#as well as being well set up and delivered

[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~Unexpected Encounters~}

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Word Count: 1521

Tag List: @snowtargaryen

Chapter 5 ---

The days following your tense encounter with Rhaenyra passed with agonizing slowness. You worked diligently, keeping to your tasks, always mindful of the eyes that followed you through the halls. Daemon’s scrutiny had intensified, though he still hadn’t confronted you directly. His gaze was like a shadow—constant, unnerving.

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, had become more aloof. You had noticed her lingering looks, her growing hesitance in conversation. It was clear she was piecing things together, but how much did she truly know? The tension between you and the princess was palpable, hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

But it wasn’t just Rhaenyra who weighed on your mind.

Daemon was always watching, always lurking. You could feel it—his presence, his curiosity—and it unnerved you more than anything else. Though your interactions had been brief and polite, his growing suspicion was impossible to ignore.

Still, the warnings had to continue. You couldn’t stop now. You had already set events into motion, and there was no turning back. The next warning would be the most dangerous yet, and you knew it had to be delivered soon.

It was late afternoon when you found yourself in one of the less frequented wings of the Keep. The hallways were quiet, the only sound your soft footsteps on the cold stone floors. You were on your way to check on supplies, something you had become well-versed in since assuming your fabricated role as a midwife. It was a simple task, one that allowed you the time to plan your next move.

As you turned a corner, you came face to face with Rhaenyra.

You froze, startled by the sudden encounter. Rhaenyra looked equally surprised but quickly composed herself, her expression unreadable.

“Y/N,” she greeted, her voice calm, though there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place.

You bowed your head slightly in response, trying to steady your racing heart. “Princess.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words. You could see the questions in her eyes, the subtle curiosity, the cautious distance she had begun to keep.

“How do you find your work here in the Keep?” she asked, her tone conversational, but you sensed there was more behind her words.

“It has been fulfilling, my princess,” you replied carefully. “I am grateful for the opportunity to serve.”

Rhaenyra’s gaze lingered on you, as if weighing your words. She took a small step closer, her presence commanding despite the calmness of the exchange.

“There are many in this court who believe they know what’s best for the realm,” she said softly, her eyes never leaving yours. “But few are as prepared as they think.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was she testing you again? Did she suspect that you were the one leaving the notes?

“I hope that those in power will continue to act with wisdom,” you replied, keeping your voice steady despite the anxiety creeping up your spine.

Rhaenyra’s lips twitched into a faint smile, but it was fleeting. Her gaze sharpened, and for a brief moment, you wondered if she was about to confront you then and there. But instead, she merely nodded.

“Wisdom is a rare gift,” she said, her voice softer now, almost contemplative. “I hope you are as wise as you seem.”

With that, she turned and continued down the corridor, leaving you standing there with your heart hammering in your chest. The encounter had been brief, but the weight of it lingered long after Rhaenyra had disappeared from view.

She knew something. But how much?

That night, you couldn’t shake the memory of your conversation with Rhaenyra. You had been careful, but it was clear that she was starting to grow suspicious. The danger was becoming more tangible with each passing day.

And then there was Daemon.

The man was an enigma, his unpredictability making him all the more dangerous. You had avoided him as best you could, but you knew it was only a matter of time before your paths crossed again. And when they did, you had to be prepared.

The encounter came sooner than expected.

You had just finished tending to a patient—a young woman recovering from childbirth—and were making your way back to your chambers when you spotted Daemon standing at the end of the hallway. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable as he watched you approach.

Your heart skipped a beat. There was no avoiding him now.

“Lord Daemon,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice steady as you bowed your head in respect.

Daemon didn’t move from his position, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always seemed to carry an air of danger.

“You’ve been busy,” he remarked, his tone casual, but there was an edge to it that set you on high alert.

“I do what is asked of me,” you replied, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

Daemon pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. His presence was overwhelming, filling the narrow hallway with a sense of menace that made your pulse quicken.

“And what exactly is it that you’ve been asked to do?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Your heart raced, but you kept your expression neutral. “I am here to tend to the needs of the people, as always.”

Daemon chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in the sound. “Tending to the needs of the people,” he repeated, his eyes narrowing slightly. “An admirable role.”

He took another step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “But you’ve always struck me as someone who… knows more than they let on.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Was this it? Had Daemon figured out your role in the warnings?

“I am but a humble servant, my lord,” you replied, keeping your tone calm despite the panic rising in your chest.

Daemon studied you for a long moment, his smirk never faltering. Then, without warning, he leaned in close, his voice a low whisper.

“Secrets don’t stay hidden forever, Y/N.”

Before you could respond, Daemon straightened and walked past you, his smirk still in place as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving you standing there with a sinking feeling in your stomach.

The encounters with both Rhaenyra and Daemon had left you on edge. You had managed to avoid suspicion for the most part, but it was clear that both of them were beginning to question your role. The tension was becoming unbearable, and you knew it was only a matter of time before something—or someone—gave.

