through the small crack the door had left. Sakusa’s foot anxiously bounced on the floor. What could it be? What could they have left?

“No worries! You arrived at a good time!” Sakusa heard the voice of Mr. Fujioka say, “Come right in and take a seat! We’ll start immediately.” The door opened, revealing her. Her fake smile she would throw on for photo shoots and movies. Her face he wished he could stop seeing everywhere.

(L/N) (Y/N).

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Fujioka!” You said, unaware of Sakusa’s presence. “We can—” You stopped mid sentence, making eye contact with Sakusa. He glared, clearly giving a look of annoyance from under the mask. You returned it, replacing it instantly with an even faker smile.

“Ms. (L/N), I’m not sure if you know Mr. Sakusa. The two of you were mentioned in the Suzuki’s will.” Mr. Fujioka went around his desk, scooting up in his chair. You slowly sat down in the other open seat beside the volleyball player. Fujioka grabbed the file nearest to his computer, “And with that being said, happen to be in the same sentence.” In cue, both you and Sakusa gave each other a confused look.

“What do you mean by that?” Sakusa asked. Fujioka opened the file, picking at the corner of a sheet and pulling it from the pack.

“Oddly enough, the Suzuki’s requested in their will that if they died,” Fujioka said, “You two would have custody of Wakumi.”

“What?” You and Sakusa both said at the same time. And here you were, planning on asking Fujioka where a family member could get custody on Wakumi. “That must be a mistake!” He glanced up from the sheet, eyebrows raised and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. There’s no mistake.” Fujioka said, “I have a copy of the transcript. You can read it.” Sakusa extended his hand, getting a small packet from Fujioka. He brought it back, seeing the words that were typed up. Sakusa flipped through the pages. It was only three stapled all together.

“Is that even possible?” You ask. “And wouldn’t it be better if a family member got custody?” Mr. Fujioka placed the sheet at the top, only holding the top right corner. You could feel the scowl from Sakusa burning holes on your temple. Maybe even hurling insults internally or planning on doing it once the meeting was over.

“Yes. It’s rare but possible to happen.” Fujioka stated, “What’s not possible is the law giving Wakumi over to a family member. Yoichi and Tadema’s will is signed by a judge. I’m to execute these requests. Along with that, all money left in the Suzuki’s accounts are to be saved for Wakumi until she is eighteen or unless the two requested guardians need to use it.” Sakusa hummed, flipping the small packet in your direction. “She also inherited their house.”

You read the first page, Yoichi asking for the money to be under Wakumi’s name. In the second, Tadema asked her husband if they were still going with what they agreed. Finally, near the end, Fujioka confirmed he’d written down ‘(L/N) (Y/N)’ and ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi’ to be Wakumi’s legal guardians. Your breath hitched, feeling conflicted. You felt your eyes begin to swell, placing the stapled papers back on the table.

“Mr. Fujioka, can we change this?” You said. Fujioka clicked his pen repeatedly.

“Look, from an outside perspective, would you really want to defy your friend’s last wishes?” Fujioka asked. “There’s a reason why you were picked. They trust you with Wakumi. I can’t deny this request nor can you. Make this process easier.”

“I just— I just can’t fit a child into my schedule.” You exclaimed. “I love her but my life is busy as it is. A child would only add more stress.”

“Give it time Ms. (L/N). When leaving, you’re allowed to discuss your next moves. Of course, a process for adopting Wakumi’ll happen. We will meet again to finalize more things. I’ll give you both a call.” He gave a nod. Sakusa agreed, his chest rising as he stood up.

“Thank you for your time.” Sakusa said, shaking his hand. “And for informing us. Ms. (L/N) and I are going to talk this out.” Fujioka seemed pleased, seeing the two of you out. Your heels clicked on the wooden flooring as you stormed out.

You fetched for your keys in your purse, muttering curse words under your breathe. Using your shoulder to push the door open, Sakusa trailed behind you with a growing headache.

“(L/N).” Your head whipped around, baring an angry look.

“Yes?” You harshly said, making Sakusa’s eye twitch. “Hurry up Sakusa, I don’t have all day!”

“Fujioka said we need to discuss.” You grunted, turning away and coming closer to your car. Sakusa’s eyebrows raised, a look reading ‘Are you serious right now?’ behind the mask formed.

“Just follow me to my place.” Your voice cracked, fumbling your keys to get inside of the car. “I’d rather talk there than burst out crying in a parking lot.”

❝A tragic accident brings two enemies together under one roof as sole guardians of their late best friend’s baby daughter. Will they survive together and find happiness through the bundle of joy in their lives? Or will their hatred for each other win over the worst?❞

TAGLIST IS NOW OPEN AND CONTINUES IN THE COMMENTS

Taglist: @thirsthourdemon @london-quynh @kallikseeker13x @rethinking-life-choices @angrylittleriri @elianetsantana @jovialnoise @paripedia @ushi-please @iwaizluv @kyomihann @lunarknox @bokuakadaily @ushiwakaout @shinhiromi @ddaewng @defunkitatedmess @kittifer @headinthe-fridge @prswail @swoonhui @food8me @sophie-duck @onlyshinji @lovaly-angeli @anjvxmmv @minaces @kac-chowsballs @vicassa @bokutosuwus @rintarous @juno-multifandom @moonyslupins @banananuttrash @sol-demure @neomemartin8383 @catchmeb-r-awling @starryhyun @chaelysian @iwaoi-mate @bellesowl @redflannel @aikochan4859 @actual-spawn-of-satan @froyopet @myucchu @seiijixcia @curiouslilbeast @kontj @yeahhemmings-

DEAREST DADDY MATERIAL LIST

PLAYING HOUSE MATERIAL LIST

prologue

[animeyanderelover]

Hello! I'm back with another request if you're ok with it?! Headcanons with Sebastian and Ash falling for the same darling?

I’m so glad you requested something for Ash!! He’s soo underrated when it comes to Yandere stuff!! We all saw in the Anime that Sebastian is way stronger than Ash, but to make this more interesting and fair Ash will be on a similar level of strength in this scenario.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, paranoia, delusions, stalking, manipulation, sabotage, mentions of kidnapping, mentions of killing

Ash and Sebastian falling for the same darling

🐈‍⬛▫️I already told you what makes Sebastian attracted to the s/o, their scent and the cat-like character. And it’s pretty obvious what Ash’s ideal type is, isn’t it? The most innocent soul on this planet. If you fulfill all this then you’ll have a demon and an angel after you. And this will most likely not end well...

🐈‍⬛▫️I think the s/o is a servant in the Phantomhive manor which means Sebastian was the first one who went Yandere for them. How couldn’t he with their sweet scent and alluring character? Sebastian became quickly possessive over them.

🐈‍⬛▫️Ash met them for the first time during the curry contest. He already knew that Sebastian was a demon and probably expected the whole household from Ciel to be just a bunch of dirty and rotten souls so imagine his surprise when he caught a glance of the s/o’s soul which was basically radiating of purity. To say that he was shocked would be an understatement. How could such a clean soul exist anywhere near such a dark creature like this demon?! His obsession kicked at that very moment in, feeling thrilled that he found such a pure thing like the s/o.

🐈‍⬛▫️Even though Sebastian didn’t know at that time that Ash was a fallen angel he already had a bad feeling about him at that time which came most likely from the fact that he noticed how Ash looked at the darling. He had this look of burning passion in his eyes whilst looking at them, a look which Sebastian knew too well. It was the same look he always had in his eyes when looking at the s/o. He quickly stepped protectively in front of them and sent Ash a silent and warning glare. Over Ash’s face flashed for a short second an angry expression, feeling angry because this...this scum had just blocked this precious clean soul from his view. He was quick to return the glare Sebastian sent him, both glaring at each other with strong dislike and disgust. That’s how it all started...

🐈‍⬛▫️Some time passed until Ash met the darling again, which was when he visited Ciel to inform him about the cult and the queen’s wish to eliminate the cult. During the whole time there was some tension in the air because Ash and Sebastian kept exchanging glares at each other. Sebastian felt the most frustrated since he knew he couldn’t do anything in front of his master and he also knew that telling his master his suspicions wouldn’t be of much help either since Ash was the queen’s personal butler and his master was the queen’s loyal guard dog. Ash also knew that he couldn’t do anything, at least for now, because if Ciel and Sebastian would find out what he really was and what his plans were, he knew that he would get some problems with them.

🐈‍⬛▫️Ash was also clearly annoyed that he couldn’t find you when he had entered the mansion and he knew that this was most likely Sebastian’s fault. How dare this brat to prevent him from seeing you?! When he left the manor he had a clearly annoyed expression on his face, gritting his teeth angrily. But then he suddenly noticed that someone was hiding behind one of the trees in the garden and was peeking from behind the tree trunk at him. Ash quickly noticed that it was you, immediately recognizing the purity which was radiating of from you and called you over with a charming smile on his face. You slowly stepped towards him with a curious look on your face and Ash almost went on his knees and started crying, being amazed at how brilliant your soul was.

🐈‍⬛▫️Sebastian on the other hand was boiling with jealousy when he looked out of the window and saw you and Ash walking next to each other whilst talking to each other. Damn it! Hadn’t he told you to help Baldroy in the kitchen?! But then again, you had told him that you wanted to meet the butler of the queen and if you were interested in something you always made sure to quench your thirst, that was one of these things Sebastian found so charming about you. Your cat-like curiosity. Never in his long demon life Sebastian had ever felt the need to kill someone that strongly like in that moment. Ash noticed how Sebastian was death glaring at him through the window and sent him a smug smile, saying his farewells to you and giving you a kiss on your hand, making sure to send the demon a challenging look and enjoying the blush that was blossoming on your face.Sebastian was fuming with anger and if it wouldn’t have been for his master who noticed how Sebastian almost lost control of himself and ordered him to get a grip of himself he would have probably went berserk then and there.

🐈‍⬛▫️The following weeks were hasty for Sebastian and Ash, but most of all they were stressful for you. Ash had definitely the advantage in here because he was the queen’s butler and was able to manipulate her so for some reason you were often called over to the queen’s palace to stay there for a longer period of time which made Sebastian enraged. He even tried to talk his master into not sending you away, but Ciel told him simply that they were the queen’s personal orders and that this was a chance to enhance the trust from the queen. If you made a good expression there this would automatically have a positive effect for him as well. Sebastian knew that if he would do something to prevent you from going there he would get troubles with his master and Ash so for a long time he was in a bad position.

🐈‍⬛▫️Both of these men here are charming and manipulate and both of them tried to win your affection. Ash often invited you over and showed you around the palace, let you ride on horses and generally let you do things you couldn’t do in the manor. I mentioned in my Hc’s about him that he also wants to impress his darling so he would definitely show them his talent with swords and would basically try to show you that he’s better than Sebastian. He would try to convince you that he was the better choice since he was the queen’s butler and was much more qualified to be your partner than a ‘normal’ butler like Sebastian. Whatever you wish for, he’ll give it to you. Ash would spoil you and shower you in compliments. Sebastian knew that he hadn’t all this money to buy you things you wanted so he relied on impressing you, just like Ash and tried to spoil you in his ways. He couldn’t buy you rings, necklaces and other fancy stuff, but he knew that you were a little gourmet and prepared you very often your favorite meals which made your eyes sparkle with excitement when you saw the mouthwatering food. He also tried to impress you with his intelligence, he did live a long life after all and the look of admiration you would give him whenever he told you something what you were curious about made this man’s chest swell with pride. He would also try to give you a bad image of Ash, telling you that people like him from a higher class often tended to loose interest fast in one woman, especially if she was a normal servant. Sebastian just wants to make sure that he doesn’t break your heart.

🐈‍⬛▫️If you would choose Ash, this man would immediately ensure that you would never go back into this manor, would never be anywhere near this demon again. He wouldn’t even let you anywhere near humans again, being scared that they might taint your brilliant and pure soul with their dirty touches and presences. Sebastian on the other hand would feel nothing, but pure demonic rage that even his master will feel a bit intimidated. But here again, Ash has the advantage in here because he controls the queen and Sebastian’s contract with Ciel will keep him from doing anything because Ciel was quick to notice that Sebastian got too attached to you and ordered him to not do anything and that he should just accept the fact that you loved Ash. Sebastian just wanted to kill that boy in that very moment and resented that he had gone into a contract with this brat.

🐈‍⬛▫️If you would choose Sebastian this man would make sure to keep you somewhere where no one can find you because he knows that Ash will bribe the queen to get you back. And that’s exactly what Ash will do. The moment he hears that you have suddenly disappeared he gets this kind of paranoia that will start wars and immediately comes over to the mansion and will start to pressure Ciel, telling him that the queen expects him to find you as soon as possible. After that he makes sure to find Sebastian, yelling enraged at him and demanding him to bring you back to him. Sebastian on the other hand stays surprisingly calm and tells him with an arrogant grin that you chose him and he just made sure that Ash wouldn’t try to change your mind. This made Ash even more angry, he somehow knew that Sebastian wasn’t lying. How dare this demon to taint your innocent mind with his images?! How dare he to take you away from him, your guardian angel?! He was almost about to attack Sebastian, but held back because he knew that this was what the demon wanted. But very soon he would be able to have you all for himself.

🐈‍⬛▫️The moment he reveals that he’s an angel is the moment we’re both men start getting ruthless. Sebastian because now Ciel knows what Ash really is and gives him free hand and Ash because now he doesn’t need to hide his real identity anymore. Now both of them can finally do what they wanted to do from the moment they first saw each other, killing their greatest rival. When Ash burns London down he won’t offer Sebastian to work together, different from in the Anime, but he’ll more likely declare war to him and the final fight between them isn’t anymore about saving Sebastian’s master or purifying London. It’s all about killing each other so the winner can have the most precious thing in the world all for himself, you. Since I made Ash in this scenario stronger, Sebastian will use his demon form from the very beginning, absolutely ready to shred Ash into pieces and the same goes for Ash. I can absolutely see that they’ll destroy the whole town whilst fighting against each other and whoever wins this fight will instantly start searching for you and as soon as he finds you, he’ll make sure that you’re his for eternity.

I’m personally curious, would you choose Ash or Sebastian?

[angeli-marco-writes]

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆  Tom Holland - Just Friends?  ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

A/N - posting for the first time in forever, this time with a Tom Holland imagine that’s already been on my wattpad for a loooong time. Go check that out though, angeli.marco because I have whole ass collections on there rather than just the odd few one shots. 

Warnings - drinking, very light mentions of drugs, swearing. Also its like 5k words so it’s long as well.

Summary - you and tom have been best friends for a long time and inseparable for just as long. The boys welcome you as one of their own, and you’re basically a part of the family. That’s your main issue, because when you begin to harbour feelings for your best friend, you’re not sure if he feels the same.

YOU AND TOM HAVE AN INTENSE FRIENDSHIP, there’s no denying it. In fact, the intensity worries his family, it all happened so fast.

The two of you met about a year and a half ago at your local supermarket. You were just going shopping for some food as you moved to London, and you saw Tom there. You recognised him, but you of course didn’t want to be a bother, so you began to hyperventilate in the bread aisle, thinking you were alone, just when Tom poked his head around the corner. 

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” Those were his very first words to you, and you couldn’t even look him in the eye when responding.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” Could you have been any more awkward? 

However, Tom, thankfully, found it endearing, and to this day he still does. A day hasn’t gone by for the last 18 months that the two of you haven’t spent together. Within a week of meeting, you were on first name terms with all of his family and friends, and every second of your lives are spent in each other’s company, simply platonic though - at least for him.

He spends his time with you on pranks, swiftly followed by an apology cupcake (never handmade, at least not by him), and in the evening, he hauls you up to the roof of your apartment building or a spot on his house to get drunk and look at the sky. It’s what you love about him, he incorporates everything the both of you enjoy into your daily lives and it creates this brilliant, inescapable routine of happiness and hangovers, and almost every morning that you wake up with him on the other side of his bed or yours, only to find him half hanging off it, you feel this intense happiness in your chest. That feeling is immediately shut down when you realise that to Tom, you’ll be nothing more than his friend. And in a few months, your whirlwind friendship will be over and he’ll be a stranger to you, a big star you stalk on Instagram, he’ll never be your Tom.

Today, you’d planned to go over to his house as soon as you woke up after spending one of your only ever nights apart, since his parents were out with Paddy, meaning it would only be you two and the boys, whom you also got on well with. He left his door unlocked when he knew you were coming over, something else that confused you, and why would he want you over whilst his parents were absent? Yes, he’s a 23 year old actor, but he’s still a mummy’s boy. You trusted that nothing would happen even though you secretly hoped it would.

On your walk to his house, you text him and get a reply almost immediately, though not what you expect.

YOU - Nearly there :)

TOM - I nicked his phone baby, see you at the door. Harry x

You smile in spite of yourself, shutting your phone off and shoving it in your back pocket with the elegance of a hippo, stumbling over his drive before you even reach his front door. You take a heavy sigh while gathering your dignity, looking up at the house. In the attic, Harrison’s sitting in the window seat, his head in his hands while holding his phone between his shoulder and his ear, another fight in paradise apparently, Sam is in the front room, Tom’s in his bedroom (more precisely in his wardrobe), and Harry is nowhere to be seen. That can only mean trouble.

You open the door and kick your shoes off in the porch, closing the front door as you cautiously open the second, only to be tackled and restrained. Your hands are held behind your back with a strong arm winding around your waist and hot breath fanning your ear.

“Surrender your sweets, baby, or I’ll text your mum from Tom’s phone.” Chirps a voice, cracking a little because you know he’s trying to keep a straight face. How does he always know?

“My back right pocket, be careful or Tom will kill you for laying a hand on me.” You say, and the smirk in your voice is obvious. Within seconds, you’re freed but pulled to the ground by a laughing Harry, laughing so hard his cheeks are a magnificent red and his breathing laboured. “Lovely to see you too Harry.” You say, passing him the packet of skittles that you always carry with you. He takes them gratuitously and stands up first, pulling you up off the floor much to the disappointment of a scowling onlooking Sam, and you race up the stairs to Tom's room. 

“Knock knock,” Upon entering, a childish grin is all over your face.

“Did you get my phone off Harry on my way up here?” Tom asks solemnly, not moving from his position virtually inside his man-sized wardrobe. You flop down on his bed which just happens to be far more comfortable than your own, and sigh.

“No, Harry threatened me with it but he loves me enough to hand it over if you want me to get it.” You grin, your eyes glued to him, but he just doesn’t move. “You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Yeah course baby, why wouldn’t I be?”

There’s something up that you can’t place, so to snap him into action you mention something guaranteed to get Tom riled up. “Your brother trapped me on my way in, if I hadn't made him laugh he would’ve been grabbing my arse to get hold of my sweets.”

Tom spins on his heel, leaping onto the bed beside you. He starts to trace a calloused finger down your face and neck, only stopping at the neckline of your jumper. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

A lump forms in your throat. His touch electrifies your body, making your mind go lax, but you can’t be complacent. You’re just friends, right?

“Of course he didn’t. Now what are we doing today?” You roll off the side of the bed and away from Tom, folding your arms secretively across your chest. You look out the window at the houses across the street, watching cars go by and seeing the leaves flying in the gusts of wind that come every so often, London really can be pretty.

Tom stands up and follows you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. He places a hand on your shoulder and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. “Did Harry hurt you? Tell me, please.”

You smile sadly, shaking your head. “He didn’t, he never would, I promise, I just don’t feel great today,” This ends up being the wrong thing to say, because Tom proceeds to place his hand on your forehead and then the sides of your neck, followed by a chaste kiss to your head which makes your whole body feel weightless. His lips are so soft.

“You haven’t got a temperature, maybe Sam’s lunch will make you feel better.”

For the next two hours, the two of you sit a little too much of a respectable distance apart on the sofa while watching your favourite show, LOST. You don’t talk much, but you find his baby brown eyes looking at you and his mouth gaping like a fish every so often, making a fiery blush heat your face and neck. Harry decides to sit in the empty space between the two of you, shortly followed by Harrison who sits on the arm of the sofa with his arm around your shoulders, only leaving when called to help with the lunch by Sam.

“Harry, can you piss off please?” Tom says after a string of continually failing attempts to push his brother from the sofa space between the two of you.

“Why, so you can sit with your girlfriend?” Harry teases, once again making the wrong choice with an already aggravated Tom. The pair leap to their feet, neither wearing slippers, and start legging it around the house.

You can hear the painful thuds of the pair no doubt slamming into walls and leaving dents, the harsh skids of the tiled floor when their socks fall down their heels, the shrieks and yells of disdain between the brothers, and finally the crash, crack and groan sequence of them piled on the floor, with Harrison entangled in them - you can tell from his posh sounding squeak of despair.

Begrudgingly, you stand up and leave the comfort and warmth of your sofa crease and make your way to the kitchen where Sam is blatantly ignoring the existence of his brothers and their imbecility. 

“Smells good Sam, sorry about them, it’s my fault.” You say absently, crouching down to untangle the pile of tangled limbs.

“Yeah,” Sam responds with a snort, “it is your fault, they keep fighting because they’ve fallen so madly in love with you and can’t decide who should have you.”

His words make you stop dead in your movements and cause an eerie silence to settle over everyone. For a solid, lengthy minute that feels like an hour, no one moves or speaks or breathes, and you’ve never been so confused in your life. Slowly, you stop trying to help the boys and you stand up.

“I- um, he was joking baby.” Tom stammers, watching you stand up to leave. What is it with that nickname making you feel things? 

“Yeah, slip of the tongue love.” Sam adds, leaning over the stove to catch your hand on your way out. You turn to face him, only to have him shoot you an apologetic glance.

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll be upstairs, come find me when you’ve grown up.” You say finally, closing the kitchen door on your way out.

As soon as you’re securely in Tom’s room, you clasp your hands together and release a long held groan of desperation, sliding down the back of the door. Circumstance is killing you, why can’t life just be simple? You look around Tom’s room at all of the framed pictures of the two of you hung from his walls, propped up on his window sill, and a special one in a heart on his bedside locker. Since you met, he’s been your one and only. You haven’t even thought about another boy, well, man. What Sam said has to have been a coincidence, Harry can’t like you, or so you tell yourself. It’d be far easier to date Harry than Tom, but it'd ruin your friendship with them both. You let out another groan and sprawl yourself out on Tom's bed. It’s so familiar to you - the duvet, the mattress, the smell that can only be described as Tom, your makeup stains on the pillows, just everything, including a dress of yours in the wardrobe in case you need to get ready at his house. 

Your eyes flutter closed and your mind spirals back to the day you met. Even then you were surprised at how laid back he was, until it came to his brothers.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You look all around your new apartment for a snack, but there’s nothing. Literally nothing except for frozen rice. With a disgruntled moan, you grab your coat and walk down the five flights of stairs to get out of your new building, and walk in the cold London weather and wind to the nearest supermarket. You look inside before entering, and it thankfully seems to be relatively empty, so you shrug off your hood and go inside, only to be met with the sight of your favourite actor, the gorgeous new Spider-Man, Tom Holland. You suffer an internal debate of whether to talk to him or not, and decide against it when your lungs and mind decide to conspire against you.

You quickly run into the bread aisle and think of anything possible to calm you down, but your lungs still don’t want to work, causing your every breath to come out as a laboured whistle. You begin to browse the loaves in an attempt at normality - wholemeal to white, rolls to wraps, but your overdriven brain won’t stop reminding you that your celebrity crush is literally feet away, scrap that, about one foot now since he’s come around the corner.

