#preserve my feelings when all i actually wanted was honesty which i told you over and over and i CONTINUE to tell you but still

[postalplants]

Anybody else wanna laugh with me about the fact that the very night that we got to the new house, they both looked us in the eye and told us that for a year (of the year and a half that we'd been living with them) that they regretted saving us from our abusers because we were so physically and mentally ill.

[dendrite-blues]

For a relatively short exchange, this scene is jam packed with characterization for Loki. 

It’s also our first reliable look into what Loki was like before Thor 1. Not as described by others, but first hand and from his own mouth. I think that deserves a closer look, to see what we can learn about Loki and how he thinks.

This scene is significant because it tells us what Loki’s personality is like when he’s not running for his life. It tells us who he was before his trauma and what his core beliefs are underneath those layers of humor and bravado.

Better yet, since he’s alone we can assume that every line in this scene is presumably true, or at least Loki believes it to be true since he has no audience but himself. 

The dialogue centers mostly around the statement “You deserve to be alone, and you always will be.” I’m not going to focus too much on the “alone” motif since I already dedicated an entire meta post to it.

What I think is more interesting about this scene is actually the looping, and the stages Loki goes through in trying to deal with it. There’s a lot of really interesting character traits on display in that progression.

Loop 1: A Warm Bath and Glass of Wine

The first loop entails Sif lecturing Loki about cutting her hair, kicking him in the balls, and storming away. Loki kneels on the floor and he gives us this great line:

“A bad memory prison? How quaint. Some punishment. I remember exactly what I did after that. I went and had a nice, hot bath and a glass of wine, and I never thought about it again. Because it was just a bit of fun.”

So we can take this to be Loki’s default reaction to pain and criticism. When put into an unexpected conflict without any forethought or outside influence, this is what he says/does.

1) Downplay the damage/threat. How quaint. 2) Dispel/soothe the emotion. Nice hot bath. 3) Minimize the impact. Never thought about it again. 4) Deflect responsibility. Just a bit of fun.

Keep those in mind as we move forward, since we’ll be using them to make sense of what else Loki says in this scene.

Loops 2 and 3: Okay, Sif, Hang On

This bit is about Loki realizing just how bad his predicament is.

L: Okay. Okay, Sif. Hang on. S: No, you hear this. You deserve to be alone... And I always will be. L: Alright, I get it. Listen. You are a reconstruction of a past event created by the organization that controls all of time. So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah? S: Pathetic. (she kicks him again) L: (winces and groans)

As we all would expect from him, Loki’s first impulse is to try and talk his way out of it. What he says to achieve that goal is pretty revealing though. Because he doesn’t try to ease Sif’s upset by apologizing or explaining or offering to magic her hair back. 

Any of these would have been more likely to save his nads in the given circumstance, right? The present threat is Sif, and she’s mad about what Loki did to her hair. But Loki doesn’t really see that. Rather, he treats her as a means to an end.

“So you need to trust me and you need to help me escape. Yeah?”

To me, that choice reveals something of a blind spot Loki has to the feelings of others. Even if he doesn’t actively like hurting people, he does prioritize their problems below his, and quite shamelessly. And at least on his first impulse, he doesn’t seem to feel much remorse or empathy for them.

Usually in fanon we attribute this callousness to his trauma. He’s learned that no one can be trusted and no one cares, and so he doesn’t allow himself to care for others. 

But between his Loop 1 sentiment of “It was just a bit of fun” for an event which caused real hurt to Sif, and his Loop 2/3 behavior of “you, stop being mad and help ME” I think it’s reasonable to say that selfishness/low empathy are traits Loki possessed pre-trauma.

Loop 4-????: Happens Off Screen

It’s unclear how many times Loki loops while the camera is following Mobius, but the implication is clear that it was been many, many repetitions. Somewhere in this his denial and deflection must break, because we come back to a much humbler, more pleading Loki.

The Final Loop: I Crave Attention

S: You conniving, craven... L: Sif. Sif. S: ...pathetic worm. L: Please, please, no more. Please, I beg you. I'm a horrible person. I get it. I really am. I cut off your hair because I thought it'd be funny. And it's not. Uh... I crave attention... because I'm... a narcissist. And I suppose it's... It's because I'm scared of being alone.

HOOO BOY, so this is quite a tough bit to analyze. There’s a lot of interpretations you could make, and a lot of topics to delve into. For the sake of focus, I’m going to ignore the narcissism question. That one really needs an entire post, and I want to focus on something else here.

That being, Loki’s way of processing conflict/punishment.