But the most dangerous part of your mission was still ahead. The next note, the one you were planning to deliver in secret, held information that could change everything. You had to be more careful than ever, especially with Daemon’s growing curiosity and Rhaenyra’s watchful eyes.

And then, just as you were beginning to plan your next move, the unexpected happened.It was late one evening when you found yourself in the corridors of the Keep once more, a new warning written and ready to be delivered. You had chosen a time when the halls were quiet, hoping to slip unnoticed into the shadows.

But as you approached the alcove where you usually left the notes, you froze.

Rhaenyra and Daemon were there—together.

They stood in the dim light of the corridor, their voices low, but the tension between them was palpable. You could hear the tail end of their conversation, something about strategy and alliances, but the words barely registered as your heart raced.

This was not part of the plan.

You quickly turned to leave, hoping to retreat before they noticed you, but it was too late.

“Y/N!” Rhaenyra’s voice called out, stopping you in your tracks.

You slowly turned, your heart pounding in your chest as both Rhaenyra and Daemon fixed their gazes on you. There was no escaping this.

“Out for a walk at this hour?” Rhaenyra asked, her tone curious but sharp. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied your face.

Daemon, on the other hand, remained silent, his expression unreadable as he watched you with that same unnerving intensity.

You forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “I was merely… clearing my head, princess.”

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Daemon, and for a moment, you could feel the weight of their suspicion pressing down on you. They didn’t trust you. Not fully. Not yet.

But you had to play your part.

“I did not mean to intrude,” you said quickly, taking a step back. “I will leave you to your discussion.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before she finally nodded, though there was something unreadable in her gaze. “Of course.”

You bowed your head and quickly retreated, your heart still racing as you disappeared into the shadows of the Keep. You had avoided confrontation this time, but the tension was growing. And soon, something would have to give.

[the-thing-withfeathers]

splish splash

a/n: i love you so bad cheerleader madison

pairing: cheerleader!madison beer x jock!reader

warnings: sooo much smut, public sex, fingering, oral (mads!receiving), cursing

summary: pool fun with cheerleader!madison

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

“baby! pleaaaase! c’mon, it’ll be fun.” your girlfriend whined at you while tugging your hand to get you out of bed.

it was summer and the heat was crawling into everyone’s homes. you and madison were watching a movie on her bed when she got the sudden urge to cool off. it was late, the sun was down and it was too late to be doing this.

“where would we even go?” you asked her. the lakes in town were dangerous at this hour.

“well… the only pool in town.” she smirked.

“baby, you can’t be serious.” you warned.

“i’m dead serious.”

“we can’t”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

you couldn’t. but you did anyway.

you and madison pulled into a park behind the school, closer to the edge of the woods to avoid being seen by anyone.

she was in your letterman jacket, a bikini hiding under it. you were just in your t-shirt and jeans, your own swimmers covered by them. madison conveniently had a set for you too.

the two of you held hands as you ran across the field, reaching the back door of the school that led directly into the pool. you gave the knob a twist and shook your head at madison.

“it’s locked.” you whispered.

“okay…” madison stepped in front of you, kneeling in front of the lock. you would be lying if you said your eyes didn’t trail down her body. her toned legs holding her weight up while her lower half peeked out from under your jacket. “stop staring.” she mumbled, feeling your eyes on her.

“sorry.” your eyes snapped up. “what’re you doing?” she pulled out two bobby pins out of her hair, inserting them into the lock and twisting. after a couple of seconds, she pulled them out, unlocking the door.

“the fuck, mads?” you whisper-yelled. “where did you learn that?”

“youtube.”

•*¨*•.¸¸♪

when you both reached the pool. she stripped off your jacket, dropping it on a bench. you took your clothes off and left them by the floor.

“it looks freezing.” she muttered. you looked at the water, feeling yourself shiver.

madison was already standing at the edge of the pool. you smiled to yourself seeing the reflection of the water graze her skin.

“you look so pretty, baby.” you approached her, wrapping your arms around her waist.

“mmhm, maybe you can take a picture.” she joked at you. you pressed soft kisses to her shoulder, she sighed softly as a response.

“or i could just do this.” your hands pulled away from her waist and pushed flat against her back, shoving her into the water. she yelped, falling straight into the water, trying to grab onto you for a split second but failing.

you laughed as she resurfaced, the anger on her face registering as adorable to you. you stepped back, giving yourself a running start before cannonballing into the pool.

you resurfaced and she delivered a smack to her shoulder, pouting.

“you play too much.” she huffed.

“c’mon baby, you love me for it.” you inched closer and wrapped your arms around her.

she immediately softened at your touch, your warmth keeping her sane in the freezing water.

she planted her hands on your shoulders, her legs wrapping around your waist. you walked around the shallow end of the pool.

“i like having moments like these with you.” she said, her head resting on your chest. you kissed her forehead.

“me too. sometimes i wish the world would just quiet down and it could be us for a little bit.” you agreed. you and madison were constantly in the public eye at school. you were a jock set for multiple scholarships and she was a cheerleader destined for greatness no matter where she went.

you both were magnificent.