“You okay, Miss? You sound like you’re dying.” he says to you half jokingly, smiling crookedly at you.

“I-I’m fine, tha-thanks Mr Holland.” you stammer back, immediately face palming and turning away from him, but he’s just laughing at you. “I was hyperventilating because I saw you, even more suave and gorgeous in person.” You say as an attempt to recover, and he seems flattered.

“A fan then. Nice to meet you, now let's shop because this place closes early on Sundays. '' he laughs and swoops up your basket that you’d forgotten about and left strewn across the aisle. 

You follow wherever he walks, watching the way his calves tense when he leans up to the top shelves, the way his arse clenches when he’s deep in thought, the way he smiles at you like a newly rehomed puppy whenever you compliment him or try to be humorous.

Towards the end of your shop, you haul him to the alcohol aisle and pile spirits and mixers into your basket by the gallon. “Game recognises game. Wanna get pissed and watch the stars?” He asks, examining a strawberry vodka that you threw into your basket that just so happened to be mainly alcohol with only a couple of essential food items.

You’re more astounded and taken aback than you can ever remember being, but with one look at his beautiful face you agree with a little too much fervour, subsequently knocking your hair free from its bun and making Tom laugh again. You get the urge to elbow him but withhold in order to preserve this new friendship. While you pay, Tom texts his brother who parks outside and collects the shopping from Tom, but not without warning you that he can be a little tactile. You brush him off with a smile and lead Tom back to your apartment.

He insists on carrying all of your shopping bags into your building and convinces you to take the lift up to your flat, wherein you dump everything but three bottles of alcohol before he’s dragging you up the roof and unscrewing a bottle of echo before you even have the door open.

He collapses through the door and out into the fresh air, taking your hand in order for you to follow suit, though a little more gracefully. He passes you the wine and finds a dry piece of roof, upon which he places his jacket down and crashes onto it.

“How come you’re not treating me like a celebrity?” He asks, pulling you down to sit beside him. You think for a moment and eventually shrug, your eyes trailing back to the sky.

“Because you don’t act like a celebrity I suppose.” You respond, taking another swig from the dreadful bottle of wine. “You act like a normal guy, doing grocery shopping, helping me shop, bringing a minging fan such as myself back to my flat and insisting on drinking with me. You act like a nicer version of every other lad our age.”

He leans over you, engulfing you in a hug and grabbing for the vodka and coke. “I think we’re going to be very good friends.”

The next morning, you find the two of you hungover and fully dressed on top of your bed, glass liqueur and wine bottles decorating your floor. All you remember is going shopping, meeting Tom, and getting incredibly drunk while stargazing. Too drunk to viably do anything besides sleep and throw up, the latter of which you hope to god did not happen.

Tom stirs soon after and just hugs your stomach while groaning and rubbing his head, complaining that he’s never going to drink again - which you know will last approximately twelve hours.

You proceed to eat a make-do breakfast, followed by a heavy dose of paracetamol before Tom walks you to his house. He helps you up the step and just shouts, “this is my new best friend, we’ll be in my room!” 

You see his family's scepticism from down the hall, but Tom doesn’t seem bothered about them or calling you his new best friend, and that's how it all begins.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

“Lunch!” Comes Sam’s voice from outside the door, snapping you out of your reverie, followed by a click and some footsteps. He sits down beside you on the bed, stroking your hair. He doesn’t need to ask if you’re okay or not, he’s just exceptional at reading people, and he really genuinely cares about everyone. He sits you up and hands you a plate with the kindest smile. You don’t need to tell him how you feel, he can tell that you’re confused and tired and in love with his brother - that happened fast.

“They’re locked in the dining room with Harrison. Honestly, forget about them, my brothers are complete dickheads.” He says, sliding you a plate.

“Trust me, I know. They’re worse than that, I think that's why I love you and your family so much.” You sigh deeply, a tear forming in your eye as you rest your head against Sam’s shoulder and he wraps his spare arm around you. He’s a friend to you, one that isn’t messing with your feelings.

A rap on the door breaks your and Sam's discussion, and Tom enters with his back hunched and frowning. “Hug?” Is all he says. Maybe it's best if you don’t discuss it and go back to normal with both your Tom and Harry, maybe the intensity will die down and you’ll be able to go five minutes without each other.

“Hug.” You say, clambering your way off Tom’s bed and subsequently melting into his grip. He hugs you tighter than ever before, borderline crushing your shoulders and temporarily preventing you from breathing, but hearing the steady thrum of his heartbeat inside his chest is enough, feeling his chest and arm muscles tense and release around you makes you forget what this was all about, it just makes you crave his smell to be all over you, makes you crave his kisses on every inch of your body and not just your cheeks; being this close to him makes you crave the parts of him that you’ve been denied, flaws included.

“I’m gonna leave before something worse starts, catch you downstairs baby.” Sam says, collecting your plates and leaving you chuckling into Tom's chest, still reluctant to let go of him, and he seemed to feel the same. You tilt your head up a little so you’re at the perfect angle to examine every feature of Tom’s face - everything from a tiny part of his face that he missed while shaving, the twinkles of his eyes, his decidedly haywire eyebrows. You lose track of the time that you remain in his grip, but it feels right, with this being quite probably the longest you’ve gone without speaking and your first form of disagreement.

“I love you baby.” He murmurs, squeezing you momentarily tighter before holding you at arm's length. Baby, the nickname that all the Hollands and Harrison insist on calling you, but it ignites a raging fire of longing in your veins whenever Tom says it, especially when it follows those three words.

“You too, T” You reply with a faint hint of sadness tugging at your heart, so you jump up when his back is turned and scruff his hair. “Piggyback please.”

Tom proceeds to give you a purposefully bumpy piggyback down the stairs and out to his garden, where the other three are huddled suspiciously close around a collection of golf clubs. You climb down from Tom’s back and glance up at the winter sunshine, making Tom look borderline ethereal with his smile illuminated by Sol, Norse Goddess of sunlight. He looks perfect, and that's what kills you, you wouldn’t deserve that level of perfection anyway.

You waste the afternoon away by playing back garden golf with a twist, if you miss three shots in a row then you take a shot, it does not end well. The boys swiftly get too competitive and have to drink, leaving you the only sober one between four tipsy lads in their early twenties, and their level of intoxication makes it easier for you to continually beat them.

Early evening comes by, and Harrison seems on edge, making him run upstairs to the attic to answer a phone call, no doubt from his girlfriend. The four of you watch him from the garden - his sighs turn to yells, and his yells soon turn to crying into a pillow.

“Who’s turn is it?” Tom asks, and you raise your hand. You turn to take one last look at the three brothers, all with the same sad smiles and fretful eyes, and you run up all the stairs to the attic where Harrison is now just standing blankly, staring at a wall. Instead of asking or making him talk, you do what Sam did for you, just hug him.

──⭒─⭑─⭒──

You wake up in Tom’s arms after a long nap on his sofa post-golf, the other three boys asleep on the sofa beside yours. You smile at the sight, gently nudging Tom awake despite your not wanting to stir him. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps despite his snores. His eyelashes always flutter and his nose twitches while his hair creates all sorts of patterns on the pillows he lies upon.

“Let’s go to the roof, you grab the wine.” you say, watching his perfect brown eyes open and a smile instantly grace his lips upon the sight of you. 

You grab some blankets and make your way to the second floor bathroom window where you leave the window propped open for Tom. Just outside is a patch of flat roof that permits the two of you to sit or lie there, stargazing and getting drunk, you’ve even fallen asleep there once or twice, not to mention the mildly illegal substances that you’ve smuggled in.

Tom arrives minutes after you just as night is properly settling in. The stars twinkle in the sky as far as the eye can see, certain stars shining brighter than others and those are the ones that you and Tom have studied over the past year.

“Nigel’s on fire tonight!” He exclaims, pointing towards a star just south-west of Sirius. You stifle a giggle, looking at Tom who passes you a bottle of nice red wine, a rarity for the two of you. 

“It's Rigel and you know it.” You return, laying your head on his broad shoulders. He lies his head atop yours, placing kisses to your hairline. You involuntarily let out the faintest hum of agreement, turning your focus away from the longing that’s filling every pore of your body and returning it to the stars which you worship so profusely. You take a swig of wine, handing your bottle back to Tom who just places it down and turns to you.

He looks solemn, business like, this is a Tom that you’re not a fan of at all. “What Sam said earlier…” He starts, but you turn away from his gaze to trace the whole Canis Major constellation with your eyes, focusing on Sirius to will yourself away from crying. Just the thought of what Sam said being true makes you simultaneously joyful and sullen, it makes you want to reach for the stars and cry, but most of all, it just makes you sick, and you know it's not the wine talking.

“Don’t say it, Tom.” You begin. “Don’t you dare start to talk to me about that when I’ve been so painfully in love with you since the moment we met, don’t act like you can brush off what he said as a joke, because if you don’t want me then maybe Harry does.” 

You know it’s wrong to be saying all of this, so wrong, but all of a sudden, your mouth stops doing what your brain tells it to, and your heart takes over. 

“God. And for a second there I had hope as well, maybe that's the worst part. Or maybe the worst part is that we haven't been able to spend a second apart, and the only time we did was when you were too embarrassed to follow me after Sam had a slip of the tongue. You can’t blame your brothers, Tom, the same way that I can't blame the alignment of stars and planets for us never being together when it’s my fault for not being enough. But none of that even scrapes the level of longing I have for you when you kiss my cheeks, when you hug me, when we play fight, when we sleep together, when you just do something as simple as calling me baby. I can’t talk about this anymore, so leave or tell me to go, or you can stay here and we really can act like this never happened.”

Unsurprisingly, he chooses the latter, but there’s a certain rigidity and tension in his movements, made worse by the dark cloud looming over the two of you after your unladylike outburst. You want to apologise, go back in time and take it all away, but you surrender in the only way you can, you cry. Just a single tear cascading your cheek before Tom wipes it away and lays his pinky finger just over yours on the roof, pressing down a little to let you know that it's okay and he doesn’t love you any less, at least that’s how you interpret it .

You remain on the roof, unmoving, side by side, staring at the stars for what feels like hours. You finish the wine in silence, barely brushing each other’s fingers with every touch and too full of scepticism and fear to meet each other's eyes despite how much you crave getting lost in Tom’s very own chocolate rivers.

It's getting late now, really late, and no doubt the boys are all awake inside and curious as to where the two of you are hidden, no doubt assuming that you’re up to something forbidden. You dare to turn your neck and look at tom, only to see him staring at you longingly, his lips slightly parted and his cheeks tinted rosy, and that’s not just from the cold night air

You smile in spite of yourself, but it's a shy smile, one full of uncertainty, but nonetheless you take one deep breath, your eyes fluttering shut, and you turn to face him again, only to find his eyes still trained on you.

In a sudden leap of faith, you reach your arm across his body to grasp the side of his stomach and you turn him full bodily facing you. The stars reflect in his eyes, dancing around and twinkling, almost as though they’re cheering you on, so you do it. You tilt your face slightly and lean towards Tom, capturing his lips in the most intense kiss of your life. His hands grip your waist and pull you closer to him, chest to chest so that you can feel the gradual synchronisation of your racing hearts. He only has to nudge your lower lip with his tongue for half a second before he’s granted an enthused access. His tongue sweeps your mouth, dancing with your own in a fight - not of dominance, but of passion. 

Your kiss extends and passes through so many emotions and the pressure and urgency of it changes so often that it's hard to keep track. Lust switches to desperation, then do admiration and candour before returning to a long denied flame of passion, and finally, love. The way his lips massage your own is magical, the way he tastes fills your senses with a satisfaction that gets swiftly replaced with a yearning for more, the way he loves you drives you crazy and relights the longing that you feel in his arms.

His lips slow down and apply less pressure to yours, allowing the two of you to gasp for air however subtly it may be, but only for a second before he kisses you one final time, filled with nothing but a deep and unrequited adoration, until you told him, and it became true.

You stay perfectly still while gathering your bearings and breath, your nose nudging Tom’s and your clammy foreheads pressed together. You daren’t open your eyes for a while, not until his mouth gently ghosts over yours in what can be described as nothing less than an exchange of breath. Now you know what he tastes like, you never want to stop tasting him.

Before you can even open your eyes though, you hear a round of applause and cheers from down below. You look at Tom with terror etched on your every feature until he squeezes your waist a little tighter, and just that gesture screams trust me. So you do. You look down to the garden to find Tom's parents, Sam, Harry, Paddy, and Harrison all applauding the two of you - even Tessa is there, barking and howling at you.

You let another tear escape while a burning blush prickles at your cheeks and ears. You move your hand from Tom's waist to his shirt and pull him closer, one final kiss before you settle your head in his chest.

“You really love me then?” He asks incredulously, though part of you can tell that he’s joking. You nod your head and hear his heartbeat increase in his chest.

“I’m in love with you too, since the day I first laid eyes on you.” he whispers, holding you as close to him as possible. You don’t even need to look around to know that the stars are twinkling in their own form of applause for the two of you, and your instincts tell you that both Harrison and Mrs Holland are both probably crying while the others pretend to be sickened by you, but they’re secretly happy you got together.

“Not just friends?” You ask tiredly. 

“Never just friends. I love you, I promise.” You smile at his words

“I love you, T.”

[mutenized]

The Choice Bit of Calico (Prologue)

Ship: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Warning(s): mentions of blood, war, and violence (obviously), maybe a slow burn?, forbidden romance, inner conflict, heartache, rebellion. Intended smut

A/N: Choice Bit of Calico was slang in the 1920s for a desirable woman, this series is going to be my passion project other than Butterfly which is still in the works. Honestly debating if the Grace x Tommy relationship should be a thing but this basically starts BEFORE Grace comes into Tommy’s life. 

Synopsis: You are the sibling of Billy Kimber. Living with him in London, you heard of nursing classes offered at a church in Birmingham near where you and your older brother were born. It was during World War I and you wanted to do something to help the soldiers from your country as well as the allied countries. Living in your childhood home until you were sent back to London to work at the Veteran’s Hospital, you never forgot about the firey brunette who wanted to do the same as you. Keeping in touch, you both wrote letters back and forth until one fateful day you find yourself back in Birmingham, bags in hand, to take care of an ailing family member. Who knew the moment you got off the train your whole life would change?

Word Count: 1144

NEXT CHAPTER

MASTERLIST

Flyers scattered the walls of the brick buildings of your street, the remnants of torn posters on the cobblestone streets. The war was tearing bonds of friends and even families apart, you saw this happen on your daily strolls and heard the arguments in the pubs when you went to drop off paperwork for your brother. It was sad, a country at war being torn apart on the inside while their brothers, husbands, sons, and fathers were fighting for them, yet they couldn’t help but argue about the politics of it. That’s why when you read the poster you felt a weight of relief come to you.

‘Women of England, do you want to help with the war efforts while our strong men fight over in Europe? Come to any of these five locations and take daily nursing classes to stand by our men in combat!’ Holding the parchment in hand, you scanned it for the closest location which wasn’t that close at all. A four-hour train ride daily would be a bother, not to mention it would be another four hours back. With a furrowed brow, you continued down the street back to your brother’s house before walking inside and calling out for him

“Billy! Do you still own mother and father’s old house in Birmingham?” You call out, shrugging off your coat and hanging it on the coat rack. Going deeper into the house, you find yourself opening the door to the study where you knew your brother was located. Looking over to him with a sigh, you cross the threshold and sit in one of the plush chairs that were placed across from his desk. As he looked over you, he perked his brow in curiosity before his hazel eyes landed on the flyer in your hand. With an exasperated sigh, Billy placed his book down after he marked the page and leaned back in his chair.

“Is that the poster for the nursing classes? You know I don’t like the idea of you getting tangled up in this war, (Y/N). First it will be you taking these classes, next it will be you being shipped off to God knows where in France or, or Belgium or wherever else they’re fighting! You’ll be in constant danger.”  You knew Billy meant well but that was his way of declining your idea, as he always tended to do when it came to traveling long distances without him or one of the Birmingham Boys, anything to deal with the war or politics, and especially anything that had to do with his work. It was deeply infuriating as you were almost twenty years old and it was 1915 for Christ’s sake. You wanted to be independent like your friends down at the dance clubs and picture theatres, but your brother always had to put a stop to it. Him declining your wish to help those who were sacrificing their lives was the last straw.

“William Kimber, you can’t keep me stuck in this house and under your eye forever, you know this correct? I’m bloody nineteen years old for fucks sake! I can take care of myself and taking nursing classes at a church doesn’t sign you up immediately to be shipped off! I could be stationed at a regular hospital here or a veteran’s hospital like the one in London proper. Let me help the brave men out there, the ones who are actually doing a service to the nation!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice and you didn’t mean to poke at the fact your brother didn’t sign up for the war but it happened and if you would pull back all of the words you so viciously spat at him you would but the side of you that craved to be independent wouldn’t allow it. You needed to get out of the house that became the bane of your existence. Not only was it the want to help, it was also the want to be on your own and write your own future that fueled your aggressions, you craved freedom. The silence that followed your outburst made your skin crawl, your shoulders slumping in defeat as you noticed the angry, disappointed look Billy was giving you. Turning your back to him, you began to head out when you heard a sigh finally escape the man who took the role of your primary caretaker after your parents passed.

“The first train that leaves for Birmingham in the morning you will take. I will give you enough money to start off and after I will send you an allowance until the classes finish. Then you will tell me where they are sending you or if you opt out.” His words froze you in your tracks, a wave of excitement and joy quickly spreading through your veins as your body turned.

“You mean that?”

“Yes, but no shitting around out there. No getting involved with criminals, no whoring yourself out, and absolutely no drinking at that blasted bar called The Garrison. There is one near the family house that is much better in service and they will know who you are. Those are my rules, if you can follow them, I suppose I can trust you to lead your own legacy, (Y/N).”

With a grin, you quickly rushed across the threshold and engulfed your brother in a tight squeeze that made him release a laugh that you heard so rarely. “I won’t let you down, I swear! I’ll go pack my trunk and traveling case now! Oh, thank you!” The joy that flooded your body was the main source that kept you light on your feet as you rushed into your large room. Throwing open your empty trunk that lay with a knitted blanket on top of it at the end of your bed, you begin to pack the necessities. Emptying your closet of the clothes you adored and frequented, you packed some away in your traveling case while the rest went into the trunk with sheets, blankets, hair products, shoes, valuable accessories, and pillows and sheets. Anything you laid your eyes on, you packed. Books, writing equipment, journals, your music that you would always dance to at the dance clubs, as well as your little address book. You forced it all to fit as you finished up and switched into the pajamas you had laid out for the night. Packing your outfit from your day and proceeding with your nightly routine, you soon find yourself curled up under the covers with a smile as big as the moon on your face.

To think you were going to be starting your life out in a home you barely remembered, in a city that had forgotten about you, to learn how to care for others. That was exciting, thrilling, even.

[taylorinthetardis]

Only Human - Prologue and Chapter 1

Hey everyone! So this is the Pride and Prejudice AU I’ve been working on for a while now. It’s set in Modern Day London and told from Darcy’s POV. It is cross posted on AO3, the link to it will be below. I promise I will update it soon, I’ve just been a little bit blocked for a while. But I promise there will be more. So here we go, the prologue and first chapter are under the cut! Enjoy!! Feedback is much appreciated!! If you like it and want to be on a taglist, please feel free to say so!!

Thank you to @madbaddic7ed for all your encouraging words and for convincing me to cross post!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22109365

Only Human

Summary:  The events of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice as seen through the eyes of Darcy. Story takes place in modern day London. Lizzy and Jane are American students studying abroad. Their sisters take turns visiting them throughout the story. Bingley and Darcy are recent business partners, but longtime friends. Caroline is as snake-ish as ever. George Wickham is an actual rapist - the rape will not be described in detail.

Pairing: William (Will) Darcy x Elizabeth (Lizzie) Bennet; Charles Bingley x Jane Bennet

Rating: Explicit due to eventual smut

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.8K

                                                       Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that I, William Darcy, am an arsehole. The following tale, dear reader, will explain how that came to be and how, I hope, I have made the preceding statement a falsehood instead. The following tale does not often show me at my best. I hope, however, that you may look past my faults and forgive my disgraceful, ignorant, and often impure thoughts as I relay to you the circumstances by which I came to fall deeply in love with the most wonderful, challenging woman I’ve ever met, the method by which I nearly ruined an incredibly important friendship, and the events surrounding the creation of a familial fissure that will never heal. I hope you will not judge me too harshly.

                                       Chapter 1: Hanover Terrace

I was sat in my office. My office. Still getting used to that. When I took over control from my Aunt Catherine in April, a lot of work was done to make this office mine. Catherine’s taste in furniture was, how should I phrase this, medieval. I was honestly surprised we didn’t have to remove any torture devices when her furniture was cleared out to make room for my more practical mahogany desk and overstuffed leather chairs. My degree from Cambridge’s Judge Business School was propped in my bookcase with photos of my parents and Georgiana on either side. The office is still rather spartan in comparison to Charles’ but I don’t mind it. Our companies had recently merged, an event that proved profitable for both parties and served to deepen our friendship. Our offices are across the hallway from each other now, as opposed to being across the Thames. The economic windfall had been excellent for Charles. He had decided to purchase a new home, one big enough for himself and his sister and closer to her university. Charles is an orphan, like myself, and the sole caretaker of his younger sister Caroline, who recently began her studies at the fashion and design school at Regent’s University. I feel for Charles sometimes. His younger sister is an absolute terror, but I guess we can’t all be blessed with saints for sisters. Caroline is an uncommonly cruel young woman. She delights in shit-talking friends and strangers alike. She also is labouring under the delusion that she will one day be my wife. Her older sister, Louisa, has enjoyed several years of trophy-wifery and it seems Caroline has decided that is the life she wants to live as well. Although she just recently came of age, she has flirted with me non-stop since the first day Charles invited me home with him. We’ve known each other since we were 18 years old. We are now 25. Damn near seven years. SEVEN YEARS. Seven fucking years dealing with Caroline’s shite. She just turned 18 earlier this year. What the hell did she think I was going to do with her when she was eleven goddamn years old? Go to prison? I sure as shit think not.

Charles entered my office at around 1. He was bouncier than usual. He had either had more than one of his normal sickly-sweet coffees or he was in love again. Turned out it was both.

“Oh, Will I’m so happy you convinced me to snatch up Hanover Terrace. I met the most beautiful woman in world yesterday. I never would have known her if I hadn’t decided to take your advice. I invited her and her sister out with us tonight. You don’t mind, do you? Even if you do, once you meet her, you’ll forget you were ever bothered.” He spoke at such a speed that I only caught about every third word. My ears perked, however, at the ‘out with us tonight’ part. Out with us? I don’t remember agreeing to go anywhere with Charles. He always wants to go to nightclubs. He knows I don’t dance. He always does this. Drags me to some poppy nightclub with strobe lights and terrible music.

“And how did you meet this one Charles? Spill your coffee on her? No, wait, you were walking Caroline’s stupid pug and she thought it was cute and wanted to pet it.”

“Christ, am I becoming that predictable?” Yes Charles. Every girl you’ve ever fancied has fallen into your life in a cliché.

I nodded.  He sighed.