“i’m excited for summer break. only a couple more months.” she tangled her fingers in the hairs on the back of your neck, her acrylics grazing your skin.

“what do you wanna do over the break?” you asked her, your hands on the back of her thighs, holding her up.

“dunno. maybe we could take a trip somewhere? my family isn’t doing anything.” she bit her lip softly, you loved when she did that.

your heat radiating off each other was enough to get you both going. you noticed she was staring at your body, your arms in particular. she loved how strong you were. and you loved how her body practically fit yours.

“neither is mine. we can definitely do a road trip. anywhere in particular?”

she raised her head and made your noses touch. you started walking towards the edge of the pool, pinning her against the tie.

“i’ll go wherever you go.”

that was enough for you to close the tension-filled gap between the two of you. you crashed your lips onto hers and she couldn’t help but let out a moan, sending vibrations down your throat.

her fingers tangled into your hair, properly this time. you slipped your tongue into her mouth, exploring her while she let you. you started to feel her hips rock against your abdomen, the water making soft noises along with her movements.

“you love the idea of getting caught, don’t you?” you asked her, pulling away and kissing her neck. water droplets were dripping down from her jaw to her chest. you followed them with your eyes and studied her body. you started sucking on her pulse point, coaxing a gasp out of her. she pulled you closer and nodded.

“i just love everyone knowing how good you do me.” she whined out when you bit down on the skin of her neck. she didn’t mind you marking her, in fact, she encouraged it.

whine you made work of her neck, your hand made its way to the back of her head, pulling at the string of her bikini top. it fell off her chest, revealing her nipples that were already hard. you pulled the string that wrapped it around her back too, taking it completely off.

you moved your hand towards her center, pulling her bikini bottoms aside and dragging your finger along her slit. her nails dug into your shoulder at the friction.

sure, you were underwater but her arousal had its own consistency, a thickness to it. you could tell she was practically leaking.

“did you plan this all along then?” you teased, your finger prodding her hole and your palm brushing against her clit.

“maybe.” she had her eyes shut, trying to move her hips against you.

“little slut. you just love when i fuck you anywhere, huh?” you said, “doesn’t matter where, you’ll take what i give you.”

“i want you to fuck me anywhere and everywhere, baby.” she said in an effort to get you to do something, anything.

without warning, you inserted a finger into her. her eyes shot open, her body doubling over and slumping against you.

“already fucked out? i haven’t even started.” you mocked her. her arousal built quickly. she loved being out in public, the idea of being caught by someone turned her on.

you pumped your finger in and out of her, your mouth attaching itself to her nipple. your tongue swirled around it, easing her need for you in her upper half. her back arched when you bit down softly, her hands pulling you even closer.

“fuck me…” she moaned, her eyes fluttering into the back of her head. “fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” she whined out the harder you pumped your finger, your palm colliding with her swollen and untouched clit.

you moved onto the other nipple, taking it in between your lips. your right hand joined you left, playing with her clit and rubbing quick circles around it.

she was getting closer and closer with each movement you made. you were completely synchronised with yourself, making her feel good in every spot you could.

you added another finger to spur her on even more, her walls slowly starting to clench around your digits.

“oh fuck!” she cried out, her hips basically bouncing on your fingers. she wanted you in deeper, she used her legs around your waist to grind down on you.

“yeah, you fucking love when i take you, huh? you love when i fuck you with my fingers.” you bit down on her nipple again.

the water was splashing in between you, spraying droplets on your face and across madison’s chest.

“i’m so fucking close.” she whispered into your ear, her hand pulling your hair. the pain made you groan on her nipple.

“i’m… i’m gonna fucking cum!” she yelled out, her head thrown back against the tile.

“that’s it, baby. cum like the needy little slut you are.” you grunted against her, your words coming out raspy.

“gonna… gonna cum!” she warned you a last time before unravelling on your fingers, reaching her peak and letting out a chopped up squeal. her legs shook and tightened against your waist, her chest rising and falling.

“fuck, that’s the hardest i’ve ever cum.” she laughed, you joined her with a chuckle.

you lifted her up onto the edge of the pool, your strength kicking in after all you did. you positioned your head between her thighs.

“what’re you doing??” she asked, eyebrows furrowing as she was still trying to recover from the mindblowing orgasm you gave her.

“need to clean you up.” you said, hooking your pointer finger into the crotch of her bikini bottom, pulling it to the side again.

“oh—“ she didn’t get the chance to say much before your tongue licked upwards on her soaking cunt. you tasted chlorine but you also tasted madison. “fuck.” she whimpered, her body giving out. she was forced to lay down on the cold floor.

you had your hands on her thighs, they were resting on both sides of your head. your lips wrapped around her pussy, you lapped at her release and your eyes rolled back into your head upon tasting her.

your tongue licked at her hole, trying to gather every last drop that she had to offer.

it wasn’t long before her acrylics were digging into your scalp and her legs were starting to shake again.

you were like a woman starved, wanting to taste her as much as you could.

“mmph. too much! gonna cum!” her back arched as her second wave of release washed over her, her thighs suffocating you as they squeezed shut.

her hips bucked upwards and grinded against your face. that sent a jolt through her body as her back unarched.

you weren’t done, you wanted everything of that release too. you lapped at it before pulling away, feeling her fingers push at your forehead from being too overstimulated.

you planted your hands on the edge of the pool, pushing yourself up and situating yourself on top of madison. you shook your head, wildly, like a dog, splashing her with all the water that was still on you.

she squealed and tried to cover herself but couldn’t hold back a laugh. she loved when you fooled around after intimate moments like these.

“you sneaky little sex demon.” you teased her, her hands found their way to your cheek and jaw. she pulled you in for a soft kiss.

“what can i say? seeing you like this turns me on.” she defended herself, kissing your cheek.

“we better get out of here before—“

“hey! who’s there?!” you heard someone call out and you and madison immediately stood up. running to grab your clothes and sprinting out the back door.

come monday morning, you two giggled at what you heard the principal announce over the loudspeaker.

a certain discarded bikini top was found floating in the school’s swimming pool.

[letters-unsending]

No. 53

////

Villain is either very good or very bad manipulator. Accidental seeking of comfort.

////

Villain pinches the thin neck of his wine glass as he peers over Hero's shoulder.

"I was quite fond of that set," he mused, surveying the wreckage between Hero's palm.

Bits of fine China and glass gleam, their sharp edges catching the chandelier light. Hero holds the last intact piece of glassware, a teacup, with spasming fingers. His wrist jerks and amber beads of tea join the runnels of sweat slipping down Hero's palm.

"You said you wouldn't give me anything that mattered," Hero grits out.

"I lied," Villain reaches, curling his hand over Hero's damp shoulder, "more pressure would have ruined our little lesson and I promised you that we'd start out easy."

The teacup shatters. Fragments fly like spittle and speck the embroidered tablecloth.

Hero palms the table and breathes a shuddering breath, staring as the tea soaks into the fabric, deep orange overtaking paisley print like a bloom of fire. Villain's fingertips hang over his clavicle. Every ragged gasp reminds Hero of Villain's palm perched upon his shoulder, pressing down.

"I can't do this." Hero exclaims, jolting upward. The tile beneath his toes cracks as he wrenches himself free, away from the table and the feast of broken porcelain spread upon it.

Villain's fingers hang in the air before curling around the back of Hero's deserted seat. He turns his head toward Hero, who stands with shoulders hunched and hands fisted at his sides. The sound of his heaving rips through the room before drowning in the thick curtains and glimmering finery fixed upon the walls.

"Why, we've just begun, [Hero]," Villain croons, "and you've been doing splendidly.”

“I never wanted power. I wasn't supposed to have this power.” The gold decor gleams in Hero’s peripherals as he staggers back. “I'm so tired of being careful.”

“Then be careless. Be brutal.” Villain sets down his wine and glides over the crack in the tile. He settles in front of Hero and grabs his tense shoulders, manicured nails biting into muscle, backed for the first time by a measure of superhuman force. “I won't stop you.”

Beneath Villain’s touch, Hero startles, head snapping up. His grip warms his shoulder with pain. The ache rolls down his spine, a nostalgic twinge.

“Did you even want to help me,” Hero asks, settling into Villain’s hold, leaning, “or was this just a ruse?”

Villain almost releases him. His fingers spasm across Hero’s shoulder blade before steadying, singing that constant stripe of pressure into his skin–a force that would've felled any other man.

“Of course, I wanted to help. Your predicament is so similar to my own,” he assures, “it's only natural to sympathize, but control is not your issue. Since gaining your power, your every waking moment has been a practice in control.”

“I have broken everything you’ve given to me,” Hero reaches out and grabs Villain's forearms, applying a reciprocal, biting pressure overtop his satin sleeves, “how could that possibly reflect control?”

As soon as Hero’s palms press in, Villain’s knee jilts forward before steadying again. He takes a long breath under the guise of delivering his next words with trepidation.

“When I first inherited my power, I was like you. I was careful, so very careful, [Hero].” Villain pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth as Hero’s hands slid further down, cupping his elbows. “But the more you care, the more you exhaust yourself. Every delicate thing becomes a burden you must bear simply because of who–what–we are and there comes a point where even the most well-meaning person can not maintain such constant vigilance.”

“I have no other choice. I can't stop caring.” Hero squeezes down, thumb digging against Villain’s bicep. “I'm a Hero now. What if I hurt someone?”

“You can still care when you need to, but you must allow yourself to relax. Indulge in your strength,” Villain glances toward the glittering sea of glass shards, “do not fear it.”

“Okay,” Hero whispered, dropping his hands, “I think I understand.”

Villain slowly withdrew his grasp from Hero’s shoulders, his elbows still pulsing with the press of Hero’s grip, hanging onto the sensation like a physical afterimage.

<><><>

“Go ahead.” Villain breaks the silence as they hover in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“If you desire it, I understand,” Villain swallows down an anticipatory breath, “you shouldn't have to fear the act of comfort.”