“Well, it’s different this time. She isn’t like any other girl I’ve been with. More beautiful than Sarah, kinder than Tilly, oh and her sister Will. Her sister has got to be one of the most intelligent women I’ve ever spoken to in my life. They’re both very beautiful Will. If I was a betting man, I’d wager that Lizzie might even be beautiful enough to tempt you out of your shell and entice you to have some goddamn fun for once. Maybe she’ll even get you to dance.” He nudged me with his elbow, winking. Yeah right Charles. Not even Charlize Theron could get me to dance at a nightclub.

“I seriously doubt that Charles. So, what’s this one called, hm?”

“Jane.” He said it with a sigh. Oh, he’s already long gone. “Her sister is called Elizabeth, but she prefers Lizzie. They’re American, Darce. From the Midwest. They’re both studying abroad at Regent’s for the year.”

“And to what godforsaken place will you be attempting to drag me to tonight?”

“I was thinking Drama? I wanna show off a little Will. I really like her; I want to impress her.”

“Drama might be a little much for a midwestern girl, don’t you think? What about that place we went in Camden a few months ago, by the lock?”

“Lock 17? Isn’t that a little down market for you Darce? There isn’t even a dress code!”

“Come off it, you know I couldn’t care less Charles. I don’t even like going out. I just think Lock 17 will be the better choice for her. You don’t want to scare her. Anyway, I think you’ll have a nice time. Without me.”

“Nuh uh, you aren’t getting out of this. You come or you’re dead to me.” I rolled my eyes. Jesus he’s such a goddamn drama queen.

“Ugh fine I’ll go. But I’m not dancing and you can’t make me. I’m a grown man Charles. So, meet at Hanover Terrace at, what, 8pm? Or should we meet earlier?”

“I was thinking 7:30, that way we’ll all have plenty of time to get ready and you can get to know them before we go. I’m going to order the cab for 8 so we’ll have plenty of time to get there if there’s any slow spots.”

“Please tell me you’ll be leaving Caroline at home.”

“Yeah, so she can kick my arse over it later? No chance. Besides, we’ll probably lose her to the dance floor as soon as we get in. She’ll find some nice dumb boy to buy her drinks and you won’t have to see her all night.” No Charles she’ll be on me like white on rice all damn night and you bloody well know it.

“Alright. But I’m not dancing.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I arrived at Hanover Terrace about 7:30. As soon as Charles opened the door, I immediately regretted my decision to come. I should have told him I got food poisoning from lunch or something. Caroline was stomping through the front room, going from box to box screaming that she couldn’t find her favourite clubbing heels. Who the fuck has a favourite pair of heels for clubbing? Heels seem so impractical for dancing. Charles’ new love and her sister had yet to arrive and Charles appeared to be in a slight panic.

“What if she doesn’t come Will?” He said shakily. Christ he’s in a full meltdown.

“I’m sure she’ll be here in a few minutes Charles. It’s not even close to 8 o’ clock yet. You’ve got plenty of time, just relax.” I took a minute to look around his new home. He had barely unpacked. I helped him get everything in order for the move about two weeks ago and he moved in a few days later. Everything was basically where it was when I visited three days ago. “Have you genuinely not unpacked anything Charles? How are you even living in here?”

“I’ve got enough clothes unpacked upstairs to last another week probably. Caroline’s rarely home in the evening anymore so I just keep getting take-away. There’s a Chipotle just around the corner on Baker Street. You know I love a burrito bowl. Something I have in common with the lovely Jane.” Gag. Well, at least the movers got his furniture set up, although most of the downstairs furnishings were unusable because they were covered with cardboard boxes and plastic totes and suitcases. The sofa in the main living area was clear enough that I took a seat. Caroline continued her tear through the front room until a triumphant screech echoed through the relatively empty house. The heels in question were easily six inches high, sparkly platformed monstrosities. They completed a look which can only be described as what a disco ball would look like if it was a contestant on Love Island. Hopefully Jane and her sister would be a bit more sensibly dressed, like Charles and myself. I decided on a plain black tee and black jeans with my black and white trainers. Charles had gone with a less monochromatic palette, wearing a bright blue button down that was almost the colour of his eyes and a pair of dark blue jeans. We’re wearing the same shoes. Us and every other man in London. Suddenly there was knock on the door. I checked my watch, 7:35. I told Charles he was worrying for nothing. He bounced towards the door like Caroline’s pug when he needed a shit. He opened the door to reveal a young blonde woman and a younger looking woman with auburn hair.

“Jane, Lizzie, I’m so pleased you’re here. Sorry about the mess, haven’t had much time to unpack yet, with work and all.” Charles led them through to the room I had posted up in. The dark-haired girl peered at me through purple framed glasses. Her sister gave her a little nudge. Well fuck, Charles wasn’t kidding. God they’re both gorgeous! They were dressed considerably more sensibly than Caroline. Jane wore a low pair of black heels that complemented her red cocktail dress. Her sister was even more comfortably dressed, in black leggings, Doc Martins, and a plain white t-shirt. She wore a black leather jacket over the tee. Neither girl appeared to be wearing much make-up. Both were possessed of the natural beauty that Caroline tried to fabricate in her hour-long make-up routine that left her looking like she had Photoshopped her own face, but in real life. I stuck my hand out. “Will Darcy. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Wow, sound more like you’re a hundred years old, why don’t you Will?

“Will, this is Lizzie,” he gestured to the brunette, “and this is Jane.” He put his hand on the small of the blonde’s back and she blushed redder than Charles’ hair.

“Lizzie Bennet. It’s so nice to meet you Will.” She took my hand with her considerably smaller one and shook it. It was a firmer handshake than I’d had from some of my business associates. She dropped my hand and her sister took up the vacancy. Her handshake was much softer, grip much lighter, much more feminine. Looking at the two women before me, I wouldn’t have known they were sisters if Charles hadn’t told me. They couldn’t have been more different. One blonde, one brunette. Jane had soft blue eyes, Lizzie’s were bright and hazel. Jane was tall and slender, her sister shorter and softer around the middle. Taking all of her in I came to a sudden realization: she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Okay Will be cool. For once in your bloody life be cool. I opened my mouth, but before I could speak Lizzie launched into an animated conversation with Charles about her day. It was all I could do not to stare at her mouth while it moved faster than Charles’ ever had, no matter how in love he was or how many Frappuccinos he had consumed. I sat back down on the sofa, while Lizzie sat on the carpet, Charles on the coffee table, and Jane remained standing. Lizzie told us about one of her professors, an archaeologist who taught university classes when he wasn’t on digs.

“He’s like a real-life Indiana Jones except without the bullwhip and the hat. And he’s not Harrison Ford. But still. Oh, and don’t even let me get started on my Shakespeare professor. George. He’s my most favourite.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re enjoying your studies Lizzie. But don’t forget to explore the city while you’re here! London is full of endless things to see and do. I’ve lived here most of my life and I still haven’t seen everything!” Charles is so blessed. I wish I could just talk. Talking is better than staring. C’mon mouth, work! “Wouldn’t you agree Darce?”

Shit, I have to talk now? I nodded, again opening my mouth to speak, but no words came. Charles picked the conversation back up, turning to Jane to ask if she had a pleasant day as well.

“Yes. I took a lovely walk through Regent’s Park today. I only have the one class on Thursdays so I’ve been using the rest of the day to explore a bit. Lizzie’s schedule is so much fuller than mine so I’ve been finding places for us to go on the weekends. We’ve gone to Camden Market and Hyde Park. When you met us the other day, we were on our way back from the Tate Modern, I don’t remember if I said or not.”

“Yes, you said Lizzie was disappointed because she thought you were going to the Tate Britain.”

“Do you have something against modern art?” Oh, cool. Thanks, mouth. Why did that come out like I’m angry about that? Modern art is dumb. How is a pile of rubber or a cut-up McDonald’s bag art?

“I can appreciate that its art, like how I can appreciate that romance novels are literature or techno is music, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I prefer the old masters and classical art to a splash of paint on a canvas. My little cousin can do that too, does that mean her art belongs in a prestigious museum? Naw fam it sure don’t.” Yes. I wholly agree. Why does she have her eyebrow raised at me? Does she think I don’t agree? What is my face doing? Am I scowling? I don’t want to scowl. Did she say ‘fam’? That doesn’t matter. Why does it feel like it matters?

“You’ll have to excuse my sister. She’s never been shy about her opinions. And she has a lot of them.” Jane shot her sister a disapproving look. Lizzie just shrugged. Caroline chose that moment to come swanning into the room. Seeing there was a perfectly good space next to her brother on the coffee table, she chose to throw herself down into my lap. Oh, for fucks sake. She’s gonna get fake tanner on my trousers.

“Will, my love," I threw up in my mouth a little, "we’re going to have such a wonderful time at Drama tonight.” I can’t wait to burst her bubble.

“Caroline, did Charles not tell you? We aren’t going to Drama. We’re going to Lock 17, in Camden.” I tried to move her from my lap, but she dug her heels into the carpet for grounding. Fat Christ, Charles will you get your sister under control?

She sputtered, on the verge of a full tantrum directed at her brother when, blessedly, Charles’ phone vibrated. “That’ll be the cab. Caroline are you still coming?”

She jumped up off my lap and straightened the piece of sequined cloth trying to pass itself off as a dress. “Of course I’m going Charles. I put all this on, I can’t just not go out now!” She stomped off to the dining area to get her bag from the table. Charles led Jane towards the front door. I extended my hand down to Lizzie, who took it. I pulled her up from the floor. You should let go of her hand now Will. You’re being weird. I dropped her hand like it had burned me. Smooth. She looked at me, smirked and cocked that eyebrow again. Saying nothing, she followed her sister and Charles out the front door. Caroline took advantage of my initial inaction by slipping her arm into mine, leading me towards the cab. And my doom.

[sohin-ace]

Dio - Back to you

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3. This is an old work, the writing has improved ever since. 

Enjoy~

Living in London in the 19th century was not easy for everyone.

If you were born in a wealthy or a noble family, you would live a peaceful life, in the countryside maybe. Going into the inner city from time to time to run some errands or have a good time. Study, graduate, get married to a beautiful lady or a nice gentleman, found a family and be happy.

But that was far, far from your situation. You were a street scum. Yes.

You lived in London, in the dark side of the city, where misery reigned. You were an orphan, you only had your father, and unfortunately, he was slowly dying of a horrible disease. A curable one, yet, way too expensive for you to afford the cure.

You had dropped out of school and stole your way out most of your life. You barely had enough to eat every other day. When your father fell ill, you had no choice but to find any way to work when possible and pay for his treatments and your basic sanitary needs, mostly putting his well being over your own.

It was hard and stressful, but you knew you could always count on that one person who was always there when you needed him.

The one and only Dio Brando.

Dio grew up with you, he knew the streets of London like the back of his hand, and he often helped you when you were troubled by the men of Ogre Street, or when you were caught red-handed stealing.

Both of you got close as you were in similar situations, so you helped each other out and talked out your problems and concerns. You only had one another and couldn't trust anybody else.

He could act rather coldly or even violent towards people who picked on him, but you knew he hid great pain under his persona, so you could never hate him. You would usually hang out together outside or get something to eat if you could afford it.

On his side, he was always delighted by your presence. Even with your life situation, you always came up to him with a bright smile on your beautiful face. You never judged his actions and always listened to him.

He wondered sometimes how someone with such a pure heart could even stay with a demon like him. He felt like he had to protect you. He could fight, he was also very smart, he could always help you, he wanted you to depend on him more.

You both had an unexpectedly tight relationship.

One evening, you came up to him inside a rowdy tavern where he often bet and played chess with strangers. You had a surprise for him.

You came from behind him and put your hands on his shoulders to scare him, but sadly for you, it failed. He turned gracefully around and greeted you.

"Oh Y/N, how are you?" his lips curled upwards charmingly.

"Dio I have amazing news! Did you eat yet?"

He shook his head, wondering what was so amazing that he needed to hear it on an empty stomach.

You sat down at the table in front of him and pulled out something wrapped in paper towels. You unwrapped it onto the table to reveal some skewers.

You looked at him expectantly with a huge smile on your face while Dio's eyes widened like saucers.

"Are you nuts?" he questioned your sanity, bewildered. "Where in hell did you get meat? Are you even aware how expensive that is?"

He still couldn't believe how crazy you were, bringing him noblesse food, for no particular reason. Meat was one of those things you couldn't just steal that easily.

"I know, but I wanted to surprise you! You deserve it after all. Here, eat up!" you handed him one of the skewers eagerly.

"How did you afford it?" His tone was dead serious.

"Huh? It's not important, eat!" You insisted with a hand gesture, but he didn't even spare a glance at it. His features darkened suddenly.

"Y/N don't tell me... Don't tell me you..."

"I what?" you asked confused.

He had an idea of how you could have had that much money in such a short period of time, but he didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to even imagine you would have done this, by yourself, alone, without consulting him...

After all, in the dark streets of London, at this time, that business was flourishing, especially with young teenage girls...

"You didn't sell your body for these, did you?" he asked almost painfully. He swore if you said yes all hell were going to break lose.

If he was going to protect you, he would protect all of you. He wouldn't forgive himself if you had to deal with harm all alone for his sake.

You blushed at his unholy assumption and frantically answered.

"W-what?! No!! Of course no- I mean..." You paused, wanting to chose your next words carefully.

"Not yet at least I.. Maybe if one day I don't have a choice anymore... For father, but... I'm okay! I didn't do anything reckless just for meat!"

You tried to reassure him. He was relieved, but still had a dark expression on his face, like he was not entirely convinced.

"I earned that money properly, I swear! I actually worked for it!" You smiled big as he finally took the skewer from your small hands.

"But don't worry, okay? I said if I really don't have a choice, as in... life or death matter. I really don't want to have to do it either..." you trailed off.

"Don't ever do it. Even if you don't have a choice. Only I, can give you the choice to make." He sounded confident as ever, but he couldn't shake the scary thought out of his head .

"Of course! You're the only one I can trust with my decisions anyway." you told him sheepishly.

You knew you weren't as smart and composed as him, so if anything, you'd ask him for help and advice before anything.

"You better, otherwise you'll hear from me." he muttered as he took a bite out of his meat "You don't eat?"

You shook your head "Just for you. You need proteins to win boxing fights, big boy."

He just scoffed and ate, secretely glad to have you safe by his side.

Weeks passed, and Dio wanted to see you to announce something important. You didn't know what it was, but it seemed serious, so you joined him.

You saw him standing in front of the tavern so you jogged a bit to get to him.

"How's my favourite friend?" you said excitedly with a big smile.

"I'm your only friend." he blurted with a straight face.

"Ouch. I mean, it's true but still!"

"Let's get inside." He entered the building and you followed suit.

You both sat down. You were excited wondering what kind of announcement he needed to make.

Dio, however, had a grave expression on his face. He simply slid an enveloppe across the table towards you and you furrowed your eyebrows at it. You took it and opened it to read the content of the letter inside.

"Remember when I told you my failure of a father had history with the Joestar family?"

You just stared at him and nodded silently. He send you a look signaling you to continue to read so you would understand what he meant.

The letter was from Georges Joestar. In it was a message telling Dio that he would be more than happy to take him in, as Dio's father was close to death. A cab would be sent to him as soon as Dio contacted Georges. As you finished reading you put the letter down and softly asked.

"You... You're going to live with the Joestar...?" there was a mix of surprise and sadness in your tone. Dio nodded in confirmation, and you smiled, trying to hide your sadness.

"It's amazing! Really! I'm so happy for you, Dio! You will live in an easy family and finally get what you always deserved!"

You were genuinely happy for your friend. You always told him how sofisticated, charming and smart he was. He was like a prince in the slums, he totally didn't belong in the piss hole you lived in.

No, a man like Dio belonged in a castle, with a bunch of servants ready to serve his every needs. He would flick your forehead everytime you told him this, telling you to stop fantasizing, but secretely hoping it would come true.

As the blond didn't respond you continued.

"You're going to have a great home, and eat a lot, and maybe you'll have a huge library there! I know you love books. And I'm sure you'll feel right at home, you belong in a place like that, I always said it! Your life is going to chang-"

"Y/N you're rambling again." Dio cut you off as he saw you were getting out of hand.

"Ahah, I'm sorry! It's just..." your expression softened as you looked down. "I'm so happy for you Dio... You're getting out of this crappy place once and for all." Even if you were happy for him, you couldn't shrug the pang of sadness in your heart.

"What's wrong Y/N? You should see your face right now." He said, noticing your obvious pain.

It hurt a little. After all, he was leaving you. You only had him, but now he was going away. You tried to imagine how your daily life would look like without him. It was painful.

You couldn't look at him, you were scared that if you did, you would start crying. You just looked away, staring at nothing.

"It's just... I'm going to miss you, Dio... A lot.." You didn't want to make it all about you so you quickly added.

"But it's okay! I'll write you some letters! And if you ever come to the city to visit we'll see each other, right? Let's say... On week-ends? Or I'll sneak into a train and come see you!"

You wanted to laugh it off, but stopped immediately when you felt warm calloused hands grab yours from across the table. Your expression faded and you stared at his sharp amber eyes.

"Y/N..."

You flinched and your breath hitched. The way he pronounced your name made your heart flutter. You really felt like it was the end for you both when he spoke like that. You wanted to carve his voice deep inside your memory before he went.

"Y/N, I have an objective. There's something that I need to do. I'll come back to London, and I'll come back to you eventually." He explained with dark determination.

He tightened his grip on your hands and you nodded in understanding without a word, not trusting your voice at the moment.

"I'll tell you when I'll go. Don't do anything reckless when I'm gone. Don't go to Ogre street. Come home early. This is not a request this is an order."

He let go of your hands and got up, you got up afterwards and without thinking, ran up to him, abruptly wrapping your arms around his waist. You buried your face in his chest, trying to hide your tears.

You felt him sigh and caress your head gently, letting you sob in his arms.

He was definitely coming back to you, that's for sure. After all, he wasn't done making you his.

Dio is the one character that I can't seem to write about? I don't know, I understand his personality and motives and actions, but writing something with him makes him out of character. Everything I write about him feels wrong.

Curse you Dio, you fucking whore.

[ohscorbus]

Harry Potter and the Cursed Child: Saturday 7th December, 2019

I know, I know, it’s been so long! Apologises, I haven’t been seeing the show as often lately (blame boring adult obligations and the ever increasing rail fare). But I struck gold with this cast board and so this show just demanded a recap. For those of you unaware, it was a special one. We had both a cover Albus and a cover Scorpius! Which, and correct me if I’m wrong, hasn’t happened before? Not here in London at least. Anyway, I’ve seen Ryan’s Albus once or twice before with the previous cast and Luke’s Scorpius just the once a few months back (and yet I already consider him one of my all-time favourites). So basically, this was a dream and I was ready.

ACT ONE, SCENE FOUR: TRANSITION SCENE

Scorpius lingered on the far side of the stage and watched the beginning of the wand dance in awe and it was precious and so very Scorpius. This boy enjoys magic and this tiny moment really got that across. His eyes followed the spark as it shot upwards and then he looked back down at the students, at Albus, and never once stopped smiling. Even as he turned and walked off stage with a bounce in his step.

You know how Jon is a tad bit bitter about Scorpius not being in the wand dance? (Bless him.) Well Luke’s Scorpius just seems happy for them. Instead of imagining Scorpius walking off sulking, I imagine this Scorpius sneakily practising a little bit of magic on his own in the corridor on the way to his next class.

ACT ONE, SCENE SEVEN: BLANKET SCENE

Immediately after Harry said The Thing, he reached out to Albus and while I’ve seen this before, this time he actually made contact. It was almost bizarre to see but thinking about it now, it’s actually even more heartbreaking as it means Albus was probably feeling too much to process. Stepping out of his dad’s reach just doesn’t register quick enough and so he froze, lost in his head. But even though Harry was physically holding his arms, he actually wasn’t reaching him at all. Ouch.

ACT ONE, SCENE TEN: HOGWARTS EXPRESS

I absolutely adore the way Luke’s Scorpius explains the Triwizard Tournament to Albus. He puts on a voice and gestures like he’s telling a grand story to an audience. No wonder Albus calls him a geek. It’s so extra. I love it. Hands down the best version of these lines I’ve ever seen.

Luke’s facial expressions are A+. While Albus was talking to Scorpius, he absentmindedly smacked Scorpius on the chest a couple of times with the back of his hand and Scorpius looked down at Albus’s hand and then gave Albus such a look. Albus wasn’t even looking in his direction and I think that’s what I liked most about it. That Scorpius just pulls these very easily readable expressions right to his face and yet Albus is totally unaware.

This only got better when Albus decided that grabbing Scorpius by the lapels of his robes and getting closer would really drive his point home. Scorpius? Has no idea what to do. Albus? Has no intention of acknowledging personal space. I like this Albus. The hugs in the script tell us Albus is quite tactile. He clearly does not hesitate to get close to those who he loves and trusts. But it’s in these little non-scripted, casual touches that really enforces that. It makes sense that his best (and only) friend of four years would be someone he also loves and trusts. I still don’t believe they’ve never hugged before but even if that’s true, there’s no way this boy has avoided all physical contact. That’s just impossible.

ACT TWO, SCENE SIXTEEN: LIBRARY SCENE

I’ve been watching this show for yeeears and let me tell you, no one does the library scene like Luke. There’s no way I could possibly explain it in words and do it justice. This boy just gets the anger and frustration and lets it all out. This is Scorpius not holding back, not having to repress his emotions or come second to anyone else’s problems. This is about a boy who’s hurting and finally screaming back at the world like it deserves. This scene is pure, raw emotion and it’s captivating. The kind that makes you subconsciously hold your breath and break out in goosebumps. I cannot express this enough; Luke is incredible.

What I also really loved about Luke and Ryan’s version of this scene is, again, their physical contact. This was as close to ‘wrestling’ as I’ve ever seen an Albus and Scorpius get when they’re fighting over the Time-Turner. It wasn’t delicate, it was rough. Like they were fighting for more than just the object. Which really, there are. It’s Albus’s heart versus Scorpius’s mind. These two are such a team that it makes this moment even more painful. But it also makes them real. Best friends clash and fight and these two are no different to you or I.

There was a point when Albus poked Scorpius really hard in the chest to get his point across and you could see Scorpius’s anger levels rise to a whole new level. That was the breaking point I think. Before that he could have come back and regained control but Albus pushes him (quite literally) into this new territory. It was only seconds later before Scorpius started talking back and poked Albus equally as hard in the chest in return. Albus barely had time to register this unusual action before Scorpius stepped even closer and pushed him back with both hands in sheer frustration. It was so un-Scorpius like that I LOVE IT. I think it says so much about Scorpius. He’s the sweetest, kind-hearted boy you’ll ever meet. But everyone has a breaking point. Albus is so careless with his touches and this Scorpius just doesn’t know what to do with them. But here it’s like he’s throwing it all back in his face. It’s an anger fuelled instinctive rejection that’s suppose to hurt, and it’s fascinating to see Scorpius give as good as he gets. He’s been rejected by society, by his fellow students, and now Albus wants to do this without him too? Well not if he pushes him away first. That self-preservation (especially when hurt) is so very Malfoy and it’s always fascinating to see this sunshine boy be more ‘Draco’ than ‘Astoria’.