Hero approaches, placing a tentative hand over Villain’s wrist, increasing pressure in increments, testing the strength of the bones beneath. It's a fickle weight compared to before, to those angry fingers digging into his arms. Lightly, Villain breathes through his nose.

“You were so bold before. You didn't hurt me,” Villain keeps his voice instructive, almost monotone, “you need not be concerned now.”

“I'm not concerned,” Hero retorts, sliding his hand up to Villain’s shoulder, “I'm just adjusting.”

Villain closes his eyes, his heartbeat thumping beneath Hero’s palm. He channels his buzzing impatience into impeccable stillness and wishes he'd finished the wine he'd left on his dining table.

And finally, finally Hero pulls him in, hands connecting over his spine.

It's still too light. Hero stalls against him, his shoulders a tense plane.

“Reserve your care for the people who need it.” Villain reaches around, placing a hand over Hero’s back. He feels him breathe against his fingers.

Then there's pressure, sweet pressure around Villain’s ribs, stealing his breath. For a moment, Villain wishes he could bruise, wishes he could prolong this sensation and paint it purple across his skin. He chokes out a cramped breath as Hero’s head turns against his neck.

Immediately, Hero lets up. Villain’s hand keeps him from lurching away.

“No, no, you did not hurt me,” he leads him back in, “I am alright."

Wariness draws Hero’s back into a taut line and Villain sighs, dropping his head against his shoulder.

“It's been a while, hasn't it?”

“I hurt the last person I touched. Broke [Other Hero]’s hand. It was so easy,” he lamented, “I hardly even noticed it happening until it was too late. Forgive me if I'm a bit nervous.”

This time, Villain pulls Hero back and squeezes, pressing his nose against the collar of Hero’s sweater. He runs a hand down his spine, marveling at how nothing breaks, at how Hero unspools and leans into him.

“I'm sorry. I know how hard this can be,” Villain murmurs, though some part of him feels like an open wound in the wind, bleeding and overexposed.

The pressure came again and Villain remembered to breathe as Hero held him. These arms and hands would one day grow stronger. One day, they would bruise Villain, and Villain would be capable of breaking, but by then, Villain would have Hero’s mercy.

He would remember Villain as a guiding hand and source of sympathy.

Villain hoped that was enough.

[tragedy-of-commons]

Heyo Gwen!! Congrats on 200 followers once more!!!!!

If you don't mind, allow me to drop in a request too hehe, no pressure of course!

"Wanna make a bet?" + Kamisato Ayato

I'm excited to see what you write for the event (>u<)!!!

– sincerely,

Maple

"Wanna make a bet?"

Ayato's lips curl at the question. Why not bite?

"Such a trap you're laying out for me," he tilts his head, sun reflecting off his pastel blue tufts, right directly into your corneas. You squint, grimacing at his sly expression. "Please, inform me of the stakes."

The Yashiro Commissioner knows which cards to play and when to play them to ensure victory, but he also knows better than to count his chickens before they hatch. You're clever and get your way more than he intends - which is precisely why he's letting you hold his hand in the privacy of the Estate's gardens.

You compliment one another perfectly. It seems like such a childish sentiment to any onlookers (those who dare to look), but even they can't deny this wonderful synergy that you two share, really two halves of a whole--

"I bet you a kiss that you can't remember our first date."

Sometimes, you can be cheekier than him.

"The art of subtlety is lost on you," Ayato tuts, already resigned. "Setting me up to fail like this... one would think you're a sadist."

It's almost comical to utter the words whispered about him by all sorts of political figures to your unassuming character. Even so, he probably won't be winning this bet. Robbed blind of another kiss - how tragic.

Kamisato Ayato is used to this being the way things go, usually nestled between sparring (where he's only lost to you twice), and hushed nights of mulling over poetry (where he still constantly watches the clock). If this routine is at all like the others that came before it, you're about to start gloating about your checkmate.

"I'm not hearing an answer," you singsong, admiring the various flora and painstakingly spoiled greenery.

He sighs, squeezing your hand. "I'd have to give you my best guess."

His memory isn't all what it used to be. Too many precious moments have been lost to the tumultuous sea of work and his constantly occupied mind; it's hard enough to keep it sharp, and even harder to fall into your arms after a long day, given the fact that there's still a lingering worry you may try to assassinate him in his sleep.

Your impish nature softens, grin shrinking into a sweet smile.

"That's all I want from you, Ayato."

Ah. Nevermind.

Before he answers incorrectly, he brings your knuckles up to his lips and kisses each one reverently, maintaining breathless eye contact. He's inclined to savor this while it lasts, after all.

"It had to have been when I first saw you. Mentally, I was already preparing to deal with the eventual public backlash of our marriage," he delivers, smirking against your skin--

You wrench your hand back to presumably elbow him, but Ayato is prepared, capturing your wrist with a gentle flair.

"I am ready for my kiss, as per your terms."

You heave a world-weary sigh, and Ayato has won.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: MAPLE 💗 thank you for your well-wishes n support thus far! you're so silly and fun, hope u like what i did with ayato. i know it's short, but ehhhhhhh i think i did an okay job at characterizing him.

event post here

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 12

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Heading into chapter 12!

It's been an absolute day at work, but I got to do a lovely walk with a friend afterwards AND Charlie decided to grace us with his presence (very briefly for head pats).

Tea today is peppermint! Dinner break midway through this little chapter was congee and I was very pleased with it- photo further down lol.

Let's get into it!

OMG I knew that the Dew Lake snake man would be back! I did not think they'd be here as a "handsome young man" though. I fear that Shen Qingqiu is absolutely fucked LOL. p265

oof. and now I feel like we are entering the territory for daddy issues. We have Luo Binghe's father's right hand man introduced pp266-267

Well. at least if he is likely going to suffer, the plot holes will be filled. thank you system for the points. p267

wait. Could Zhuzhi-lang be an ally? or will this guy brutally die later? (do not actually tell me this, I'm just planting my speculations). my thoughts are he could be an ally because SQQ DID save him and give him an unexpected boon by mushroom bod. but also, if Luo Binghe see's SQQ being close to another demon that man will surely murder the other demon. p268

WHY SO MANY SNAKES??? I hate that so much! p270

All I'm seeing from SQQ is kink shaming. This guy has got to stop yucking other's yums. First with the necrophilia now he's anti demons fucking snakes. it's the panicked "way too fucking hardcore" for me p271

SQQ: can you handle the snakes pls? Zhuzhi-Lang: nah they like you. p272

okay, but why is he asking for women? is it to do with the snakes? or is it because he is having a sexual crisis and needs to reassure himself?? p273

they're really going to this brothel? p274

LOL even the brothel ladies sing (very uncomfortable but I guess they enjoy it) love songs about Luo Binghe and SQQ's tragic love story p276

AHAHAHAHA SQQ's "summary" of their story on page 277 has me absolutely dying XD

Ah! that's why the women and the brothel -> the wine! p278

Cultivation wise I do really love that SQQ can just pick up any fan and start cultivating. that is honestly the coolest part of his cultivation. I love it so much. p279

LOL he really just made the snake pass out, rented a sword (idfk WHEN but he did) and dipped from the entire situation. p281

SQQ: this is a later problem, byyyyeeeeeeee.

I stated I would have congee pic earlier and here is me delivering on that. It's pork congee with eggs, tofu, pork, green onions and an ungodly amount of chili crisp.

I'm slowly turning this chapter-by-chapter read into a stay at home mom's recipe blog. I am not sorry.

That's a wrap for chapter 12!

Okay so thankfully nothing terribly tragic happened this chapter. It does feel like a big set up though so I am a little nervous about that.

AND. He still has all of this demon blood in him so he really is fucked. He may have escaped for the moment but I see all of the demons coming back for him.

We'll see what happens next chapter!

[dongslinger--420]

Ok but. The scene in s2e09 "The Shot" fucking breaks me and here's why. BoJack sees Kelsey as a merge between his parents and Herb, what with her being older than him and jaded but also she's a boss figure. And for this reason, BoJack spends a lot of time (shown most in "Chickens" but also a lot of the season tbh) trying to win her approval because she's not giving it to him willingly. He keeps going about it in the wrong way, as we see in Chickens when he is trying to turn her actual literal daughter being in danger into a fun day out, but I think the biggest issue with this is actually that he doesn't really have anything to prove. Kelsey purposefully sought him out for the job because she genuinely believed him to be the best actor there, and although she shows frustration at him not being able to do his job properly, she does still keep this image of him in mind. Which is why the thing that actually does lead him to win her approval is him delivering a genuinely good performance, and said approval just comes in a simple recognition of his skill. BoJack has been in desperate of simple appreciation from his parents (reflected in stuff like the "I see you" theme from Free Churro) and he has been missing the attention and extremely intimate love of his performance that Herb gave him while he was directing him, and Kelsey's "no, I knew" quote manages, in three words, to deliver both to him perfectly. And THAT'S what breaks him. Between the sheer emotional connection he feels towards this woman, and the lack of this connection that he received from the people he wanted it from the most, it just becomes too much for him, and THAT'S what leads him to start crying. It is one of the most layered, emotionally intimate moments of the entire show, and it breaks me every time I watch it.

[dykedvonte]

If Ulysses has a million haters, then I'm one of them. If Ulysses has one hater, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ulysses has no haters, that means I'm dead. If the world is with Ulysses than I’m against the world.

[starlene]

starting to feel really complicated about the upcoming Finnish production of Moulin Rouge!

[yeonban]

Honestly tragic that Light went down the path he did in the 2nd half bc in the beginning Tobias would've really liked him. He wholeheartedly agrees that the only way to bring REAL "justice" is by making sure the perpetrator will never be able to do evil again, which will never be achievable through lawful means like incarceration (especially in cases where they're connected to a bigshot who can bail them out) so the only way to truly get rid of evil is, like Light figured, through kiIIing them all

[dutybcrne]

A secret little way into Kaeya's heart happens to be valberries. He loves them greatly, and if someone were to make it a habit to leave him little bundles of fresh-picked valberries to snack on, guaranteed he would end up adoring them.