All too soon he’d calmed down and the Scorpius everyone else sees came back. But for a few minutes, we got to see the messy Scorpius inside and that’s what I need from actors when they play Scorpius Malfoy here. His pain, his heritage, his Scorpion King ‘potential’. All unleashed. Luke is simply phenomenal at it.

This whole interaction then tied in with the ending when Albus stepped forward and put his hand out and said, “Friends?”, and Scorpius flinched backward. Scorpius isn’t a fighter. There’s nothing more he wants than a friend and a split second later, once he’s registered what Albus has asked him, he leaned in and accepted wholeheartedly. This Scorpius is very open with his physical awkwardness and I love the way Albus refuses to tiptoe around it. He goes in for that hug and even though he can probably sense (and knows from experience) that Scorpius doesn’t know what to do, he decided to prolong the hug anyway. It’s interesting because it tells you he knows when and how to push him and does so. It contrasts wonderfully against the moment we’ve just seen. An example of where this went wrong followed by an example of it going beautifully right. Albus is such a loving and caring boy and he’s always expressed this in his actions and this is a gorgeous example of that. He knows Scorpius.

Anyway. I got distracted. Albus prolonged the hug by resting his head on Scorpius’s shoulder and while Scorpius’s whole being may have appeared to be saying he’s confused and uncomfortable, I don’t believe he hated any moment of it. It was like going back to being them. Albus and Scorpius. And if that didn’t do it, the way Albus’s hand lingered on Scorpius’s side as he pulled out of the hug and Scorpius’s face as he looked down at the offending hand and then back up at Albus, was definitely them going back to ‘normal’.

ACT TWO, SCENE NINETEEN: GIRLS’ BATHROOM

Oh gosh, the gillyweed! Now I’m sure this wasn’t a choice he’s made for his Scorpius and it happened purely because Albus was given too much gillyweed and took too little for himself, but Luke ended up with A LOT. Bless him. It was hanging out of his mouth, falling everywhere. How this boy did he lines amazes me. He ended up going down the sink with his head thrown back, mouth wide open, gillyweed everywhere. It was rather funny. Our ridiculous Scorpius was definitely back.

ACT THREE, SCENE ONE: UMBRIDGE’S OFFICE

The complete lack of expression on Scorpius’s face in front of Umbridge is exactly what I want here. This boy is a Malfoy. That mask is hereditary. He can stand there and give nothing away. He’s grown up watching his dad do just this. (And I love that clearly some of those things Draco has consciously and subconsciously instilled in him has stuck.) But he isn’t the Scorpion King. So when she mentioned he was athletic, Scorpius forgets himself and that mask slipped because he just has to question that. Clearly he’s never heard of the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’.

ACT THREE, SCENE NINE: FORBIDDEN FOREST

Luke gives us a full body reaction that’s pure horror when Ron and Hermione lost their souls. He had his hands over his mouth and he was slightly hunched over. He was so visibly shaken and sickened that it makes sense that the lone dementor found him so quickly.

ACT THREE, SCENE FOURTEEN: SLYTHERIN DORM

Oh Luke. Bless you for always climbing onto Albus’s bed and chilling. I will forever fight for this because I can’t imagine best friends who live together not hanging out in each other’s spaces! That’s just what happens when people are comfortable with each other, and in this case, when said friend just doesn’t want to get up. Seriously, this Albus did not want to sit up. He was quite happy lying there wiping the sleep out of his eyes as he listened to Scorpius ramble on. He did eventually sit up and Scorpius went on over and sat on the end of his bed beside him. He crossed his legs and tucked his feet under him and made himself quite at home. He even leaned over and nudged Albus a few times with his elbow to emphasis whatever point he was making. Again, it was a really nice continuation of Scorpius’s boundaries. He’s getting physically more comfortable and actually initiating contact himself and getting into Albus’s personal space for once.

ACT THREE, SCENE NINETEEN: QUIDDITCH PITCH

Ryan does this scene so brilliantly. The way he just curls up and sobs. So good. He makes this scene entirely his own just the way Luke does with the library scene.

My favourite aspect of this scene for me was their opposite reactions to Craig’s death. (Sorry Craig.) The second Albus heard the start of Delphi’s curse, he turned and never once looked back. He refused to look at Craig. His whole body was turned away, down, tucked in, and shaking with sobs. Whereas Scorpius was turned fully towards Craig. He watched the whole thing and barely blinked. He faced it head on in stillness. Two complete opposites. It says so much about these two boys and how they deal with things.

ACT THREE, SCENE THREE: DRACO’S OFFICE

Draco went to put his hand on Scorpius’s heart, hesitated and hovered, then pointed* a finger at his heart instead. This isn’t new for this Draco, but it’s interesting considering this Scorpius’s reactions to touch. It’s almost like he knew he’d already crossed a line with grabbing him across the desk and, even though this touch is completely different, he knew better than to try it again. I wonder how much a flinch from Scorpius would have hurt Draco at this point?

(*Because of the angle I was sat, I can’t be 100% sure he didn’t actually make contact. But if he did, then I also think that’s a great link back to Albus’s finger poking him in the chest. The two most important people in his life. Two very highly emotional and eye opening conversations. And a lot has happened since then. So either way, there’s a connection there all the way through that’s personal to Scorpius and I love that.)

ACT FOUR, SCENE FOUR: HARRY’S OFFICE

This scene hit me really hard today. I cannot even put it into words. James made some subtle changes in the way he delivered some of the lines and it was simply beautiful. I really felt his pain and love for Astoria and my heart ached for this man and his happiness that’s once again slipping through his hands. Have you read what he wrote about this scene? You can see it’s true, and it made seeing him get his son back later on even more delightful.

ACT FOUR, SCENE FIVE: GODRIC’S HOLLOW

You know how Albus is sat down by the door when this scene starts? Well today he remained seated for far longer than usual. (I was definitely sensing a theme with Ryan’s Albus by this point.) Scorpius’s response? He just went over and crouched down next to him. Again, it was lovely to see Scorpius make that decision to put himself in Albus’s space.

ACT FOUR, SCENE EIGHT: GODRIC’S HOLLOW

Story time: Samuel’s Scorpius would always figure out that St Jerome’s Church was the ideal location way before Hermione finished talking and would cheekily point it out. It was really sweet and so very Scorpius. While Hermione was listing off the points today, Luke’s Scorpius leaned in and whispered something to his dad. Now presumably it was simply ‘St Jermone’s Church’ because this boy has already worked it out, but whatever it was, Draco looked at him with the ultimate smug Malfoy/proud dad face. It was glorious and also a really beautiful moment. We get so little positive father-son moments between these two that this just brought a tear to my eye. For just a moment there wasn’t anyone else around, there was no danger. It was just father and son reunited in every sense. It made my heart soar. It’s always been this small family against the world and here they are again. They make a good team and I think they’re both finally at a point where they realise that. It’s wonderful.

ACT FOUR, SCENE FOURTEEN: HOGWARTS

The last hug was really lovely because you could see the moment Scorpius decides to do it. (Luke’s ability to switch from mask to transparency is one of my favourite things because that mix is how I’ve always imagined Scorpius being.) He had already put quite a bit of distance between them so his slow walk was longer than usual and it meant you felt his purpose as he went towards Albus and leaned down into the hug. Albus was once again sat down and remained so for the duration of the hug. It was like they had gone full circle. We started with Scorpius standing up on the train and Albus quickly pulling him into a one-sided hug. To now, with Scorpius not waiting for Albus to stand (because clearly he knew from experience he wouldn’t) and calmly going in for the hug first and Albus happily accepting it.

Ryan’s choice to have Albus so unusually relaxed is interesting in its own right though. It’s not laziness on Albus’s part, but I think a reflection on how comfortable he is around Scorpius. He can be ‘just Albus’ around him. So he can stay a little longer in bed or sit on the floor with his guard down because he’s with Scorpius. And isn’t that wonderful?

ACT FOUR, SCENE FIFTEEN: GRAVEYARD

I can’t not mention the fact Ryan did a pigeon noise at Harry. Because he did. It was something else.

EXTRAS

Fun fact: Ryan is taller than Luke so this was a tall!Albus and small!Scorpius combo and I’ll admit it was weird at first but I soon loved every second of it. 

Talking appearances, Ryan’s Albus had his hair up off his face in part one and I swear he doesn’t usually? I mean, every Albus has their hair down. It’s kind of his thing. They literally make them get their hair cut for this. So I was confused. Especially since it was down for part two.

Because Ryan was cover Albus with the last cast too it meant he still has the old hoodie and let me tell you, I had tears welling up in my eyes when I first saw it on Albus again.

To summarise, Luke and Ryan? Double wizzo! Their Albus and Scorpius were a wonderfully compatible combination that highlighted each other’s characters quirks and sparks and darkness brilliantly. It was surprising to hear they hadn’t really rehearsed it all together because they were very much in sync and their interpretations matched together almost perfectly. They were the same but opposites and while that makes absolutely no sense, I promise you it’s real and it works spectacularly.

…I was going to finish there but actually, can I say just one more time how much I love Luke’s Scorpius? Seriously, I want a solid year of this boy on as the main Scorpius. He’s awkward and messy and bright and still very much a Malfoy. It’s such a strange and complicated mix to get right and this boy nails it. I cannot praise him enough and trust me, I really do try at stage door!

[hookedontaronfics]

First Contact series - Part 5

Title: First Contact - Part 5 Read the previous installments here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Some mild cursing, brief sexual mention A/N: Jess and Taron have a perfect summer day together, but will her insecurities get in the way? I hope you love reading the fifth installment of the First Contact series as much I have loved writing it. The series will eventually involve more mature themes as it develops, so be warned! Enjoy! x

The day had dawned hot and steamy, and transitioned full on into boiling by the time my boss cut work short for everyone. Our office didn’t have air conditioning, and everyone was starting to feel ill from the sticky air in our high rise. No amount of fans could seem to relieve it, and most of the men had loosed their ties and collars. I could feel the heat from the baked concrete of the sidewalk burning through the soles of my shoes as I walked quickly toward the tube station, hoping there would be some relief underground.

The cafe tables on the sidewalks that were usually so full for lunch hour were completely empty, and the few people scurrying about were sticking to the shadows cast by shop awnings. I’d felt temperatures like this in my hometown in America almost every summer, but air conditioning was everywhere across the pond. The heat felt much different when you couldn’t get away from it.

I texted my flatmates to see how they were surviving the heat. Jules complained it was brutal and then said she and Mary were just planning on heading to Hampstead Heath; there really was no other way to deal then to wade neck-up into the bathing pool.

<Oh God, that sounds perfect. We closed shop early and I’m heading back. Wait for me!> I quickly texted back. I caught the train and was soon back at the flat. My friends were already clad in bikinis under their summer clothes, waiting impatiently on me to arrive. Even Tim looked uncomfortable in the stuffy flat, and I felt bad for him.

I quickly changed into the floral high-waisted bikini my friends had convinced me to buy. I was a bit self-conscious about my love handles and stomach, but they swore up and down it highlighted my curves in all the right places. Still, next to my willowy friends, I sometimes felt like a bit of a lard. But today was too hot to care about how I looked, so I pulled on a pair of shorts and a tee over the swimsuit and stuffed the essentials like sunscreen and a hat into my beach bag.

“Alright?” I said, as Jules gave me a once-over and tsk’d slightly. She walked over to me and grabbed the hem and material of my baggy shirt, quickly doing a knot in it and tucking it under so it was not only a lot more form fitting, but also showed my midriff slightly.

“Now we’re ready,” she smiled, waving her finger in my face when I tried to protest. “You’ve got a figure all the guys would die to be with.”

“Jules!” I groaned slightly. 

“Oh we know,” Mary said with a smirk. “There’s only one person you want to be with right now, and so far that hasn’t happened yet. You just need to get laid!” she added with a squeal.

“We are not having this conversation right now!” I yelled, yanking open the door as my roommates just cackled and followed along. 

As we walked back toward the tube entrance, my mind shifted to Taron, whom I hadn’t seen for the past week or so since I’d been sick. We’d been texting most days, and even tried to make plans, but he’d had to cancel and apologized profusely for not being available to see me. I understood being a busy adult; I’d had my own share of things to get done. I found that I missed him, though, and I was surprised by the yearning to see him smile at me again.

Almost as if my thoughts had summoned him, my phone pinged with a text. <I think I’m melting. It’s bloody hot. Hope you’re getting on okay.>

<Just heading to Hampstead now with the girls. Our flat was suffocating.>

<Likely the only thing to do today> he responded.

In some strange dash of courage, I decided to suggest he join us. <Bring your mates> I added hopefully. <It’ll be fun.>

“Who are you texting?” Mary asked, making me jump slightly. I hadn’t realized I’d totally zoned out of the conversation with my friends.

“Just Taron,” I replied, my heart stupidly starting to race as I waited for his response.

“So when’s he going to take you out again?” Jules asked, poking me in the side. “Or is he one of those slow-burn types?”

“He’s busy! He’s got plenty more important things to deal with then me,” I defended. “Besides, I’m sure if it got out that he was dating a nobody the internet would shit itself. He’s probably been coached on this a great deal.”

“You’re not a nobody, Jess,” Mary said, sympathetically. “You’re really brilliant and if he doesn’t see that then he’s blind.” 

“Yeah, fuck what the internet thinks,” Jules added, an older lady huffing disprovingly at the language. “You’re an absolute catch.” I truly had the best roommates a girl could ask for.

Just then, my phone screen lit up again with Taron’s response. <I’ve got something later today but I don’t see why I can’t drop by for a bit. See you soon.> The thrill that ran through me was undeniable.

We grabbed another train and no one seemed remotely bothered by our decided lack of clothing, as everyone was too hot to care. We rumbled our way to Hampstead, knowing it would be crazy busy with everyone else having the same idea. There were only a couple of sparse clouds in the sky as we paid our fare, and I suggested we go to the mixed pool this time instead of the ladies only. My friends both gave me looks, and I had to admit that Taron was supposed to be bringing a few friends along to join us.

“Oh my god, when were you going to tell us!” Jules squealed at me.

“I don’t know! I didn’t want you both to give me shit!” I laughed, as Mary joined in on the excited squealing.

“You’re going to see Taron shirtless ... in person,” Jules said wickedly. “Maybe he’ll even ask you to rub sunscreen on his back, eh?” she said, digging her elbow into my side.

“Ow!” I laughed, grabbing my side and being reminded of how not-skinny I was. “Or he’ll take one look at me in my suit and run screaming the other way.”

“Oh please,” Jules said, as Mary sighed. “You’re totally hot.”

“Yeah, I am hot, sweltering really, and it’s about time we got in this bloody pool,” I laughed, trying to ignore my insecurities about my body as we found a place to dump our stuff, tore off our outer clothes, and ran straight into the water, probably amusing everyone around us as we shrieked about how cold it was.

“That’s one way to cool off,” Mary laughed, her teeth chattering a bit.

“You’ll get used to it soon enough,” Jules grinned as we bobbed there in the water like everyone else. Just a bunch of heads floating about, I giggled at the stupidity of that thought. We chatted for a bit and grew accustomed to the water, and I tried not to stare at the shoreline too much in anticipation. I didn’t exactly want to come across as desperate. We eventually clambered out of the water to try and soak up some sun, spraying on sunscreen and laying out on our towels.

I was just about to think Taron would stand us up when I heard his laugh floating across the grounds to us. I sat up and instantly wrapped my towel around myself. “Hey hey hey ladies!” he grinned, holding out his arms wide as he strolled up, a cap pulled low and his sunnies giving him a bit of a chance to not be immediately recognized. He had two friends with him who were both quite fit themselves, but I only had eyes for Taron as the three of them settled in on the ground with us. Jules and Mary were quite beside themselves. “Well look at that, we match up. These are my mates, Jack and Gavin,” he said with a grin.

We introduced ourselves as well, though I was pretty sure somewhere in a hazy memory of the karaoke bar we’d all met Jack before, but Gavin was new, and Jules had instantly started chatting him up.

“I’m glad you made it,” I smiled at Taron, admiring him just a bit in the tanktop and swim shorts he was wearing. Boy if I didn’t just burn up right then and there, I thought.

“I’m glad I did too,” he grinned back. “I’ve been missing you.”

“You have?” I asked, biting my lip a bit shyly.

“Of course. It’s not been my choice to be so busy, but I’ll figure this out.”

“Yeah?” I couldn’t help but smile. “What’s this thing you’ve got going on later?”

“Oh! Yeah that. Just some old mates from school invited me out to Streatham Common for a bonfire night,” he grinned.

“A bit hot for that, isn’t it?” I asked, raising my eyebrows.

“Perhaps, but it’s the best place to see the stars in the middle of London. Would you like to see it for yourself?” he asked cutely. “That is, of course, if you haven’t got plans already.”

“No, no plans. I’d love too,” I grinned back.

“Good, now that that’s settled, shall we get out in that water before we all melt?” he asked, standing up and pulling his tanktop off. I felt my breath catch in my chest, and I was glad my shades were dark because oh, was I staring. He was a bit sweaty and the way it glistened on his chest gave me thoughts I should not have been thinking.

“Come on then,” he said to me, offering his hand as Jules, Mary, Gavin and Jack had already headed for the water. He helped me stand up, but I was still clutching the towel around me with one hand and there was a hint of understanding in Taron’s eyes.

“You needn’t be shy around me. You’re gorgeous,” he said softly, reaching over and gently taking the edges of the towel from me and pushing it off my shoulders, letting it drop to the ground. “That’s better,” he said, looking me over and smiling sweetly. “Alright?” he asked me, and I nodded. He took my hand and we made our way to the water, finally joining up with our friends.

We talked and laughed a bit, and with the rest of my body under the water, where no one had to see it, I could forget about my insecurity there. That is, of course, until Taron suggested we play chicken fight. Jules was instantly for it, Mary seemed confused as to what that meant, and I wanted to sink to the bottom of the pool. There was no way I was getting up on Taron’s shoulders for the world to see.

“Come on, love, it’s fine!” Taron grinned at me, excited about his fantastic idea.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I said under my breath while Jack explained the basic premise to Mary.

“That’s nonsense. Hurt me?” Taron laughed, taking a deep breath of air and ducking under the surface. I nearly fell over when I felt his hands on my legs, pushing them apart enough to get his head between them and standing up, boosting me up out of the water as I shrieked loudly. I clutched at his head to keep from falling over as he just laughed his ass off. “Not so bad, is it?” he smirked, holding onto my legs as I tried to not hyperventilate.

“Holy fuck, Taron, warn a girl next time,” I said, Jules already up on Gavin’s shoulders too. Mary was struggling a bit to get on Jack’s, making everyone laugh, but finally she was up too.

“Let the games commence!” Taron grinned, as Jules and I were the first two to face off. We were quite evenly matched, and it took a fair bit of wrestling, but eventually I prevailed, knocking a shrieking Jules over into the water.

“Yes! We did it!” I squealed happily to Taron.

“Yeaah!” he said, patting my thigh happily and making me feel something strange in my chest as I realized that his fingers were against my bare skin.

Next it was Mary and I, and she royally kicked my butt, managing to push both me and Taron over backward into the water, both of us coming back up for air, sputtering and laughing.

Taron pulled me in close to him, making sure I could breathe and running his fingers along the exposed skin of my waist under the water. “T...Taron?” I stuttered slightly.

“Hmmm?” he said, grinning at me, the sunlight bouncing off the water and making his hazel eyes sparkle.

“Your eyes look rather blue at the moment,” I smiled, running my hands through his wet curls. “I always thought that color-changing eyes were the prettiest. I’ve just got boring brown ones.”

“Boring? Have you gone mad?” he asked, his gaze holding my own. “You just haven’t seen them the way I have. When the sun shines down on them, they turn straight to amber. And there are these little gold flecks that always make them look like they’re dancing.” No one had ever said anything so lovely to me in my life, and I quite forgot how to speak.

“Rematch!” Jules yelled, interrupting our moment, which was fine because I had no idea how much longer we were going to stand there staring at each other if she hadn’t. We even got a few other people involved in the game until we had all worn ourselves out, returning to our towels and letting the sun bake us dry again. The boys had brought snacks and even a Bluetooth speaker to play some tunes, and we spent an incredibly enjoyable afternoon together.

Eventually we decided to head on home, the sun making us all feel a bit knackered, but before we parted ways Taron grabbed my hand in his and placed a sweet kiss on the back of it. “Be ready at 8, yeah?” he smiled, and I nodded, feeling giddy inside.

We made it back to our flat, where Jules and Mary both decided to take naps. I felt the need to freshen up so I ran the water in the bath, still mulling over the image of Taron in my mind, the sun on his shoulders and happiness in his eyes. I slipped beneath the surface of the bath, sighing as the warmth enveloped me. I closed my eyes and could still see him smiling at me, focusing on the muscles of his bare chest that I had wanted to run my hands over so badly, the way his wet swim shorts had clung to his thighs.

“Shit,” I breathed, feeling turned on and letting my hand drift down between my legs, gasping slightly as I imagined what it might feel like if it were Taron’s fingers. I rubbed myself a bit, my breathing coming in short gasps, trying not to moan in case Mary or Jules overheard me. But it was no use; I’d not been able to get off in quite a while. I had no idea what was wrong with me.

“Damnit,” I said, splashing water onto the floor in my frustration as I knocked the back of my head against the edge of the tub. I sighed and sat there for a moment, tearing up slightly and then quickly wiping them away. “Right, get over it,” I told myself. I quickly finished bathing and focused on getting myself ready, which didn’t consist of much. I figured I didn’t need to be made up for a bonfire.

Once Jules and Mary were up from their naps, we ordered some takeout on delivery and sat eating and chatting in front of the telly. Taron arrived promptly and I waved goodbye to the girls. I wasn’t exactly sure who we’d be hanging out with, so Taron filled me in as he drove us out to the nature preserve. It was still warm out, so I’d just dressed in shorts, a tee and sneaks. Taron parked us and we made the bit of a hike toward the woods, Taron holding my hand the whole way there.

He was warmly greeted by his friends once we arrived, and cutely introduced me to everyone. They were all so sweet and welcoming to me, and we were both handed beers. We took a seat on a log, but it was still too warm to have lit the fire. Everyone was hoping that it would cool off once the sun went down. We laughed and talked and drank, and Taron kept his arm draped around my shoulders. It felt amazing to be included in this way, and I started thinking that maybe we really were “together.” But he’d never actually said it out loud, and one thing still worried my mind.

The temperature cooled off as the sun sank toward the horizon, deepening the shadows. After the fire was lit, and most of Taron’s friends were too, Taron grinned over at me and cutely flicked the tip of my nose with this finger. “I told you I’d show you the stars. Come on,” he said with a wink, grabbing two fresh beers and taking my hand again. 

“Where are we going?” I laughed, following along dutifully. “Won’t they miss us?”

“Trust me, you won’t want to go missing in these woods, it’d likely be til Sunday before anyone knows you’re gone,” he smirked.

We trekked through the trees a bit on a well-worn path, giggling when we stumbled over roots until we’d gotten to a small clearing. In the middle was a pickup truck, older but not rusted out. It looked like someone had been taking care of it, though how it’d ended up in the middle of the trees was beyond me. Taron pulled back the cover and then let down the tailgate, helping me climb up. I was shocked at what I found; the bed of the truck had been completely covered with cushions and blankets and pillows. It was rather soft and I felt like I was sinking into it as Taron clambered in after me.

I grinned as he settled in next to me, and we both leaned back and stared up at the twilight sky. We were quiet for a few minutes as I watched the stars slowly blink into existence, one by one. “This is really gorgeous,” I whispered, feeling Taron’s fingers playing at the hem of my shirt. All the beer I’d drunk was making me feel rather heady, and when his fingers connected with my skin, I could barely breathe. “Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he said, before taking a swig of his beer, almost as if he was trying to gather his courage.

I wanted him to kiss me so badly, but I was also afraid for it. What if, from that single kiss, he could detect my entire history? What if he could taste the brokenness on my tongue?

He turned over onto his side slightly, and I did the same. We were so close in the darkness, sharing the same air, and I could feel the tension vibrating between us. “Taron,” I breathed his name, as we slowly drifted closer, our noses touching and then finally our lips. That first kiss was so gentle, but the power of it blew me away. It wasn’t demanding, or selfish, or greedy, or any of the other things I knew a kiss to be. “Jessica,” he said against my lips, his arm sliding around my back and drawing me in for more.

When we broke apart I was breathless, speechless, unable to form a single thought, and I imagined Taron felt the same. There was nothing of the world but this singular moment, Taron and me, the sounds of the woods surrounding us.

“I...uh…” Taron laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “That was good, right?” he asked.

“Just shut up,” I laughed, burying my face against his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, and we laid like that for a space. I was warm and fuzzy inside and everything felt perfect - until I opened my big mouth.

“T, can I ask you a question?” I said against his chest, and he hummed slightly.

“Yeah, anything,” he replied, running his fingers through my hair.

“You don’t already have a girlfriend, do you?” I asked, his fingers going still. He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered if he’d even heard me, but then he sat up, pushing me off him.

“Why would you say something like that to me?” he asked, the darkness masking the pain in his eyes. “Why would you insinuate I was being unfaithful to someone else? I’d never do that, Jess!” he said, anger lacing through the hurt in his voice.

“What? That’s not… what I meant. I just didn’t know!” I tried to explain, but nothing seemed to be coming out right.

“Do you bloody think I’m an animal? I wouldn’t have been pursuing you if I had a girlfriend, for Chrissake,” he said. “All of this wasn’t just to get into your pants. You’re not just a good fuck for me, you know!” he said, grabbing his half-empty beer bottle and lobbing it angrily into the woods. I heard it smash somewhere against a tree. “Fuck,” he said. “You know what, find your own way home,” he said, hopping out of the truck and fleeing the way we’d come.

I sat there in stunned silence, not even sure what the hell had just happened. “Taron?” I asked, and nothing but silence answered back. I jumped down to the ground, pushing the tailgate and cover back into place before using my phone’s flashlight to make it back down the path. I could see the glow of the bonfire through the trees; we hadn’t been that far away, so I wasn’t feeling scared that I was lost. But I was hurt, and confused. It’d been an honest question and I didn’t understand Taron’s flash of anger. In my haste to return, I tripped over something and crashed to the ground, scraping the palms of my hands and my knees, but I barely noticed.

I pushed myself back up to my feet and retrieved my phone before finally making it back to the circle. I frantically tried to find Taron, but was told he had already left. I tried not to cry then, feeling the sense of abandonment sweep through me. I hated that I felt that way; he didn’t owe me anything, after all. I was just a fan, and he the famous actor. He could go back to his life like none of this had ever happened, but I felt irreparably changed somehow.

I managed to bum a ride from one of his friends, thankful they weren’t much for chatting. I’m not sure I could have kept it together well enough to pretend my night hadn’t gone totally to shit. The flat was completely dark when we arrived, and I was thankful Jules and Mary were already in bed. “Cheers,” I said to the driver before jogging up the walk and letting myself in. I headed straight for the bathroom and shut myself inside, my hands shaking as I tried to doctor my bloodied palms and knees. I left my dirty smoke-scented clothes on the bathroom floor and crawled into bed in my unders. I hugged my pillow to myself tightly and finally allowed myself to cry. I checked my phone again; Taron hadn’t texted. I wanted to let him know I’d gotten home safely, but I didn’t think he’d care.

I eventually cried myself out, and felt Tim jump up on my bed. He settled down in the crook of my legs and purred. “At least you still like me. No one else gives a toss,” I sniffed, feeling sorry for myself. I set my phone on the nightstand and sighed deeply. My chest hurt, my palms were stinging, and everything felt out of place. The only thing to do for it was sleep, so I left myself crash, afraid of the hard truths I was going to have to face in the morning.

Can Jess mend her relationship with Taron in time? Find out in Part 6.

[louthegreatfurrry]

let the light guide your way, Pt.3

Harry stares down at the letter in his hands. The paper – parchment, part of him thinks, that’s surely parchment – is thick and heavy.

“What’s taking so long, boy?” Uncle Vernon calls, and Harry casts a quick glance over his shoulder before refocusing on the letter.

Mr. H. Potter stares up at him in green ink.

Harry has only received letters once or twice before, and they were always from school or the library. The few times it had happened, Uncle Vernon had confiscated it immediately. They had only been handed over to Harry after being thoroughly squinted at.

Something about this letter seems terribly, incredibly important. Maybe it’s the weight of it in his hands. Maybe it’s the seal at the back. Maybe Harry just wants something personal, for once.

“Coming, Uncle Vernon!” he calls, quietly slipping the letter in through the blinds on his cupboard door. He’s going to read that later, when he has time, and when the Dursleys have left the house for the evening.

He suffers through the day, working quicker than usual to finish his assigned tasks. Aunt Petunia squints suspiciously at him, but she shrugs it off and lets him go. Finally, finally Harry’s allowed to retreat to the familiar darkness of his room.

The letter turns out to be way shorter than expected. It’s also a bit underwhelming. Why would they write with green ink anyway? It makes it so much harder to read in the dim darkness…

Harry should probably find a letter telling him he’s a wizard to be a bit more concerning than he does. He should also probably think it’s a joke. Or someone messing with him. Or – well – something, surely!

Instead there’s something that just… clicks. He nods to himself. It feels… right.

We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Now, that doesn’t feel quite as right. An owl? Where do they expect him to find an owl? Is he supposed to go into the wilderness and catch one?

He worries his lip for a bit. Maybe he can mail it back – but no, he got no return address.

Right. Maybe it is a trick, after all. Nothing but a dumb joke played by Dudley and his friends.

Harry stuffs the letter into his pillowcase, knowing Aunt Petunia won’t change his bed anyway. He can’t bring himself to get rid of it completely – and neither can he rid himself of the nagging feeling that the letter is genuine.

But, Harry reminds himself as he desperately tries to extinguish that flare of hope, he can’t contact this Headmaster Dumbledore either way. His heart does sink, a tiny bit, but it’s a lost case. There’s really no way for him to do anything.

He closes the cupboard door behind him and does not look back.

*

Three days later Harry sits on his knees in the backyard, dirt up to his elbows as he works on repotting some of Aunt Petunia’s favorite flowers. The sun’s been beating down on his neck the whole day, and he hasn’t been allowed any sunscreen, so he’s sure to develop a sunburn now.

Grumbling darkly to himself – Harry never liked those flowers anyway – he resigns himself to have a burning neck for a few days.

“B – Harry!” Aunt Petunia calls.

Harry looks up, surprised. She only ever calls him that when they have guests – and if they have guests, she’d want him to be a bit more respectable than he is now…

Grimacing down at his muddy pants, Harry tries his best to brush off the mud before rubbing his hands together to rid them of excess dirt. Then he hurries into the kitchen, careful to leave his shoes by the door so he won’t stomp filth all over the floor.

Aunt Petunia is white as a sheet when she gives him a nervous little smile.

Glancing behind her, Harry can see why.

He blinks at the very, very small man sitting on the couch, then hurries to look at Aunt Petunia again. She doesn’t like it when he stares at strangers.

Aunt Petunia looks even more strained now than before. “This is Mister… Flitwick,” she says, and despite her best efforts her mouth tightens a bit at what she likely finds to be a terribly abnormal surname. “He’s here to talk to you about… school.”

Something tells Harry that the only reason Mister Flitwick was allowed inside was because the neighbours would stare otherwise. “Pleased to meet you, sir,” he says, nodding in Mister Flitwick’s direction. Manners are important, he knows.

“And I you, Mr. Potter!” Mister Flitwick says in a very, very small voice that fits his very, very small body. “I am to be your Charms Professor at Hogwarts – and I must apologize, on behalf of Headmaster Dumbledore, for sending you a letter and not a representative right away.”

Harry perks up, chest expanding to make space for the burst of light within him. “You’re from Hogwarts?” he asks, and his voice trembles. Then he hurries to add a meek, “sir,” upon feeling Aunt Petunias’ burning gaze on his already sore neck.

Apparently, Aunt Petunia’s anger hadn’t been because of Harry’s lack of manners. “But – but – but we never said – ” She cuts herself off, pressing a hand to her throat. When she speaks again, her voice raises into a sharp squeak. “You got a letter?”

Oh, no – he’s going to be punished for that now. Ducking his head to avoid her gaze, he allows himself a small nod. “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”

She mumbles something suspiciously like ‘so glad Vernon is at work’ under her breath. “Mister… Flitwick,” she says, louder now – and again making a face as though she just bit into a lemon. “The – Harry, here, will not be joining your school.”

Harry’s suddenly thrown back to what feels like ages ago, sitting in the cupboard on bruised knees reading green ink and tasting such wonderful, glorious hope on his tongue. Then the bitterness drowns it, the disappointment and anger with himself for believing, and now – now he’s been given that hope back, and Aunt Petunia tries to take it away from him?

Mister Flitwick glances over at him, and perhaps he sees the way Harry’s fingers have tightened on the cloth of his pants, for he dips his head and looks back to Aunt Petunia. “You say that as though you have any choice in the matter,” he says cheerfully. “Lily and James wanted him there, and so do the teachers.” He looks over at Harry and shows him the most genuine smile Harry has ever seen. “All of us.”

Aunt Petunia stares at him with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. When Mister Flitwick pulls out a wooden twig – a wand, Harry’s mind helpfully supplements him – she seems to sink into the chair. “Yes, well, when you put it like that…” she very nearly squeaks.

Chuckling, Mister Flitwick gives his wand a little twirl, after which a scroll of… not paper, but parchment, appears in the air. He plucks it down and unrolls it, quickly skimming through its contents. “I came here with the orders to discuss the plans for young Harry with you, Mrs. Dursley,” Mister Flitwick says, and from his position by the door, Harry can see the way his lips curl in an amused smile. “Though now it appears I’m here to tell you about the plans.”

Aunt Petunia pales a few shades more – and surely, she must be about to reach maximum paleness – but nods, nonetheless. Admittedly, the nod is a bit shaky, but at least it’s a nod.

“Right,” Mister Flitwick says, clearing his throat. “I will return in two days’ time to bring Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley – that is, a Wizarding shopping street where he will be able to purchase everything he’ll need for school. He will be handed a ticket to the Hogwarts Express, which leaves for Hogwarts the 1st of September at 11 o’clock precisely. It leaves from King’s Cross in London, at Platform 9¾.” Mister Flitwick looks up at Aunt Petunia, his eyes sharp. “You will make sure Mr. Potter gets to the platform on time. If he does not arrive to school, one of my colleagues or I will bring him there.” He looks down again, but Harry can still see the smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Not brining him might have… consequences.”

Aunt Petunia nods hurriedly. “Of course,” she allows shakily. “Two days’ time. London the 1st of September.” She swallows, gaze flickering to the clock on the wall. Her knuckles go white where she tightens her hold on the armrests of her chair. “If – if you’ll excuse me, Mister F… Flitwick – my husband will return home soon, and – he would not like seeing you here.”

“I see I have overstepped my welcome,” Mister Flitwick says, hopping down from the couch. The amused creases around his eyes show that he is likely fully aware that he was never welcome in the first place.

Harry notes that he isn’t as short as he seems when he’s standing. He would probably be about Harry’s height, actually.

Mister Flitwick turns to Harry with a bright smile, bowing at the waist. “I’ll see you in two days, Mr. Potter,” he says, and then he spins on his heel and disappears with a crack.

Harry stares at the spot where he stood for a moment.

And then he turns on Aunt Petunia. “You knew?” he says, hands balling into fists.

“Hush, boy,” Aunt Petunia replies, but it lacks the usual malice. She’s still pale, hands trembling slightly as she stares into absolutely nothing. “I… I have to tell Vernon…”

Recognizing a lost fight when he sees one, Harry walks off, grumbling darkly to himself about aunts who can’t take a bit of a surprise.

His heart is already dreaming of magic, and owls, and spells.

*

Later that day, after he’s finished in the garden and dinner and sweeping the hallway he lies in his cupboard and listens to Uncle Vernon’s bellows of rage, followed by Aunt Petunia raising her voice to screech at him – a seemingly fruitless attempt at explaining, or perhaps placating.

Harry rolls over and closes his eyes. It’s not his problem. He’ll be going to school no matter what the Dursleys settle on.

They yell far into the night, and when Harry is torn out of sleep to make breakfast the next morning, Aunt Petunia is grim and Uncle Vernon isn’t looking at either of them.

Still, Harry supposes, it’s better than being thrown out on the street. He eats his bacon in peace.

*

Harry waits anxiously the next day. It occurs to him, while he’s fixing breakfast, that Mister Flitwick hadn’t mentioned when he was arriving – only that he was.

Aunt Petunia seems just as anxious as him, glancing at the clock every ten minuets or so.

Around noon someone knocks on the door. The whole house holds its breath.

“Boy –” Uncle Vernon says.

“I’ll get it!” Harry runs for the door, nearly tripping in his haste. He rips it open, lowers his gaze, and finds that his predictions had been right. The very, very small man called Mister Flitwick is just a little bit shorter than him. “Hello,” he greets, offering him a smile. “Are we going to that street now?”

Mister Flitwick smiles at him. “Diagon Alley, yes,” he says, nodding once. His gaze shifts to something behind Harry, and some of the warmth in his smile dwindles. “Ah, hello again, Mrs. Dursley! I will be taking Mr. Potter to Diagon Alley, now, as we agreed.”

Harry strains his neck to look at Aunt Petunia, who’s clutching the doorframe as though it’s the only thing holding her upright. She looks incredibly disappointed. “Yes,” she says. “Make sure you do. And that you return him in one piece.” There is an attempt – which Harry has to admit is quite the failure, thanks to how she has once again paled – at looking down her nose on Mister Flitwick. “We know how this – this pesky wand waving business is. Dangerous, that is! So. Make sure he comes back whole. Or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Mister Flitwick chuckles. “Of course, Mrs. Dursley. We’ll return no later than twilight.”

It gives them lots of time, Harry notes. It’s summer – twilight won’t arrive for another seven hours, at least. Aunt Petunia looks like she might complain, but Mister Flitwick grabs Harry by the arm and spins with him, and then there’s a terrible sensation of being flushed down the toilet, and then Harry’s standing in the middle of a busy street.

He lets out a yelp and stumbles a bit, but Mister Flitwick merely chuckles and pats his hand a bit. “Not to worry, Mr. Potter,” he says, “everyone reacts a bit poorly to their first apparition.”

Harry isn’t quite sure what to say in response to that, for he’s a bit busy staring at the street unfolding before him. There are people everywhere, wearing tall pointy hats and long robes and chattering on about a dozen different topics. There is a shop for owls, and there one for cauldrons, and there one with books –

“Let’s see, then,” says Mister Flitwick, pulling a piece of parchment out of his robes. “I think we’ll go through this list in order, and then you can go shopping for whatever you like afterwards – how’s that, hm?” He hands Harry the list as he speaks, and Harry takes it with eager hands.

Robes, gloves, cauldrons, books –

a wand.

And he’s allowed to shop freely afterwards? Wherever he wants? Harry takes in the street with something akin to hunger in his stomach. “I would like that very much,” he manages to say. “But – Mister Flitwick, sir, I don’t have any money…”

Mister Flitwick nods, as though he had expected this. “That there,” he says, pointing down to a large marble building further down the street, “is Gringotts, the Wizarding bank. Your parents left you a vault.” He begins to walk down the street, and Harry, not wanting to be left alone in the hustle and bustle of this new and exciting world, hurries to keep up. Not that he needs to hurry a lot – Mister Flitwick has shorter legs than him, after all. “Oh, and Mr. Potter? That’s Professor Flitwick, to you.”

Harry would be ashamed, if it weren’t for the good natured way Mister – Professor Flitwick had said it. As it is, he only nods, mumbles some form of apology, and keeps up.

At the entrance to Gringotts stands two even shorter creatures. “Goblins,” Professor Flitwick explains, exchanging a bow with the goblin to the right. Harry, not wanting to accidentally offend them, bows as well. Professor Flitwick gives him one of his amused looks, but doesn’t comment, so he must’ve done something right.

The trip inside of the bank is, to be quite honest, a bit boring. There’s some to-the-point talk between Professor Flitwick and a goblin, and then they’re walking a bit. The most exciting part has to be the ride down to the Potter vault (Harry doesn’t bother keeping in his whoop of excitement) and the absolute mountains of coins Harry is met with when the vault door opens for him.

He turns to Professor Flitwick with wide eyes. “How – how much can I take?” he asks meekly.

“Wise question!” Professor Flitwick says, his voice rising in pitch with his eagerness. “You should take enough to last the schoolyear, as well as this shopping trip – here, let’s look at it together, shall we?” He walks over to Harry and picks up some of the coins, pointing out a Knut and a Sickle and a Galleon and explaining their worth. Harry nods along, though he doesn’t think he’ll remember how much a Knut is to a Sickle and a Sickle to a Galleon – as long as he remembers which is which, it should be easy enough.

When they leave, Professor Flitwick assures him he has enough for the schoolyear – and probably a little bit extra, he says with a wink.

Harry can almost swear that the goblin escorting them rolls his eyes.

*

Harry squints at the bright light outside of Gringotts. He hadn’t realized it was that dim in there. “What now?” he asks Professor Flitwick, his pouch of newly acquired money jingling by his thigh.

Professor Flitwick hums, pulling out that list again. “Ah, that would be robes,” he says. “Madam Malkin’s would be best for that. Follow me.”

Not long after they’ve found their way into a small shop full of racks and mannequins with all different sorts of robes. Some are long, some short, some simple and some terribly flamboyant. Harry, busy staring around the room, barely hears Professor Flitwick telling the lady at the counter that he’s a “Hogwarts student, the full set.”

They’re both taken to the back room, where Harry is put on a stool. The lady – Madam Malkin – slips a black robe over his head and begins to pin it to the right length. “Which House, dearie?” she asks, not looking up at Harry as she works.

Harry throws Professor Flitwick a flabbergasted look.

Professor Flitwick chuckles. “A first year, ma’am,” he says, and Madam Malkin nods, as though that explains everything. Professor Flitwick then patiently explains the four Houses of Hogwarts, into which all the first years are sorted on their first day. “What house do you think you’ll be in, Mr. Potter?” he asks, something like curiosity to his voice.

Before Harry can open his mouth to answer (“I don’t know”) Madam Malkin stiffens. “Mister – Mister Potter?” she repeats, looking up at Harry as if he just saved her dog from drowning. “Harry Potter?”

“Uh,” says Harry. “Hi?”

“Madam,” Professor Flitwick says courtly, “The robes, please.”

Madam Malkin blinks, then hurries to continue with the robes.

Harry frowns at Professor Flitwick.

“Ah,” he says, and the usual humor in his eyes flickers and dies. He sits down on the stool standing beside Harry’s. “Twenty years ago, there was a terrible war. Your parents fought in it, along with many, many others.”

Harry stares at Professor Flitwick with wide eyes. This is more information that he’d ever dreamed of learning of his parents.

“Our side fought against a terrible foe,” Professor Flitwick continues. “A Dark Lord, who we today know as You-Know-Who, or He Who Must Not Be Named.”

“What’s his actual name?” Harry asks curiously.

Professor Flitwick visibly grimaces. Then he glances around before leaning forward. “Lord… Voldemort,” he whispers. He shudders after saying the name. “He was a terribly evil man. Hundreds of lives were lost. Nothing seemed to be able to stop him.” There’s a heavy pause. Professor Flitwick levels him with a solemn gaze. “Until you.”

“M – me?” Harry squeaks.

“You-Know-Who came to your parents house late at night during Halloween, 1981,” Professor Flitwick continues. His voice trembles, just slightly, with some withheld emotion. “Lily and James did not survive. But when he leveled his wand on you…” Professor Flitwick pauses again. “The Killing Curse is supposed to kill instantly.”

Numbness creeps up Harry’s arms. The hairs on his back stand up, and he flexes his fingers against a sudden uneasiness. “Why didn’t it?” he whispers.

“No one knows,” Professor Flitwick says quietly. “But when we came to the house… all that was left was you and a dusty robe with You-Know-Who’s magical imprint on it.” He shakes his head. “You’re known as The-Boy-Who-Lived, Mr. Potter. Everyone in this world knows about you.”

Harry stares at him with wide eyes. “O – oh,” he says. Then he quiets, not sure how to react to all of this. Professor Flitwick looks so terribly sad, so old and worn – Harry would like to say sorry, but it would probably be taken the wrong way, so he says nothing.

“There,” Madam Malkin says, her voice thick with emotion. When she straightens beside Harry, her eyes are wet with tears. “Free. Savior of the wizarding world discount.”

“What – no! I can’t do that,” Harry exclaims, pushing aside the robe to tug open his pouch filled with money. “That’s – here,” he says, shoving a handful of Galleons at her. “Is that enough? Do you need more?” He gives Professor Flitwick a look which hopefully isn’t as desperate as he thinks. “What’s the price?”

Madam Malkin makes a keening sound at the back of her throat, and then she swallows, a few tears trickling down her cheeks. She looks down at the golden coins in her hands, then carefully counts out three Galleons and five Sickles. “There,” she says, voice wobbling slightly. She hands back easily ten Galleons. “I don’t need more.” She holds out her free hand after Harry puts the rest of the coins into his pouch.

Harry blinks at it for a moment, then, realizing what she wants, he rushes forward to shake it.

“You are a kind boy, Harry Potter,” Malkin says. “Thank you.”

Once outside, after Professor Flitwick has shrunk Harry’s bags and put them in a larger bag and handed it off to him, Harry sighs. “She shouldn’t have treated me like that,” he mutters. “I haven’t… done anything yet.”

“While that might be true,” Professor Flitwick says patiently, “there are many people who will react in similar ways. You are loved here, Mr. Potter. I would advice you to get used to the thought.” He gives Harry a small beam. “And I’m saying this only because I think you ought to know, but the Hogwarts student pack costs 15 Galleons, usually.”

Harry freezes. “What?” he exclaims. “She took – she took two!”

Professor Flitwick nods. “And she was very much aware of what she was doing,” he says. “Don’t hold it against her. She’s grateful.” His eyes cloud as he stares at something far, far away. “We all are.”

Clearing his throat, Harry shifts from one foot to the other. “Well, er… what’s – what’s next on the list?”

“Ah – er,” says Professor Flitwick, fumbling for the list. “Books! Course books, that is. Flourish and Blotts is where most students go – this way!”

Harry follows, relieved to see the Professor smiling in that quickly-becoming-familiar way of his. Books aren’t his greatest pleasure, as he never quite got the hang of reading, but if it’s required, it’s required.