[nohkalikai]

do u not hate it when ppl can clearly tell that ur struggling and try to prod u open in attempts to be helpful and when u slowly open up, every step of the way u are looked at like ur a sort of strange stray animal

[kanene-yaaay-o-retorno]

bleh

[alpha-dash1998]

A Breath of Fresh Air: My Experience with the Breezy+ Air Purifier

[tossawary]

One of my personal nitpicks for historical fantasy is a lack of servants, staff, subordinates, and... idk... subjects? Like, their absence is not... a total dealbreaker for me, depending on the situations the characters are in and whether or not I can just assume that other people are there in the background... but so many of the protagonists in historical fantasy stuff are higher-ranking (very often royalty), and/or have busy jobs, and/or have enormous houses that would necessitate having at least part-time staff.

Like, girl, you should have a maid! WHERE is your chaperone?! WHO is driving this carriage?! Where are your footmen? Are you trying to imply that a WEALTHY DUCHESS is taking a CAB?! You know that you probably have tenants, right? Where is your steward?! Where is your lawyer? Your accountant?! (Like, yeah, you're not going to have your lawyer living in your house, but you HAVE one, right???)

Or, man, you're supposed to be a military commander and you don't even have a single secretary?! Where is your SQUIRE?! (In the spirit of historical fiction, I am jumping wildly across time periods with every sentence here.) Man, I know you aren't looking after your own boots. Where are your GUARDS?! Who set up this tent for you?! Who is looking after your horse?! Who is making and carrying the incredibly valuable maps people are recklessly stabbing daggers into?!

SOMEONE has to be scrubbing these floors and delivering the mail and cooking the meals and doing laundry, and they're probably all DIFFERENT people! My dentist has at least three different receptionists and we can't even get ONE for our court wizard here? A sorcerer's apprentice to take notes? Someone like Sherlock Holmes could get away with just having a housekeeper and taking taxis, sure, but your character is supposed to be a KING?! Why is he answering his own front door? He's going to get assassinated. His SERVANTS should have SERVANTS.

Like, yes, I understand that a lot of servants in certain places at certain times were supposed to make their labor invisible, but there have always been servants who still had to interact directly with the masters of the house?! Yeah, there are potentially really messy ethics here, class divisions are bullshit, but I don't think that completely ignoring the reality that humans have ALWAYS been doing work for other humans is better than just including some well-paid and well-treated servants and employees? Because a complete absence of them, especially where logically for the worldbuilding there MUST be servants (and probably exploited servants, or worse, for some particular worldbuilds to work), often makes me think that your main characters just don't care enough to notice the "lower class" people or know their names.

Also, even Frodo Baggins had a gardener and Samwise Gamgee might be the best damn character in the story?! Sam saved the world?! Servants are PEOPLE. Servants are often the funniest and most interesting characters, tbh, with the most to say about a society and its workings (yes, Discworld is a very good book series, highly recommend), and also the joke of some romantic scene being carefully orchestrated by a stage crew of servants frantically diving into bushes to stay out of sight never gets old to me. Teamwork makes the dream work!

I don't want to gatekeep historical fiction, especially not historical fantasy, because the worlds don't necessarily have to conform to our own and may have magic and characters are often in very unique circumstances, but... sometimes I pick up a story and it's like... "Author, please tell me that you know there is a difference between a butler and a valet?!"

[ambros1an]

sunday x reader - halovian courtship

warning: no spoilers, gn! reader, pining/soft sunday, Sunday info dumping as usual

summary: where Sunday will do everything except confess, and you just think he’s emotionally stunted.

a/n: i read about birds for this

halovian courting rituals

1. Gift giving. Like their close bird companions, Halovians participate in 'nuptial gifts,' a form of gift giving to a potential partner.

You were walking into the Oak Family Headquarters, Dewlight Pavilion, sent to deliver some letters. Although, you’ve been here before, it was still a bit nerve wracking to be in such a place, undetached from your usual position as a lower end employee.

The entrance to Oak Family Head’s office was right in front of you. You bite your lip, shifting the documents to your other arm and knock.

“Nightingale Famil-“

The door swings open. The family head holding the door stands to the side.

“Ah,” Sunday says your name, “it’s you.”

Your eyes widen, blinking a couple times. He remembers me?

“Yes, it’s nice to see you again Mr. Sunday. I’ve come with documents from the Nightingale family detailing a new plan for the dreamscape.”

He looks a bit disappointed?

He chuckles, then calls out to a lone employee, “you’re dismissed for today, I’ll take care of the rest.”

The Oak employee dips his head and leaves. Watching him leave fills a pit in your stomach.

“Mr. Sunday, is something wrong?”

Sunday sits up suddenly, “Oh, no. Not at all.” It’s that movement that makes you realize that he’s been fidgeting with something in his lap…Is he always like this?

“I guess I was just a bit surprised,” he smiles, looking down to the side. You caught him.