When they enter the shop – a store filled with shelves stacked to the ceiling with books upon books upon books – Professor Flitwick puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry almost manages to keep from twitching at the sudden move. “Take a look around, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick says with a smile, “and I’ll talk to the clerk regarding your schoolbooks.”

Harry nods absently, wandering off towards the back of the store. He reads the backs of some of the books as he goes, and a few of them piques his fancy. Pulling one of them out of the shelf – Curses and Countercurses – he begins to flip through it, humming in interest at some of the odd things the book promises to teach him.

A curse that twists a person’s tongue? Harry thinks wistfully of the way he’s sometimes wanted Uncle Vernon to just shut up about his dad.

“Hello,” a voice says, and Harry spins around, nearly dropping his book in surprise. A pretty boy with silver-white hair and pointed features stands by the other shelf, holding a leather satchel in his other hand. “First year, you too?”

Flushing slightly at the state of his own clothes – Dudley’s hand-me-downs aren’t exactly the prettiest dress clothes out there – Harry nods.

The boy’s gaze lands on the book in Harry’s hands, and he wrinkles his nose. “You don’t want to buy that,” he says. “It’s a terrible boor, my father says. And most the curses are practically useless, too.”

Harry looks down at the book again, frowning slightly. The Jelly-Legs curse doesn’t seem useless, to him. “Why?” he asks. If the book is bad, he’d like to know the specifics, so he knows what to avoid in others.

That seems to throw the boy for a loop. “Er, well – because it is, of course,” he says, raising his chin dauntingly.

“Right,��� says Harry, feeling very much not impressed.

“Anyway,” the boy says, “my parents are just up the street looking at trunks for my year. I hope they find one with a few extra compartments – and it better have the Slytherin crest on it, too – I mean, it’s obvious I’m going there, we don’t need to wait for the Sorting to know that.”

Harry nods warily, glancing to the right to see if it’s a suitable exit route.

The boy gives him another daunting look. “Not the talkative sort, are you?” He then gets an utterly horrified look over him. “You are the right sort, aren’t you?”

Not quite sure what the ‘right’ sort is, Harry nods eagerly. “Oh, yes, of course,” he says, eyeing the gap between the two bookshelves. Maybe he’d fit there, if he sucked in his stomach…

“Oh. Well, then.” The boy looks about. “Who are you with, by the way?”

“You know,” Harry says cheerily, “I think he just called for me! I have to go. See you at Hogwarts!” And with that he bolts for the gap between the shelves, sucking in his stomach just to be sure. The boy doesn’t even have time to react.

Harry browses for books a bit more, picking out a few more as he walks. Powers You Never Knew You Had and What To Do With Them Now You've Wised Up looks interesting, so he tucks it under his arm. Runic Dictionary has a rich red color to its cover, and Harry ooh’s and aah’s a bit over it before he brings that, too. Curses and Countercurses remains in the bunch, purely out of spite.

By the time Professor Flitwick calls Harry back to the counter, he hasn’t picked out any more books. He offers Professor Flitwick a bashful smile, but he only chuckles a bit, looking almost pleased with him.

“Come on, then,” Professor Flitwick says good-naturedly, “next on the list is your wand.”

“Is there a trunk on the list, sir?” Harry asks.

Professor Flitwick squints down at the paper. “…no,” he says, sounding genuinely surprised. “We’ll have to get you that, as well.”

Harry nods absently. “Wand first, though, right?” he asks eagerly.

“Indeed,” Professor Flitwick says with a smile.

Ollivander’s has a narrow outside and a tiny, dim and dusty inside. It reminds Harry somewhat of his cupboard.

A tiny bell rings somewhere in the shop as Harry and Professor Flitwick enter. There are small, rectangular boxes stacked atop each other along the walls and on the shelves. Harry stares at them, wondering which might hold the wand he will end up with.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice interrupts.

Harry jumps, turning to face the owner of the voice. He comes face to face with an old man whose hair looks like cobwebs and eyes like moons. “Hello,” he greets cautiously.

The man – Ollivander? – smiles. Harry isn’t sure if he likes that smile or not. “Ah, yes. Yes. I’ve been waiting for you. Harry Potter.” Harry nods slowly. “You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow.”

Nodding in understanding, Harry adds, “Nice for charm work, right?”

Ollivander beams. “Oh, yes, absolutely,” he agrees.

Harry blinks. He hadn’t even guessed on that. He’d just blurted it out. A quick glance at Professor Flitwick shows him to be just as confused as him.

“Your father, however,” says Ollivander conspiringly, walking closer to Harry, “favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power – ”

“And excellent for Transfiguration,” Harry buts in.

What on Earth is transfiguration?

“Oh yes, quite so!” Ollivander says. “Ah, well, I say your father favored the wand – but it really is the other way. The wand chooses the wizard, after all.”

Harry nods.

Ollivander’s eyes drift, settling on Professor Flitwick, who’s still standing by the door with a small smile. “Ah!” Ollivander exclaims. “Filius, what a joy, it’s almost as though it was yesterday… aspen, dragon heartstring, nine inches?”

“Oh, yes, right as always!” Professor Flitwick says. “Works as a charm.” He adds a wink to the end, which Ollivander chuckles at.

Charms, Harry’s mind supplements, aspen is good for charms.

“Now, yes, young Mr. Potter – wand arm?”

And so passes almost twenty minutes of Harry being handed wand after wand, all of them rejecting him the moment they touch his fingers. His heart sinks a little with each discarded wooden stick, but Ollivander only seems to grow more and more excited.

“Tricky customer, hm?” he says, eventually, giving the tall pile of wands an amused look. “No matter, no matter – every wizard has his wand. Let’s see, now…” He goes fluttering over by the shelves, muttering to himself.

As Harry has already seen this happen seven times, now, he turns to Professor Flitwick with an expression he knows is hopeless.

Professor Flitwick offers him a reassuring smile. “I took almost an hour,” he whispers. “I thought there might’ve been a mistake. Not to worry, Mr. Potter. You’ll find your wand.”

Ollivander returns shortly after, shoving a new wand into Harry’s hands. “Holly, phoenix, eleven inches, nice and supple,” he says.

Harry sighs, taking the wand in hand and expecting it to be snatched right out again.

He blinks, however, at the sudden and immediate surge of power that rushes through him – from his very toes to the roots of his hair.

“Hm,” says Ollivander, “no, I don’t think – ”

Harry snarls, taking a step back and clutching the wand to his chest. Ollivander blinks, taken aback. “No,” says Harry hotly, “I want this one.”

“But – ”

“This one,” Harry repeats, and his scar tingles. “Or nothing.”

There’s a moment where bone-deep terror flickers in Ollivander’s eyes. A brief second it doesn’t seem like he’s in the tiny shop anymore, but rather somewhere very far away. Then Ollivander blinks and the look is gone. “Ah, Mr. Potter, are you certain?”

Harry straightens, wand still in hand. His scar stops tingling. “Yes. It chose me.”

Ollivander seems resigned. “Very well,” he mutters. “Seven Galleons.”

Nodding, Harry hands over the seven golden coins. He bids Ollivander farewell – which he responds to, admittedly somewhat shakily. Back out on the street, Professor Flitwick gives Harry a strange look. “What was that, Mr. Potter?”

“The wand felt… right,” Harry tries to explain. “I’m not sure, sir. I just… I just knew that I couldn’t leave the store without it.” He ducks his head bashfully. “I… I’m sorry, if I embarrassed you, sir – I don’t know what came over me…”

And true, he doesn’t know what that was. There was just this… this intense, feral anger at the thought of losing the wand that so obviously had chosen him.

“Apology accepted, Mr. Potter,” Professor Flitwick says easily. “Well, let’s go, then. We still need to finish the rest of your shopping.”

The Apothecary is a fascinating, curious place, and Harry spends most of the time peeking into barrels and boxes and drawers full of strange, slimy stuff. Jars of herbs and roots line the walls while feathers, claws, and fangs hang from the ceiling. Harry ooh’s and aah’s for a bit and almost manages to keep in his disappointment when the basic potion ingredients he needs for school don’t include neither unicorn hair nor vampire fangs.

After they finish in the Apothecary, they stop by the last obligated shop to get Harry a cauldron, glass phials, a telescope (which Harry almost manages to break), and a set of scales. “What now, sir?” Harry asks, shifting to get a better grip on the bags he carries. “A trunk?”

Chuckling good naturedly, Professor Flitwick steers him towards the trunk shop. “First year,” he tells the clerk, as Harry once again drifts through the shop. They have trunks in all the colors he can think of, and then a few more – large trunks, small trunks, trunks that look like books, trunks that are made of books.

Harry leaves the shop with one of the better trunks designed for First Year students. It has three compartments (all of which have their own passwords) and a Hogwarts crest at the top lid. “The House-Elves have seen this model before,” the clerk assures him, “and will Charm your House crest onto it once you’ve been sorted.”

Harry nods, making a mental note to look up House Elves later.

“Now, Harry,” Professor Flitwick says, after they’ve put all his bags into the trunk and Professor Flitwick cast something he called a featherlight Charm on it. “Where to?”

With a start, Harry realizes they must have finished the list. His stomach swoops. He’s never been able to shop like this before. “Uhm – the list said – we can bring a pet?” he asks, crossing his fingers eagerly. It’s almost too good to be true.

Professor Flitwick nods. “A toad, a cat, or an owl are the most common,” he says. “I know of a pet store right around the corner. Come on.”

*

Harry watches the toads through the glass, but shakes his head and moves on quickly. Toads aren’t really… his thing. He’s surprised toads are anyone’s thing, to be honest. The cats aren’t really interesting either – he’s fine with cats and most cats are fine with him, but they watch him with creepily intelligent eyes as he passes them. Besides, he’ll be reminded of Mrs. Figg every time he looks at it if he gets one. He has to restrain a shudder.

A low hoot gets his attention. There are a few owls gathered at the back of the room. Most of them have dusty coats, but there are a few peculiars in there – a jet-black one, and one looking as though it’s trying to impersonate an eagle –

and… a snow-white little angel.

Harry feels as though all the air has been punched out of his lungs. “Hey, there,” he whispers, walking over to the owl’s perch. “Aren’t you a beauty?” The tag beneath the perch reads Snow Owl – loyal, protective, and headstrong. Carries your mail like no other. Harry looks up at the owl with a wide smile. “Think we’ll work together?”

The owl hoots, fluttering its wings a little before taking flight. A moment later it settles on Harry’s shoulder.

Professor Flitwick looks terribly amused when Harry makes his way over to the counter. Harry doesn’t ask why.

*

They return to the Dursleys somewhere around dinner time, and Harry has stuffed his trunk full of all kinds of interesting things. There’s wizarding candy, the books he’d bought, some small knick-knacks that look strange or make odd sounds, a proper box for his wand along with an instruction pamphlet and a set of polish, a wand harness Professor Flitwick said was smart to get, a Bottomless Bag, quills and parchment, owl food and so on and so on.

Upon arriving back at the Dursleys, Harry realizes that he might have a bit of a problem.

There’s nowhere to put his things.

This problem, however, is not a long-lived one. Not long after Harry comes in – wizarding trunk and owl and all – Uncle Vernon clears his throat briskly. “We’ve talked about it,” he says, and Harry gets the vague impression that Uncle Vernon would rather be anywhere else than here, “and you might be getting a bit too, er, big, for the cupboard. Which is why you’ll be getting Dudley’s second room.”

A pause, and then Harry nods. “Thank you, Uncle Vernon.”

That sure solves the problem of space. Well, almost. The room is full of Dudley’s broken toys, but that’s alright. Harry will look through it to find what he’d like to keep in the room and what he should throw out.

Later, when Harry’s gone to bed and Dudley has not gotten his room back, he lies and stares at his trunk and owl into the late hours of night.

*

A month later Harry stands by Platform Nine, King’s Cross, holding the ticket he got from Professor Flitwick tightly. The Dursleys left a few minutes ago, looking terribly amused but apparently not daring to laugh at him.

Harry looks up at the brick wall in front of him. “You just walk straight through,” Professor Flitwick had said, when Harry asked. “Just walk. It’s as easy as that.”

Watching the wall now, Harry isn’t quite so sure. Nevertheless, he takes a step forward and reaches out, pressing his fingers to the bricks.

Except his fingers go straight through.

Hiding a small smile Harry looks about, making sure no one who shouldn’t see this is watching him. Then he steps fully forward, pulling his trunk after him. Darkness engulfs him for a few long moments, but it ends as quickly as it came, as he suddenly stands on a completely new place.

Harry blinks. Powerful magic, he thinks, to transport someone this far…

The platform is packed with people, cats running about and owls soaring above them. Children and teenagers flutter from group to group, loud chattering and laughing filling the air. Adults stand scattered on the platform as well, talking together in tones that aren’t quite as loud as the children.

Harry rushes for the train, ducking his head in an attempt to not meet anyone’s eyes. He hoists his trunk into the train – with some difficulties, since Professor Flitwick’s Charm had worn off after some time – and climbs in after it. After a brief search he finds an empty compartment, where he sits down with a heavy sigh.

He leans his head back against the headrest behind him and closes his eyes. Peace. His stomach clenches painfully against a wave of nervousness, and he opens his eyes again. What if he won’t be sorted? What if it really is a mistake?

A boy pokes his head into the compartment before Harry can follow that train of thought any further. “Hi,” he says cheerily, “can I sit here? Everywhere else is full…”

Harry gestures for the seat opposite of him. The boy – a head full of ginger hair and the whole night sky scattered across his face, along with kind dark eyes – nods gratefully and sinks into the seat, pushing his worn trunk beneath it.

A tense pause. “First year?” the boy asks. Harry nods. “Me too. I’m Ron Weasley, by the way.” He doesn’t hold out his hand to shake, and Harry likes him a little bit more for it.

“Nice to meet you,” Harry says. “I’m Harry Potter.”

Ron instantly looks as though the sun just exploded. “You – I mean – are you? Really?” Harry nods. Who else would he be? “And you – do you have the… the scar?”

Harry smiles, in spite of himself. Poor Ron, too flustered to string together words properly. “Yeah,” he says, pushing his curls away from his forehead.

“Wow,” says Ron.

“Not really,” says Harry, letting go of his bangs again.

Ron blinks, then bursts into surprised laughter. “Suppose not.” Then he sobers again. “Do you… I mean, do you remember any of it?” Harry shakes his head, which seems to disappoint Ron, for he slumps a bit over in his chair. “Oh,” he says. Harry shifts, uncomfortable with Ron’s small sigh. He almost considers making something up, just to cheer him up again. Then Ron perks up. “Want to play Exploding Snap?”

The next hour or so is spent in cheery company, Ron gleefully explaining the rules of the card game to Harry, who listens with rapt interest. When Harry learns the rules and the game begins to go smoothly, they talk about themselves – Harry manages to get Ron on a roll, talking about his brothers and parents and his little sister Ginny. Ron asks a question here and there himself, but Harry answers as vaguely as he can. He’s not sure if Ron really would appreciate all the stories of his childhood.

At one point a girl with dark skin and wild, bushy hair bursts into the compartment, blabbering about a lost toad. When she sees Harry and Ron playing, however, she quiets down and enters the compartment. The quiet doesn’t last long, though, as she hurries to bombard them both with questions about the game. Harry, still not fully certain about the rules, is happy to let Ron explain.

The girl introduces herself as Hermione Granger, after which Harry and Ron introduce themselves as well. Hermione gapes at him for a moment, before leaving Ron and bombarding Harry with questions instead. He can’t answer even half of them (“Is it true that your favorite candy is ice mice?” – Harry doesn’t even know what that is), which he tells her, and she pouts but accepts that.

By the time the sun tips towards the horizon and the skies turn dark, Harry has made relatively good friends with the both of them. Hermione is a bit over the top enthusiastic about her hobbies, and Ron is a bit over the top enthusiastic about Harry, but he can live with that. They’re both kind, and nice, and seem like good people.

“I’d love to be a Gryffindor,” Ron tells them, proudly puffing out his chest as Harry hands him another Chocolate Frog. “My whole family has been Gryffindors.”

Hermione bites her lip. “I’ve heard so much good about Gryffindors.” Then she seems to pale. “As long as I don’t end up in Slytherin…”

Ron nods vehemently.

Harry frowns. Professor Flitwick had said every House was just as good as the others… “I don’t know where I’ll go,” he says, fiddling a bit with his sleeve. “I think all of the Houses sound just fine.”

Hermione and Ron stare at him for a bit. Then Ron ducks his head, muttering something vaguely agreeing, and Hermione nods thoughtfully.

“Well,” she says, biting her lip, “I guess we’ll just have to see.”

*

The boy from the book store in Diagon Alley corners Harry later, when they’re standing and waiting for the Sorting to begin. “You didn’t tell me you were Harry Potter!” he exclaims.

Harry blinks. “You – you didn’t ask,” he says, taking a step back from the eager expression on the boy’s face. “And you didn’t tell me your name!”

The boy straightens up as though this feat requires his full attention. “My name is Malfoy,” he says. “Draco Malfoy.”

Harry nods to this. “Hi, Draco. Nice to meet you.”

Before they can say anything else to each other, Hermione appears through the crowd and pulls Harry away, chattering eagerly about the ghosts that just floated in through the wall. Harry throws Draco a quick wave.

Ron greets Hermione and Harry both beneath one of the lanterns. His face is pale, making his freckles stand out, and it looks like his hands might be shaking just a little bit. “What’d you reckon the Sorting will be?” he asks. “Fred and George – my brothers – said we’d be wrestling a troll…”

But before either Harry or Hermione can answer that, the doors to the Great Hall swings open.

Harry stares in awe. The ceiling is scattered full of stars and a cloud here and there – rows upon rows of floating candles clutter the air above the four long tables positioned in the room. Hermione leans forward and whispers, to them both, “The ceiling is enchanted to look like the outside sky – no matter the weather!”

“Wow,” Harry breathes.

A fifth table stands upon a little podium at the end of the room. A very important looking man sits at its centre, along with several other, slightly less important looking people flanking him on each side. When Harry finds Professor Flitwick among them he realizes it must be the teachers’ table.

Professor Flitwick meets Harry’s gaze and offers a reassuring smile, to which Harry nods his thanks.

There’s an old, rugged hat standing on a stool beside the Professor who’d introduced herself as McGonagall. Once all the children are positioned inside the room, its brim rips open – and it begins to sing.

Harry is too fascinated and intrigued to truly listen to the words the hat sings, but at least the melody is catchy.

There’s no speech or anything when the hat finishes – just a cleared throat from Professor McGonagall and some rustling of paper –

“Abbot, Hanna!”

A girl with pigtails breaks free from the crowd, stumbling up towards Professor McGonagall. Once there, she sits down on the stool and pulls the hat onto her head.

A pause, and then – “HUFFLEPUFF!”

Harry holds his breath as they move down the list, students being sent off to –

“RAVENCLAW!” – a boy with jet-black hair and rectangular glasses, Professor McGonagall had said his name was Terry Boot –

“GRYFFINDOR!” – Hermione sags over in relief and scurries over to the table clad in red –

“SLYTHERIN!” – that’s Draco, looking utterly pleased with himself –

They’re closer, so much closer than just five students ago, and Harry feels far more nervous than he has any right to be.

Then, finally – “Potter, Harry!”

Ignoring the many whispers spreading through the hall, Harry takes a deep breath and marches towards the Sorting Hat.

[alt-ernativewonderland]

Make You Smile

Harrison Osterfield x Reader One Shot

Warnings: Swearing + An abundance of Fluff and Banter + Secondhand embarrassment perhaps? Probably some very shitty writing?

It was a lazy fall Sunday afternoon, soon to be evening and because it had looked rather dreary outside this morning (not very unusual for London, of course) you and your housemate Tom had decided to stay in and play Mario Kart all morning in your Pj's feasting on Jaffa cakes and day old pizza.

However by the time noon had just about rolled around your partner in crime (or Mario Kart more accurately speaking) had received an urgent call from his agent requesting his presence immediately for a last minute rescheduled call back for a new film he had been in the process or auditioning for.

Tom felt a little bad leaving you during your Mario marathon so around 15 minutes after he had left, a knock at the door and a familiar hoodie clad face had popped in moments later, seating himself down next to you, taking up a controller for himself.  

Tom's best friend. The gorgeous Harrison. Who you may or may not be a little helplessly in love with. Those damned eyes. Could you be blamed? Tom of course suspected something straight off and had been trying to get you to admit it ever since, giving you shit about it every. Single. Day.

"Alright? Tom called, told me you might need a friend he'd said, making himself comfortable and switching Tom's Mario Character for his choice Luigi instead.

This is how it had started out. Now? Now it was all out war.

"You better watch out princess look who's catching up" Harrison taunts.

"Good come a little closer so you can taste this banana i'm about to throw at your stupid green hat"

You fire back aiming the fruit behind you. It hits him dead on sending his cart spinning off the to side of the track, he yells out an obscenity in protest.

"You're in first now but don't get too comfortable you're about to get wrecked with blue shells just wait." He laughs managing to speed back into third place rather quickly.

"Meh me meung meh meh" You mimic back under your breath.

Suddenly the grin etched on your face is wiped clean when your screen goes black from the predicted blue shell.

"NoOoOo you fuck- stupid- fucking- shhhghaarrghh!!!!!!"

"Language, darling Peach that's not very royal of you" He chuckles.

"Shut it you, I can still win this, if you stop trying to distract me with your stupid retorts"

"If you can't bant and play at the same time what even is the point? Also careful what you say there peachy look who's in first" Harrison says grinning while poking a finger at your side.  

"Well then who has to watch out for blue shells now huh!" You think up (a little weakly) tingling from the ticklish contact.

You didn't have any blue shells or any sort of random items actually so you decided to play a little dirty instead, palming his face and shoving him off to the side effectively tipping him over, off the lounge and onto the carpeted floor.  

"Oi that's cheating you can't do that!"

"All's fair in Mario kart and war my friend" You say as you race toward the finish line, crossing it seconds later.

Immediately you leap from the couch jumping up and down like a little kid on Christmas morning.

"YEEESSS I am the queen of Mario Kart in your FACE Osterfield!" You cackle delightedly down at his hunched over form as he still sits upon the floor, dejected puppy dog expression and all.

Your cheeks are a little warm from all the excitement. And perhaps his adorably put out expression.

"You're princess Peach not queen Peach and whatever you cheated AND anyway we were playing on 150cc that's too fast it wasn't a fair game!"

"Oooooh that's right blame the speed and my genius tactics for your epic 5th loss in a row! Or is it 6th now? I've honestly lost count" You tease him, still giggling a little, sitting back down on the lounge for the next round.

"I'll show you a genius tactic!"

Suddenly he launches himself towards you from the floor, sprawling himself on your lap and tickling mercilessly at your sides.

"Stop! Stop! Please - oh my god Harrison, Harrison please stop I can't - stop - I cant breathe!" You scream at the top of your lungs gasping, laughing uncontrollably at his preferred method of payback.

"This - is what you get - when you play dirty and cheat - to - win!" He says a little out of breath from the effort of holding you down and dodging your pathetic attempts of attack and defence.

"Okay okay okay I'm sorry, I'm sorry please just please okay-"

"Have you had enough yet?"

"YES Harrison PLEASE stop it oh my god" You beg, giggling uncontrollably still.

"What was that? I couldn't quite hear you love"

You could just hear the smirk in his voice, your sight of him effectively lost from the tears of laughter streaming down your face"

"I'M SORRY for shoving you okay truce truce, I surrender! I'm going to die, seriously!"

He laughs a little through tears of his own as he replies "I don't think it's actually possible to die from being tickled but I think you've learned your lesson."

He let's up on the tickling as you clutch your sides protectively, trying to get your breath back.

Although after peaking your eyes open a little, any chance of this is immediately tossed out of the window as you take in his disheveled appearance.

He was wearing that classic angel faced smile that instantly turned into a devilish grin when his starry eyes met your tear filled ones. His sandy blonde curls were sticking up in all directions and his cheeks were flushed from all the exertion. He was absolutely stunning.

Suddenly you both became very aware of the position you were in. He was still sitting firmly in your lap, hands resting gently on the skin of your exposed stomach where your shirt had ridden up a little in all the commotion.

Harrison bit his lip a little as he took you in. You desperately wondered what he could be thinking as your breath hitched a little at the quick flash of his tongue darting over soft pink lips.

The sound of shoes shuffling at the doormat shattered the tense atmosphere, the squeak of the old front door swinging open had you both scrambling to opposite sides of the lounge seconds after. Tom came rushing in to the  room.

"Y/n, Y/N! You would not believe - my agent Karen, and-" He stopped as he took in the scene in front of him

"What's...going on here? Harrison I thought you'd have left by now by now mate you do realise it's almost six, yeah?" Tom grinned at the two of you, shooting a knowing look your way.

"We were - we were just playing Mario Kart...still" He cleared his throat a little, reaching for a discarded controller and clutching it upside down in his haste.

"Right-o then if you say so." Tom scoffed, taking the spot on the lounge between Harrison and yourself and winking at your eye roll of a response.

"Are you sure H because you look a little winded there and your face is-" Tom started up again.

"What were you saying about your agent Karen? Thomas?" You piped up, noticing Harrison's embarrassment and glaring at the doe eyed boy beside you.

"Oh yeah! She managed to convince the casting agents to give me a second shot at callbacks because I missed mine from that nasty flu Harrison gave me and the director was so impressed with my 3rd audition that he invited us all out to lunch to get to know ME better because he really wants me to be chosen for the part! He thinks I was born to play Spider man can you believe?"

"No way man! That's incredible!" Harrison exclaimed high fiving his best friend and giving him a few congratulatory pats on the arm.

"I'm so proud of you Tom, honestly, you've worked so hard and you truly deserve this so much! You've been dreaming about this role since we were kids" Your face lights up and you offer a genuinely proud smile toward your best friend of 10 years reaching for a warm hug.

"Thanks guys, I really appreciate it. He mumbles back a little sheepishly into the crook of your neck.

"Well then, I guess this calls for a bit a celebration right? What's say I make some of my world class pasta for dinner tonight?" Harrison stands from the lounge, stretching languidly and heading towards the doorway to put his shoes on.

"Anybody need anything from the shops?"

"I'm good thanks" You reply back, rising from the lounge yourself to stretch.

You don't notice Harrison pausing in tying his shoelaces as you do so, fixated on your movements. Tom raising his eyebrows at him suggestively, then rolling them soon afterwards when his friend is brought out of his daze by his voice.

"Grab me a cornetto would you mate?" He grins, eyes twinkling at his friends dopey expression, reaching for his wallet.

"Nah mate don't even think about it, dinner and desserts on me; So parsley and basil for the pasta, cornetto for Tom aaaand Oreos for Y/n,"

He flips his hoodie up as he prepares to head out into the evening fall breeze.

"Hey I never said I wanted Oreos!" You call out to him, confused.

"Well yeah but I know you want them and even if you say you don't you'll change your mind, like always." He grins knowingly at your squinted eyes and crossed arms.

He heads out and its quiet for a moment, Mario Kart music still playing distantly on the TV.

"So" Tom's accusatory tone follows.

"What." You reply absently still facing the front door.

"What happened while I was out charming my future production team?" He picks up Harrison's discarded controller and flicks the character back over to Mario.

"Erm. Nothing. What? Nothing we were literally playing Mario Kart until you got back that's it." You respond hastily, plonking yourself back down on the lounge, grabbing the other controller and starting a new game.

"Are you sure about that? Because it kind of seemed like I walked in on something a little more than that." He smirked, instantly making it into first place with ease.  

"I really have no clue what you could possibly mean." You bite your lip thinking back to just a few moments ago when Harrison had had you practically pinned beneath him, his face flushed and breathless.

"Oh come off it you've been completely infatuated with him for like 6 years now don't even TRY to deny it Y/n." He chuckles shoving playfully at your shoulder trying to distract you from the game but the conversation in itself was distracting enough.

"You know I can here sounds coming from that frog mouth of yours Holland, but all they're saying is 'I'm gonna lose spectacularly'" You shove back, deflecting the attention back to the game at hand, aiming a red shell his way.

He swerves just in time and dodges it

"Damn your expert reflexes" You mumble, not 100 percent paying attention to the game in the first place anyway.

Too preoccupied by memories wayward curls over starry blue eyes and soft smiles.

"I prefer Spidey senses"

"Calm down you dork you haven't got the part quite yet"

"Just you wait when I do and I start getting more and more followers on Instagram I'm going to post it all over my story for my 1 million followers to see; 'Y/N LOVES HARRSION OSTERF-'" Suddenly he has a face full of pillow as you prepare to throw another.

"Shut UP Thomas! Oh my god like you would even GET a million followers in the first place you fucking div" You don't even throw the next pillow at him this time, electing to just pummel him with it for a while until you hear a muffled "Okay okay I'll stop I'll stop I'm sorry don't kill me" As he continues laughing, running his fingers through his frazzled hair the game effectively forgotten.

You sigh as you give up your pillow attack, placing the pillow behind you and resting your head against it with a deep defeated sigh.

You sit in comfortable silence for a moment, both listening to the ever playing Mario Kart theme and taking note of the sudden rainfall that must have just started to during your miniature conflict.

"Okay but I'd just like to reminisce something to you for a moment here." Tom speaks up after the pause in commotion. "Remember when we were kids, and I brought H to your birthday party so you could meet him and I got you that new Sims 2 Pets game?"

"Yeah...?" Suspicious eyes peered over at the boy, wondering where on earth he was going with this.

"Not two weeks after that you'd already made sim versions of the two of you and were planning the wedding, which from the screenshots I vacantly remember browsing through looked to be a beautiful ceremony I might add." He snickered, already scooting away from you and grabbing a nearby pillow off the loveseat, bracing for another attack.

"I'm going to murder you in your sleep tonight, and might III add that I was like eleven when that happened! And I made you too!" You threw the pillow you'd been resting your head on in his direction regardless of his makeshift pillow shield, groaning at the memory and covering your now very warm cheeks.

"I WAS THE DOG YOU GUYS ADOPTED AFTER YOU'D MOVED IN TOGETHER!" His exasperated tone turning into gasps of laughter when he saw your grin peaking out from behind embarrassed hands.

"At least you were a golden retriever puppy! That's a super cute dog! I could have made you as a hairless cat with huge disfigured eyes or something equally strange and disturbing."

"Something equally strange and disturbing is the title of yours and Osterfield's Sims 2 honeymoon sex tape." He clapped back, already on his feet and sprinting off towards the kitchen.

"I hate you!" You called out to him getting to your feet and following the object of said hatred to make yourself some tea.

"You only hate the fact that I right." He taunted back sticking his tongue out at your less than impressed expression at his childish antics.

"Alright fine maybe I did have a sort of small crush or something when we were younger but it's in the past!" You give in finally, absently fiddling with the tab of the tea bag in your Pusheen cat mug.   "Besides he never liked me back anyway." You mumbled the last sentence a little under your breath, concentrating on making the baggy bob up and down repeatedly in the steaming water.

"That's not true!" Tom blurted out, smacking a hand over his lips a moment later silently cursing his big mouth.

This was a secret Harrison swore him never to tell, he'd even pinkie promised.

Even if it was a secret from six years ago.

He couldn't help it though, after all this time you finally had said it clear as day, right in front of him!

"What do you mean it's not true? Thomas what aren't you telling me?"

You look up at his sudden admission, squinting your eyes to gauge his current demeanour as your heart rate inexplicably picked up. You watch as he shuffles nervously scratching at the back of his neck, not looking at you and busying himself with his own mug of tea.

"I mean, I'm just saying there was that one time you got really sick during the summer holidays before high school started and he brought Monty around to cheer you up."

"Oh I remember that! He said puppies could help cure anything so he stayed as long as he could to make sure I'd get the full effect even though I couldn't leave my bed." You smiled fondly at the memory, and how Harrison had also brought over your favourite chocolate chip cookies to double the efforts in making you feel better.

"Also when you lost your ring that day we played football in the park and he REFUSED to leave until it was found even after the sun had set and he only had his shitty phone screen light."

You shifted the heart shaped signet ring on your finger, remembering when Harrison's meticulous search had paid off almost 2 hours after you had initially lost the gold band and how Tom had made some cheesy remark when Harrison slipped it back onto your finger.

You were so delighted he'd found it that in your overwhelming excitement you'd thrown your arms around his neck in a tight hug and placed a kiss on his cheek, both of your faces tinted pink the whole walk home afterwards.

"Thanks by the way he would not shut up about that damned kiss for two months afterwards!" He chuckled, noticing your faint blush reappearing at the memory.

There was a pause as you collected your thoughts, sipping your tea silently while processing the memories and trying to connect any dots you may have missed from the past that may or may not be JUST In history, but perhaps also in the present.

"You know he only pretends to be bad at Mario Kart so he can watch you get all giddy and excited at beating him." Tom adds after a while, biting his lip after perhaps spilling a little too much information.

It was one thing to let slip that Harrison liked you years ago but it was another to hint at the fact that he possibly still did, and didn't want you to know about it.

"Okay that’s not true I'm great at Mario Kart!" You roll your eyes scoffing at his accusation.

"You suck at Mario Kart, why do you think I always beat you? And where do you think I learned all my skills from hm?" He raised his eyebrows at you, smirking at your slightly bewildered expression at all these new developments.

You didn't get a chance to rebut his claim because just as you opened your mouth footsteps came in quick succession up the front steps and the door swung open to reveal a very heavily rain soaked Harrison, shaking out his dripping wet curls in dog like fashion after slipping of his hood.

"Man it's raining cats and dogs out there!" He chimed in a faux American accent, slipping off his shoes and setting the groceries down on the kitchen counter.

"Just my luck, started up right as I stepped out of the shop." He continued when neither of you said anything at his return glancing between the two of you still standing a little ways from each other in the kitchen, your cheeks still tinged pink.

He pulled the uncomfortable hoodie from over his head, the t-shirt underneath sticking to it also and being pulled off with it letting out a sigh as he balled up the wet garments in his hand, still not entirely sure about the strange atmosphere he'd entered into.

"Have I missed something?" He questioned with a raised brow when STILL neither of you said anything and all you could do was fixate on the little droplets of water dripping periodically from Harrison's curls, making their way through the crevices of his glorious torso.

Tom snickered at your lingering gaze shaking his head as he finished off the last of his tea.

Harrison set his wet clothes down on the dining table and crossed his arms over his chest, eyes still shifting between the two of you curiously.

"Do you let me win at Mario kart?!" You blurted out when the silence started getting a little too thick.

"Really? That's the thing you choose to address first?" Tom laughed, rinsing his panda mug and shuffling past the two daft idiots standing in the kitchen staring at each other.

"What are you on about?" Harrison's perplexed tone answered back, glancing back at Tom's retreating form.

"Listen mate, this day has been a long time coming and you KNOW I suck at keeping secrets but might I just say I think I did a pretty good job considering I didn't breathe a word for six bloody years!"  

Tom grabbed a towel from the linen cupboard and darted into the bathroom, head re-emerging a moment later from behind the door frame with a: "You'll thank me later for my big mouth!"  

The water from the shower started up a moment after Tom closed the door and suddenly it was just you and a very shirtless Harrison left standing a little awkwardly together in the small kitchen area.

It felt even smaller when we was stood there looking like THAT.

Harrison's eyes met yours for a beat but you looked away, concentrating once more on the wayward water droplets traversing his skin, unable to look him in the eye.

"What's going on?" He murmured softly, trying to decide whether he should move towards you or keep his place in the door-frame.

"Tom, erm - Tom said, that you let me win at Mario Kart all the time and that you suck on purpose." You replied in a small voice, finally peering up at him through your lashes.

"I - I mean...maybe a little bit, sometimes?" He stuttered out, running a hand through the loose curls fallen on his forehead and biting his lip a little, bashful.

He was making it really difficult for you not to just kiss him right then and there.

"What else were you discussing before I interrupted? What did he mean by 'This has been a long time coming'?"

"Did you want some tea? You look awfully cold you should probably change into some dryer clothes." You grabbed Harrison's Avengers mug from the top cupboard and made your way back over to the kettle trying in vain to distract the confused object of your affections.

"No no no no no come on Y/n don't try to change the subject." He moved towards you, switching the kettle back off before it could make too much noise, taking a seat on the counter to face you, waiting patiently.

"Would you at least put a shirt on you're making ME cold just looking at you." You hug your arms around your middle, feeling self conscious and picking at stray pills of your jumper.

"Why am I distracting you?" He chuckled, throwing a cheeky wink your way and sitting up straight, tensing his muscles.

He was just joking but he couldn't help notice the slight tinge of colour gracing your cheek and the way your teeth gnawed unforgiving on your bottom lip.

This isn't fair. He should be the one feeling self conscious or a little nervous being half dressed and what not in front of you like this.

"Tom thinks - he told me that you used to like me." You let out, finally setting your eyes to his and not looking away. There. That should make him squirm a little, hopefully.

Harrison's face flushed as he was the one to avert his eyes this time, the back of his neck suddenly feeling very warm despite the cool raindrops still gracing his skin.

"You never said anything." You continued, carefully observing his now shifting form.

"Yeah well I - erm, I just always thought you might have seen me as a sort of brother you know, you - being friends with Tom first and all I didn't want to get in the way or make anything awkward."

"A brother?! God no Harrison I never ever thought of you that way Tom's always been like a big brother to me but y-you were the -"

"- The what?" He looked up hopefully, the crease in his brow still evident.

"The...’Cute best friend’?" You finished in a small voice, turning away to rinse your mug and making a beeline for the doorway, heading to the living room to tidy up all the stray pillows off the floor.

Harrison's face lit up into a huge shit eating grin heart beating wildly as he hopped off the counter, heading over to where you were very obviously pretending he wasn't an arms length away from you.

"Am I still?" He teased, taking a pillow from your hand and holding it up high out if your reach.

"Hm?" You offer in lieu of a response, playing dumb and reaching for the pillow but stumbling a little on your tip toes.

You swallow audibly after your hand pressed into his chest accidentally as he looks down at you catching your lower back to steady you.

"Am I still the ‘cute best friend’?" He whispers, grinning down at your shy form and tilting your chin up to look you in the eye.

"Cute...and....impossibly annoying." You finish, making a grab for the pillow after his hand had fallen a little in his distraction.

Suddenly you walloped him in the face with it laughing at his gobsmacked expression, trying to distract your thumping heart and nerves.

Harrison wasn't having it though so he grabbed the wet ball of clothes off the dining table from earlier and slowly crept towards you as you waited for the inevitable

"Don't you dare!" You pointed a finger at him menacingly with nowhere to escape to.

He captured you in a tight hug wrapping the wet hoodie around your frame and laughing gleefully at your yelps and small slaps of protest.

Resistance was futile though so you gave up with a sigh and rested your head against his chest listening to his heart rate pick up a little bit before he said his next words.

"You were the cute best friend for me too." He admitted, glancing down to your lips mere centimetres away.

"Am I still?" You mimicked his words from earlier unable to stop the corners of your mouth pulling into a wide smile.

He didn't answer, instead leaning down to press a swift kiss to you lips after you sucked in a quick breath.

"Does that answer your question?" He murmured, his eyes twinkling and a very pleased expression gracing his soft features.

"Hmm I'm not sure perhaps you should try-"

He cut off your witty remark, capturing your lips once more and this time you melted into the kiss all banter quickly vanishing from your thoughts as you reached up to play with his still wet curls, feeling the hoodie slip from his grip onto the floor so he could press you closer.

God you had waited far too long to do this you thought as he swiped his tongue along your lower lip, allowing the kiss to turn deeper.

You moaned a little as his tongue swiped over your own, the hand that wasn't toying with his damp locks tracing the definition of his toned stomach, fanning the fire that had started long go inside your chest.

"Still distracting you?" He murmured as he pulled away, his lips still brushing against your own as he spoke and a devilish smirk forming as his own hand found its way atop yours, pressing into his stomach.

"You're always distracting me." You continue pressing soft kisses to his lips unable to stop now that you knew what they felt like against your own.

"Is that so?" He chuckled, his hand on your back slipping underneath your jumper to feel the warmth of the skin beneath.

You sighed as you felt his fingers press firmly into you, his hand moving from the skin of your back to your hip as he continued to kiss you like his life depended on it.

A small gasp and a soft ‘ugh‘ fell from his lips as you raked your fingernails down his chest reveling in the feeling of being completely wrapped up in him.

The sound of a throat clearing somewhere in the distance brought you both out of your haze, bursting the bubble that had formed around you both.

You pulled away from each other at the noise and turned your heads toward the bathroom door, where Tom stood in clean pyjamas, toweling off his damp curls and giving you both the biggest self satisfied smirk you had ever seen on his boyish features.

"Oh man this is like the Sims 2 Pets all over again." Tom laughed, directing his shit eating grin to you as you buried your blushing face into Harrison's still gloriously bare chest.

Harrison sent a questioning look to Tom and then back down to you, confused as ever but laughing none the less at your sudden embarrassment, pressing his lips to your forehead then your warm cheek and finally back down to your lips, not a care in the world that Tom was now in the room.

"You're welcome!" Tom muttered under his breath, shaking his head at the admittedly adorable pair of divs in front of him.

Author’s Notes:

So there you go! Wow this is I think the first piece of writing i’ve actually started and compelted in literal years and I can’t believe it’s fanfiction between a real person and the reader but i’m gonna take it cause i’m a little proud of myself right now for accomplishing this one small thing. Anywho I hope you enjoyed this drabble turned very long One Shot and if i tagged you it’s ‘cause you liked or reblogged my original post/sneak preview of this fic! :)

@sleepwalkingdragon @hollandfieldluv @miraculousparker @would-you-tell-me-who-you-are @imwearingtomholland @soloriormora @kindbearqueen @claredolphinbear24 @ducky2542 @creativexdreamer @nachochitz @letstravelsunshine @the-divine-fxminine

[badbadmovies-blog1]

The Magic of Mika Penniman

Or, why you should watch Stasera Casa Mika

If you don’t currently live in western Europe or eastern Asia, you’ve likely never heard of Mika. You’d be forgiven for this. Despite being a household name in Italian and French speaking countries and a serious force in Korea, China and Japan, Mika is a virtual unknown in the English speaking world. This is a real shame. Mika is a pop star with a message and a countenance and a fandom distinct from any other. His greatest work is his 2 season Italian primetime variety extravaganza, Stasera Casa Mika, but it’s truly impossible to understand the show or its importance without an understanding of the man and the people who love him.

Mika is a man of many places and many languages. He was born in Lebanon, raised in Paris and London, is a fixture of television in France and Italy and keeps homes in Paris, Milan, London and Miami. One of his most immediately impressive talents is his ability to rapidly switch between speaking 3 or 4 languages across just a few sentences. On top of his native French and English and fluent Italian, he also speaks Spanish (moderately) some Arabic, and some Chinese. Search for him on YouTube and you‘ll find hundreds of videos of the man meeting his fans; it’s not uncommon to see him speak to 3 different people in 3 different languages, switching to respond in any language without so much as pausing. He’s tall and certainly handsome, albeit the latter in a non-traditional sense. His hair is curly and voluminous and sometimes completely out of control. His eyes are golden brown with hints of green, his jawline is sharp; yet still he describes his own face as “odd”. The chiseled handsomeness is offset by plump, often flushed cheeks and deep dimples. His smile is wide and bright and his front teeth are crooked. His appearance truly depends on his expression: when neutral or serious he’s solidly what anyone would call sexy. But he’s giggly and good natured, he smiles easily and often, and as soon as he does he shifts from sexy to simply adorable. With the crooked front teeth and plump pink cheeks he sometimes looks something like a bunny or a chipmunk. But still, a beautiful chipmunk.

Mika, serious

Mika, goofy

Even with his beauty it’s his personality that’s earned him so many fans. He’s bubbly and energetic on television and onstage, and while that’s 100% genuine, it’s more one of his moods than an accurate representation of his personality as a whole. There’s another side to him, equally entertaining but very different. Mika was snarky and loud when he first rose to fame at the age of 23 but as he’s aged he’s mellowed and calmed quite a bit. It’s an absolutely lovely transformation to witness if you’ve been following him for some time. Young Mika was hilarious and good hearted but sometimes brash and rude (to be fair, always entertainingly, endearingly, sassily so). The man he is now is pure and gentle. He’s soft-spoken and exceptionally kind. Watching him interact with his fans is like watching the human version of a cup of hot tea.  The man also seems to have stunning talent for feeling a room. He picks up on his fan’s emotions without a word being said. One of the best “Mika picking up on people’s feelings” stories involves him noticing a woman in his audience of thousands crying, and pulling her onstage mostly to hug her. Another fantastic tale tells of him going out of his way to ensure one of his fans felt included in a conversation when another person seemed to be getting all the attention. He told a fan on an airplane that he would meet her at the destination airport baggage claim to take a picture with her, and not only did he make good on that promise, the fan discovered he had no luggage of his own and went to baggage claim exclusively to wait for her. He’s got 2 dogs he dotes on and a penchant for sweater wearing. There’s something about him that just seems inherently huggable.

Mika’s claim to fame is his one of a kind brand of dark bubblegum pop. He pairs cheery, poppy music with dark, sometimes disturbing lyrics. Between the beat and the brisk singing, it’s easy to miss the lyrics entirely and get wrapped up in dancing around; this is the key to the success of formula. You may be thinking that cheerful music and dark lyrics are not unique, but this isn’t Melanie Martinez. Mika doesn’t lean on the darkness of his lyrics, singing to the camera with dramatic pauses to make sure you get it. He just sings, and trusts that his audience is smart enough to understand the point on their own. It’s on you to notice that the cheery song about teenage freedom you’re singing gleefully to on a summer afternoon contains the words “Left here on my own/ I’m gonna hurt myself”.