“Surprised? To see me?” Although Sunday and you have met a few times. It was always business, just like now—well maybe he did stare a bit intently at you before, but something really was different this time!

He looks up and sheepishly slides a box across the table. “Take it as…being a good part of The Family.”

For a few moments, your eyes set upon him. What is he planning? It’s a small box. Almost nothing could fit in there. You lift the top up.

You gasp. Earrings worth more than your entire life’s salary. You slam it shut.

“M-Mr. Sunday. This really isn’t necessary. I just—“ you ramble on. Sunday places his gloved hand on yours.

“Please, take it.”

Looking into his eyes, you realize that putting up a fight with the Oak Head won’t get you anywhere. You reluctantly take the box.

2. Preening. Similar to nature, touching a Halovian's wings is an intimate gesture to show one's interest in a romantic partner. Someone should never touch a Halovian's wings without asking!

Soon after, you come across Sunday again. This time at the Nightingale Family’s institution. You were putting away blueprints, plans and documents your coworkers left laying around haphazardly. When a familiar voice calls out to you.

“Good evening. Working hard, I see.”

“Mr. Sunday?”

He approached you, then looked around the room. He seemed to realize the situation you were in and scorned your coworkers. He mumbled something about you and moving to the “Oak Family.” As he spoke his wings were fluttering. They looked smooth and soft.

“You’ve been staring at my wings. Do they interest you that much?” He chuckles.

“Well, they are very pretty but—“

“Would you like to touch them?” A light blush spreads across his face. Despite that, he seemed perfectly poised. His hands clasped behind his back, standing straight and looking right at you.

“I-is that alright?” tumbles from your lips. You hesitantly reach out.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.”

Upon touching them, Sunday’s wings twitched away from you before settling down. The feathers are soft and plush. Some are darker in color while others are more pale. They’re surprisingly fluffy. A bit like fur but more delicate.

The blush darkened, his gaze shifted off to the wall. His composure utterly broken, his hands fidgeted behind his back.

“Did you know that birds groom each other as a social activity? It occurs between…ma-members of a flock.” He sputters. What is he saying?

Your fingers stroking his feathers create a flutter within his stomach. He leans into the touch. Taking that as a sign to continue, you reach farther up, a light brush into the coverts of his feathers. Sunday gasps and pulls away.

“…You must take good care of them. Are all Halovian wings soft like yours?”

He wishes that moment would never end.

3. Song. During courtship rituals many birds of different species tend to sing and dance. While that is popular among Halovian people, some may chose show affection through instruments instead.

One day, a notice appears at your door. Upon examining it you realize it’s an invitation from Sunday, instructing you to his office within the Dewlight Pavilion.

Could it be about the documents you sent him last time? You wrack your brain for any possible explanation. He had been acting weirder than usual.

Heat build up in your face upon recalling Sunday’s recent appreciation for you. The earrings that are far too expensive to wear anywhere, and even worse—you bury your face into your hands. In a profound display of unprofessionalism, he let you touch his wings.

Still, every muscle in your body jittered with excitement, even though it shouldn’t.

♫ ♬ ♩

Suddenly, the closer you got, the more the hallway echoed with the sound of a violin. Slowly, you carefully stepped towards the sound, till you found its source.

Sunday was playing the violin. You couldn’t help but freeze where you were and watch him. He truly did look like angel. As he drew his bow across the strings, the light from the window shined down on him. His hair reflected the light appearing almost white. Was he always this beautiful?

Abruptly, he stands up, “You’re early. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you closed the door behind you, “I didn’t know you could play. What song was it?”

He places the violin down on his table and approached you, “It’s ‘Salut d’amor,’ one of the first pieces I learned how to play,” Sunday put his hand behind his back, “the dream master was the one that taught me.”

“It was very pretty, I can tell you’ve been playing for a long time.”

“Thank you.” A light blush spreads onto his cheeks, but it’s gone before you can realize it.

A loud silence sweeps the room. The two of you avert your eyes. This side of Sunday feels so different from what you’ve been told. He always maintains a professional barrier. But if so, what was this?

Sunday calls your name, “how do you feel about me?”

“What?” The question is so out of the blue, you must’ve heard wrong, “I think you’re a nice guy—“

“I meant as a partner, I thought you knew. Was I not obvious enough?” He mumbles over the last sentence.

“I—well—“ you stumble over your words. He was serious. The earrings, the wing touching, the invitation. You dismissed it as him buttering you up. The ‘most handsome man in Penacony’ as delegated by the latest magazines, had feelings for you?

Your face felt so hot, you felt as if you could combust into flames at any moment, “I feel the same.”

His expression softened. “That’s a relief, I don’t have to cancel those reservations then.”

“Reservations?! Mr. Sunday-“

“Just Sunday. I’ll pick you up later then,” he smiled, then placed his hand near your ear, as if looking for something, “Oh, but this time remember to wear those earrings.”

a/n #2: soft Sunday is real, did u see how protective he was of Robin in the quest? i need more hoyo. feed my delusion

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two