Mika’s first two albums, Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much, are about his childhood and adolescence viewed through an abstract lens. Most of the songs are vignettes about imaginary characters in metaphorical and absurd situations, but all of what might first seem like nonsense has meaning. It’s a distanced way to talk about real things, and Mika has plenty of real things to work with. His family was evacuated from Lebanon during the Lebanese Civil War in 1983 and his father was held as a hostage in the Gulf War for 8 months when Mika was just 8 years old. Mika suffered badly from dyslexia, did poorly in school (not helped by cruel teachers), and was mercilessly bullied to point of going mute for a while. His music draws on all this inner pain and a talent for empathy to write darkness in a way that feels authentic. It never feels like just an emo aesthetic. His third album, The Origin of Love, diverges from theme for an airier sound and more cheerful lyrics. It’s an album about love in forms both positive and negative, and it feels much warmer and more optimistic than the work that came before. His 4th (and as of this writing, most recent) album, No Place in Heaven, is another departure from his previous work. If Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much discuss Mika’s life and problems in metaphor and simile, No Place in Heaven is the clear, plain English version, without the euphemistic wordplay. The album discusses Mika’s anxieties, from the trivial to the existential, with detail and without fear. No Place in Heaven is the modern English facing page translation to Life in Cartoon Motion and The Boy Who Knew Too Much’s Shakespearean stanzas. “Good Wife” is about the pain of a gay man in love with his straight friend and speaks his thoughts that he would be a much better partner than his friend’s unkind wife; “All She Wants” is an unflinching description of Mika’s fears that he’s a disappointment to his mother. “L’amour Fait ce Qu’il Veut” is an uncomplicated love song which manages to simultaneously remain unpolitical and make a clear statement by simply using the grammatical gendering system of the French language to assign male pronouns to the entity of love. The musical sound itself is different from his previous music. It’s more singer-songwriter, more guitar-heavy, and less electronic, but the whole thing is still recognizably Mika. This album feels like a catharsis for him. It’s not that he ever seemed sad or depressed, but post No Place in Heaven Mika seems like a new man. He looks healthier and happier than he ever has before. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

Mika’s honest lyrics and cheerful music have attracted a large, exceptionally dedicated and tight-knit fan base. Mika’s fans aren’t fans simply because they enjoy his music. They’re fans because they find comfort in his lyrics and his philosophy. You’ll always find at least some people in any fandom who feel this way, but for Mika fans it’s the rule. Ask any of them why they love Mika or how they discovered him and they’ll tell you a story that describes Mika or his music being there for them at a point in their life when it was most needed.

Mika is deeply important to people. Celebrities have fans, Mika has a flock. His fandom, largely (though not entirely) young and mostly (though not entirely) female, flourishes predominately on Twitter, Instagram, and a dedicated fan forum, where they communicate with each other across time zones and language barriers, often learning parts of languages they otherwise don’t speak. There’s a warmth here, a deep love and concern for each other. These people, most of whom are in some form of school, are spending their spare time learning languages by choice only to understand each other, and Mika, better. Due to Mika’s aforementioned cross-language popularity and success, to be a Mika fan is to be at least partly bi- or tri-lingual.  A short venture into #mikainstagram on Instagram (Mika and his fans have dedicated their own tag based on his Instagram handle, as #Mika is flooded with posts about a coincidentally named anime character) will show you thousands of affectionate posts about Mika, common for any fandom, but they talk about him in the kind of elevated language people normally use to discuss royalty. Even the absolute briefest interactions with his fans prompt deeply emotional responses. Even a smile matters. And it’s sincere - there’s no sarcasm here, no snark, absolutely no “too cool for it” artificial lack of concern. The people who speak about how Mika’s smile changed their life aren’t kidding in the slightest. He genuinely has that power and that kind of energy; it’s unique and almost impossible to understand without being inside it. When he’s part of Q&A sessions (he tends to do at least one a year), he doesn’t get asked nearly as many questions about himself and his music as he gets asked for general life advice. When given the opportunity, Mika’s fans literally bring him their problems, as if to the world’s coolest advice columnist.

All this information is necessary because what Casa Mika is and the effect it has is hard enough to explain on paper alone, and becomes completely impossible to explain without all the context (watching the show, however, will provide all this context pretty immediately whether you’ve ever heard of Mika or not; he really is magic and you’ll pick up on his energy immediately). Mika is a source of wisdom and a protective presence to his fans. He’s trusted and relied on in a way that celebrities rarely are, and he therefore finds himself in a position of power to influence many young people’s lives for the better.

Being a judge on the Italian version of The X Factor launched Mika into household name status in Italy as people who discovered him through his television appearances then discovered his music. Italy has become his strongest market since his time on X factor. Italy also has a long tradition of primetime variety television shows, and 2016 they were ripe for a new one. Mika’s creative wheels happened to be turning, and so Stasera Casa Mika was born.

Casa Mika (almost always referred to in this way, the “Stasera” is generally left off) is a very hard thing to put into words simply due to it being…really hard to put into words, but “variety show” still comes the closest to a concise description. The concept is fairly simple: Mika is your host, inviting you into his home. “Stasera Casa Mika” translates roughly into “Tonight at Mika’s house” in Italian. There are skits, comedy segments, and many musical performances, some starring Mika and some not. In between all this Mika talks to the camera and undergoes a breathtaking number of outfit changes. The first episode opens with Mika driving the tiniest car imaginable and singing to his dogs, and it really only gets warmer and softer from there. He’s got a co-presenter in both seasons. The first, Anglo-Italian actress Sarah Felberbaum, has a presence and warmth that mixes perfectly with Mika’s. They make fantastic presentation partners. Sarah is replaced in the second season by Luciana Littizzetto, who’s a pure gem and brings a whole lot of love and light with her. It works extremely well in the context of the second season.

There’s a whole genre of media that I adore but find it hard to put a name to. For lack of a better term, call it “self-confident”. It’s art that doesn’t care if it’s objectively good or if it has wide appeal. It’s only concerned with being whatever it’s going to be, and trusts that the right audience will find it. Sometimes it turns out objectively good and sometimes it doesn’t, but’s always interesting. Within this genre you’ll find the shamelessly and unabashedly joyful and pure things. Joyful and pure are not en vogue. Media was forcefully sugar coated and inaccurate to real life for so long that a collective decision was made that everything has to be realistic and gritty, that we’ve got no time left for fearless joy. But every now and then you find a movie or show that’s just good and pure and has no qualms about being so.

My personal benchmark for this genre is Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. If you’re a child of anywhere between the early 70s and the late 2000s and you spent time watching American public television, you probably at least occasionally watched Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood. Hosted by Fred Rogers, a man who can only be accurately described as an angel walking on the face of this undeserving earth, Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood was a slow paced and kind children’s show which discussed very real and serious problems and current events in grounded and intelligent ways that children could understand. Yet between the much needed and challenging social commentary was a lovely, caring show that wanted nothing from you. It protected you. Fred Rogers ended every episode with a lovely song about how he loves and cares for you, he’s just happy you’re alive. Mister Rogers and his show hold a very special place in the hearts of the people who grew up with them. For those people mere mention of it is bound to start them crying. It stuck with people, and it does to this day.

Casa Mika, to me, feels like a version of Mister Rogers for adults. It manages to be joyful without ignoring problems in life and in the world. Old media was joyful as it pretended that life was always perfect and nothing was ever thorny. Casa Mika is joyful despite the thorniness of general existence. It doesn’t shy away from problems or politics; it just takes them in its joyful stride. It’s sort of like an uplifting emotional movie. You’ll cry but it will still bring you up in the end. Mika talks about human and civil rights, about poverty, about crime, about prisons, and you still come out the other side feeling a whole lot better than you did before.

Most episodes of Casa Mika follow a similar format: Mika opens the show with a pre-filmed skit that leads into the opening number of the show, a large and energetic performance of the show’s theme song. The show itself is a mishmash, with any number of live and pre-filmed skits and performances. Common segments include: Mika driving a taxi, learning how to do a job from someone, traveling Italy meeting talented musicians from unlikely places, musical performances by Mika and others, and interviews with celebrities. Mika ends every episode by climbing into an oversized bed while wearing pajamas, gently bidding goodnight to the audience, and shutting off the studio lights. It’s important to know this show originally went off at 11:30 PM – people really were going to bed; he’s truly bidding his audience goodnight.

Stasera Casa Mika promo photos

The cheerful opening, the calm come-down ending, and the clearly defined structure brings to mind children’s night time television. It brings to mind children’s television in general; it brings to mind Mister Roger’s Neighborhood. And somehow that’s exactly what it is, simply aimed at a very different audience. Casa Mika is Mister Rogers for the 2018 young adult or teenager. It’s darker and slightly cracked. It’s facing the real problems of the world but it’s facing them led by this lovely, protective figure of a man. He’s even got the sweater and sneakers at one point. It’s as if Mister Rogers was painted by Picasso.

It’s important to draw a distinction between the two seasons of Casa Mika. They’re two seasons of the same show but they’re still separate entities in a lot of ways. They’re both uplifting but season one is more purely joyful while season 2 deals more consistently with harder topics. Season 2 introduces Gregory, a large monster who looks like he jumped straight out of Where the Wild Things Are. Gregory is introduced as Mika’s close friend, and It’s made clear in unambiguous language that Gregory suffers from crippling, chronic depression. If you started watching Casa Mika to forget all your problems this show has other plans for you. Mika’s more or less taking care of Gregory, and he explains that he does this because sometimes you have to, and that sometimes the best way to help people is to simply be present. Gregory gets a whole lot of screen time over the course of the season, and every moment he’s on screen is taken as a moment to provide some simple but effective comfort for everyone watching who’s going through a mental illness of some kind or other.

The first season of Casa Mika is free, joyful, loud and pure. The skits and performances are hilarious and uplifting. It’s all one giant party, bringing as much energy as it can straight to your heart. It lifts you out of your problems enough that you feel strong enough to look them in the eye. The second season of Casa Mika gently guides you through those problems, in the kind of way that makes you weep, but it’s a good weeping. It’s a cathartic, detoxifying weeping. Casa Mika came right on the heels of Mika’s newfound lightness after No Place in Heaven, so watching the series feels a bit like joining him on a journey, an emotional experience you’re on together. Much like you, the viewer, Mika takes a season to be truly free and the next to face problems, some of which are quite clearly his own. If you watch the show, the whole show, all 8 episodes, in order, you’ll be taken on a teary eyed trip through Mika’s mind and your own, and all the dark corners of both.

If you go into this show with a feeling that no one cares about you and no idea who Mika is, you’ll come out the other side feeling slightly better because now you know there’s a guy named Mika who cares about you. And like Mika’s music, this somehow manages to feel truly authentic. While there have been a million people and a million celebrities who speak and post and tweet encouragement to mental illness sufferers, Mika is easier to believe. I tend to think it’s in his presentation. His message is less of a blithely optimistic (and often annoying) “THINGS WILL GET BETTER” and more of a soft hug from a friend telling you that yes, things will eventually get better but even more importantly that they still love you while things AREN’T better. Mika focuses on the normalcy and okay-ness of sadness and depression, that there’s nothing to be ashamed of in your struggles. He’s got so many of his own (it’s heavily implied that Gregory is not only a fictional character but an anthropomorphization of Mika’s own mental health struggles) that he’s able to talk about mental health from the perspective of someone who’s not only been there but has developed a philosophy that holds optimism and realism in just the right balance to be comforting but not infuriatingly positive. Like a really good therapist, Mika makes you feel better about the future without making you want to punch him.

It’s all written and presented in such a way that it will only really affect you if you too suffer – if you have no struggles, Casa Mika’s discussion of them won’t bring you down. The show remains uplifting and energetic throughout, and if you take it on without needing any particular catharsis it will simply be one of the best and most entertaining things you’ve ever watched. Mika is like human sunlight, an actual joy on your television. But let’s face it: that’s not the case for most of us. Something about the present is just hard for everyone, and most of us are struggling with something. Maybe you, reader, don’t. And that is FANTASTIC! Now go find a TV and watch Casa Mika, because it will only make you happier. But perhaps you DO suffer from something. Many things. Maybe you’re a little sad or a little afraid. Or maybe it’s worse. Maybe you’re reading this in a bed you don’t feel like you have the energy to get out of. If that’s the case, here is my advice. Join mikafanclub.com . It’s free and easy and all they want is an email. Joining will give you access to their thread of English subtitles. As Casa Mika’s broadcast language is Italian, you’ll probably want them. From that thread you can find watch links for all 8 episodes of Stasera Casa Mika. Watch them. Watch them all, in order. They’re about 3 hours each, so it’s a solid 24 hours of television. I recommend a pace of about half an episode a day. There’s a lot going on and there’s so few of them, so it’s best both to give yourself time to absorb each half episode and to stretch them out as long as you can. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry a lot.

To be clear, I’m not claiming or suggesting that 24 hours of Italian television will cure your depression. But it will put you through something. You’ll be made happier and more introspective in turn. And in the end, the very end, the part where I always end up grossly sobbing, you’ll probably be grossly sobbing too. And it’ll feel like crying out emotional toxins. Like a really intense therapy session, emotionally exhausting but purifying. Sometimes the cure we all need is a little bit of snot running down our faces.

Written by Savannah

Find me on Instagram Twitter Mika Fan Club

Useful links:

Mika Fan Club (site with English subtitles for Casa Mika available after free registration)

Stasera Casa Mika on Rai 2 Season 1 Season 2 (watch for free,no registration required, no strings attached)

Casa Mika season 1 trailer

“Won’t You Be My Neighbor” (documentary film about Mister Rogers) trailer if you aren’t familiar with Mister Rogers

[sophiaholmes221b]

Sophia Holmes and the Mysteries in Stone

Chapter Eleven

We edge quietly along the walls of the barn, sticking to the shadows as I still have the feeling of being watched.

"Someone will be in, in a minute," I tell dad in a low voice. "They'll notice we're gone."

"Then we'll have to be quick," he hisses back.

We open the barn door enough to slip through but freeze, startled by the number of people outside. Carriage loads of unconscious people are being brought in by the minute, and each cab is flanked by at least two lanky men.

"Ah," dad remarks, stepping back into the barn and closing the door. "We might have to wait."

I hear something metal drop to the ground a few yards away, but I can't see who caused it.

"Who's there?" I call out, stepping cautiously forward. I expect dad to hold me back, but he looks on curiously, so instead, I arm myself with a rusted nail from the ground and inch forward again. "Show yourself."

A lean figure steps forward, shaking as he holds his hands up. He seems fairly genuine in his fear. "Please don't hurt me, I'm sorry!"

I lower the nail slightly and look him over. He doesn't look much older than fifteen or sixteen. "What's your name?" I ask.

"I'm Conan Doyle, sir, Arthur Conan Doyle. Please - I only came to see to your head. I'm the physician."

I hesitate for a moment before nodding and he creeps forward. He seems too young to be a physician, but then I've been told I'm too young to be a detective. Age doesn't always have to be a limitation. Plus there's the fact an operation of this sort probably wouldn't want to attract attention by hiring a legitimate physician.

"Why were you hiding?" I ask curiously. "Why didn't you stop us from escaping? You had plenty of opportunities."

"To be honest, sir," he says, lifting up my head to check it over. "I never wanted this job. I don't agree with it."

"Good for you." I wince as he touches a sore area.

"Sorry. You have a minor concussion, sir, but nothing to worry about," Doyle concludes, letting go. "You will be fit enough in a few minutes. I can do less about your flesh wounds."

"Thank you," I say, my eyes glancing across the walls of the barn. "Is there any other way out of here?"

"Afraid not," he replies. "Only way is the front door and, well, you saw it for yourself. You'd be mental to try to escape."

I bite my lip, thinking of what we could do. "What would you have done if our injuries had been bad?" I question, and dad latches onto my train of thought immediately.

"Er," he pauses for a moment. "I dunno, take you to the infirmary, I guess."

Dad and I glance at each other. "Arthur, we can get you out of here if you can do the same for us," dad tells him. "You won't have to return."

It takes him a moment to process the request, but then he nods. "But we need to hurry," he says. "We might be able to catch them as they switch shifts."

We nod in agreement and allow him to tie our hands loosely together with the remaining rope before leading us out of the barn.

The sunlight dazzles us as Arthur leads us between the carriage, and I blink rapidly to try and adjust. Not a single eye passes over us - in fact, those who aren't focused on carrying the other prisoners have their heads down, determined, obviously, not to stand out lest the same fate awaits them sometime in the past.

We stop as we reach the fence bordering the edge of the farm, and I double over in pain as my cuts burn. Arthur unties our bonds as I draw myself up, grimacing, and survey and farm to make sure we haven't been seen. But we have.

I let out a gasp and dad spins around, his gaze also fixing automatically on the Weeping Angel that has appeared on the other side of the field, facing, unmistakably, in our direction.

"Arthur," dad mutters quietly, "keep your eyes on the Angel."

"Of course sir," he replies. "I've heard tell of these creatures. Creatures of the devil, so I'm told."

"Not too far from the truth," I answer. "They aren't from this world, at least."

Arthur gulps from beside, his eyes unblinkingly staring at the Angel.

"Can you keep moving?" dad asks me, not taking his eyes off the Angel.

"I'm fine," I lie. "It's nothing; it's just beginning to smart, that's all."

Dad grimaces and I can tell he's unconvinced. But we have no other choice - we can't stay here. "Now, on my mark, we're going to edge backwards and duck under the fence," he proposes, and I nod in agreement.

He gestures with his hand and I begin to walk backwards, my hands feeling out behind for the fence. I reach the fence first and somehow I manage to duck under without breaking eye contact with the Angel, then I help dad and Arthur through.

"The fence isn't going to stop it from getting through," I realise, and think around for a further escape plan. "Arthur, do you have access to any of the carriages?"

The boy shakes his head for a moment, then he seems to remember something. "No, but Farmer Carter only lives a mile away. He has a good set of horses we could borrow."

"Brilliant," dad says. "I hope, Arthur, that you're a fast runner?"

Doyle shrugs. "Decent enough, I suppose sir, why?"

"Because we're going to have to outrun the Angel," I reply. "And I'm fairly sure it's going to be quite quick."

"On the count of three," dad begins, his eyes beginning to water. "One, two, three!"

We turn our backs immediately and begin to run. I hear the crack of wood behind us, and I know it must have already broken through the fence.

I seem to be ahead of the other two as I push myself faster still, but make sure I pace myself. I've reigned champion of the cross-country for three years now and, finally, it's being put into use. I whip my head back for a moment and cry with despair.

"Now there's four of them!" And they're dangerously close behind. "We are not going backwards again!"

I push myself on even faster, ignoring my wounds as they open again. Behind, Arthur lets out a cry of pain as his stitch begins to burn, but we're soon at the farm. We slow to a walk as the farmer and his wife comes out, meaning more eyes on the Angels.

"What the devil do you think you're doing here, boy?" Farmer Carter demands, his face growing red with rage. "Those things are best kept back there and you have no right to bring them here."

"We had no choice, we had to escape," I tell him. "We have a plan to get rid of the Angels once and for all, but we need to get back to London. Could we borrow one of your carriages?"

Carter looks over me and dad critically. "I s'pose you're part of them future kind, are you not?"

I nod quickly. "Yes, and I think I know of a way of getting us back if you can help us."

Dad gives me a sideways glance, and it occurs to me that I haven't told him of The Doctor's plan.

"Don't speak to us about no time travel," Carter grumbles. "Can't be doing with that God-forsaken fantasy. But I'll lend you a cart if that's what you want. The Good Lord knows that it's better in your hands than in the hands of the filth down the road."

"Thank you," dad replies. "We appreciate it."

"So what's it like in the future?" Carter asks gruffly, seeming to ignore his previous statement. "Is Britannia still the greatest Empire in the world?"

"A lot will change," I tell him, truthfully. "You'll see the first changes happen soon. I'm afraid I can't say much more than that." The farmer nods, satisfied as I turn to dad and Arthur. "There's one thing I can think of that would trick the Angels into letting us go, and I don't think you're going to be too happy about it."

They look at me quizzically for a second before I grin and start running again. Dad and Arthur follow behind.

"What are you doing?" Arthur pants, looking back, we can't just keep running!"

"I know," I reply, turning into a field. "Just trust me."

"They're circling us in," dad hisses. "What are you doing?"

"The Doctor said that they work with quantum locking," I explain as we arrange ourselves into a triangle, staring outwards at the Angels surrounding us. "It's probably why they cover their eyes: if they look into the eyes of another Angel, they turn back into stone and won't be able to move."

"So we're leading them into a trap?" Arthur asks.

"Exactly," I smile.

"A trap which we're the bait."

My smile slides. "I suppose. If you want to look at it like that."

"It's the only idea we have," dad says grimly and we blink to allow the Angels closer.

"I really hope you know what you're doing," Arthur says as the Angels get closer and closer until, at last, they are just a meter away, their hands up over their heads, their mouths open and teeth bared.

And their eyes staring at us.

"Duck!" I cry, grimacing as we bend down and hoping beyond hope that my theory will work.

If we're as important as The Doctor makes out, then the Angel won't be able to take us again. I hope. Either that or they'll be able to feed even more on our potential time energy and they can keep sending us back for centuries.

I wait for the inevitable crack. But it doesn't come.

Arthur is the first to risk looking up and he lets out a cry of exclamation. I follow his gaze and smile. Their eyes are still looking at where our heads were. When we ducked, nothing was blocking their line of vision. Nothing except the other Angels.

"You did it!" Arthur says.

"Stay close to the ground and edge yourselves around the Angels," dad instructs. "If you stand up in this circle, we'll be as good as dead."

We do as he says and squeeze past the Angels, only standing up once we've got behind them. I look back at them and shake my head in disbelief. That was unbelievably close.

It only takes us a few minutes to walk back to the farm, and as we arrive I notice a good, fresh workhorse harnessed up to a lightweight cart.

The farmer's wife approaches from inside carrying a small hamper, along with a clean shirt, some water and some bandages.

"May God look after your souls," she says, pushing the bundle into my hands.

"Thank you," I say sincerely, before stepping into the back of the cart. "Arthur, can you drive this thing?"

"I'll do it," dad says swiftly, stepping up into the front.

I watch him climb up, slightly startled. I didn't know he'd had much to do with horses before - let alone know how to drive a cart. I thought he'd always lived in the city. I don't know much about his life before me, to be honest.

"So, you and him," Arthur says, jerking his head upwards at dad as we ride out of the farm, "are you brothers?"

I smile slightly. "No! Not at all."

"You two seem strange, 'tis all. You more than him. You seem..." he stops, looking down at his feet.

"What?" I encourage.

"My deepest apologies if I'm wrong, sir, but you seem a bit of a Molly."

I frown. "What's a Molly?"

Arthur reddens. "A jack-the-lass?" he tries again, but I give him another blank look. He clears his throat and looks away. "You seem a bit feminine, is what I mean."

I let out a soft laugh. "I am, Arthur." I laugh harder as he looks up, startled. "I'm a girl."

"What's your name?" Arthur questions, suddenly realising he hadn't asked before.

"Sophia, Sophia Holmes. My dad is Sherlock." Doyle nods as he processes that.

"So women in your time have their hair short, and wear, well, men's clothes?" I nod.

"As I said to Farmer Carter: 'a lot will change'."

"But you can't say any more than that?"

"Arthur, where are we?" dad calls down.

"Stubbins Hall lane, sir," Arthur calls up. "Comes of from the Hollyfield track."

"Right," dad answers and urges the horse onto a quick trot.

"It takes about an hour to get into London again," Arthur murmurs to me. "Of course you two would have been unconscious for that trip. Will we still be using a cart and horse where you come from? I can't wait to see ..."

"Arthur," I interrupt.

"... It'll be amazing and ..."

"Arthur!" I repeat, louder and Doyle looks up. "You can't come with us." The boy looks crestfallen and begins to protest. "You belong here," I say, interrupting again. "You don't belong in our London. God knows what could happen."

"But I thought ..."

"No," I say, firmer than before, and he doesn't bother to reply.