I’ve always found it strange how Loki takes such pride in being called a liar and cheat when he simultaneously has this chip on his shoulder about how nobody likes him. 

Those two traits don’t seem to play well together, and I always scratched my head over how they coexist in his character. If he wants people to be nicer to him, maybe he should stop antagonizing them? Yeah?

Well, here we’re finally given a clear reason. Loki craves attention, he hates being alone. So how does he avoid it? Pranks and mischief. 

Fair enough.

But then, if all his pranks lead to this outcome--outrage, retaliation, insult--why doesn’t he ever learn? How is it that after 1000 years of this behavior, he hasn’t found a better way to get the attention he craves? 

Loop 1: Downplay, dispel, minimize, deflect. He accepts zero accountability for the impact of his actions, and doesn’t think at all about how they affect other people. Just a bit of fun. I had a hot bath and a glass of wine, and never thought about it again. 

The only reason he reaches the level of self awareness on display in the Final Loop is because the looping forces him to contemplate his actions and the impulses within him that lead to that behavior.

This is projection on my part, but to me he acts as though this kind of deep reflection is a new thing for him. He sounds like someone sharing a revelation that he’s just had about himself. We’re being shown that Loki is a man of action. He will always move forward if he can, possibly because looking back to so painful that he can’t bring himself to do it.

Circling back around to the pride Loki has for his knavery, let’s suppose that he’s been on this negative reinforcement cycle since childhood. He’s always acted out to get attention, then received retaliation and insults for it, and then pushed the bad feelings out of his mind with creature comforts and mental gymnastics.

What happens over time, when you’re being constantly told that you’re a pain in the ass and no one likes you? Most of us would take it to heart, but Loki doesn’t. He has a big ego, big enough to resist that constant barrage of hate coming at him.

So how does he marry these two conflicting realities? 

He turns it into an identity, the God of Mischief. 

In his head, Loki excuses himself of blame by shifting the culpability to his moniker. It’s not that he’s immature and petty, he’s just a “trickster.” It’s in his nature to cause trouble, so he can’t help it. You wouldn’t dangle a steak in front of a tiger and blame the tiger for striking, would you? And if other people can’t take a “joke” then that’s not his fault, that’s on them for not having a sense of humor. It was just a bit of fun.

Here we see the union of these two halves of Loki, the lonely ice runt and the mischievous scamp. (And a little bit of the original Loki who Thor accused of being incapable of growth!) 

By refusing to think about others, and excusing himself from responsibility, Loki successfully preserves his self worth and insulates himself to most of the negative emotions he experiences.

Pain, embarrassment, and grief aren’t pointless emotions though. They are vital feelings that serve to regulate our behavior, and that push us to conform to the ways of our social circles. Without them, we annoy and upset others. Be annoying for long enough and you will eventually find yourself, well, alone. As Loki is.

Thus “Mischief” is a self-defeating loop, and Loki is just as caught in it as the cell Mobius trapped him in.

In order to be free of both traps, Loki has to stop running. He has to take a deeper look at himself and realize how much he is getting in his own way. The entire scene is one big parallel between these two “loops.” Pretty neat, huh?

Sadly these kinds of thought loops are really difficult to break, they’re buried so deeply in our personalities and habits that we usually don’t notice them until life forces us to address them.

The cell is Loki’s wake up call, and thankfully he does seem to rise to the occasion. He tells Sif quite clearly what his problem is, and he does it with beautiful, painful honesty.

Which is why it’s so fucking awesome for Mobius to acknowledge that, and to finally give Loki a taste of positive attention. 

You don’t deserve to be alone. I believe you can be anything, even something good. Whatever you two did, it was powerful enough to bring this whole place down.

It’s a beautiful scene. Well written, meticulously acted. The clarity of vision in the pacing and shot selection, it’s really something special.

[wrenhyperfixates]

The Raven Haired Rebel

Prologue

Pairing: Loki x reader Series Summary: After invading New York, it was decided that, as a punishment, Loki would work for SHIELD. Yeah, right. After escaping from their custody and stranded on Midgard, the God of Mischief decides to prove he’s the one thing no one ever thought he was: the good guy. Now a vigilante, Loki attempts to make amends for his past wrongdoings while also evading the Avengers, including their newest member. You. Brought in specially for the case, you notice more and more details about the prince’s story don’t add up. When you get the chance to turn him in, will you listen to your employers or your heart that believes Loki’s done nothing wrong? Chapter Summary: In which Loki decides to forge his own path. Chapter Warnings: none :) A/N: Welcome to the start of my new mini series! The idea came from the Send Me a Fic Title ask game. This was a title sent in by @lokistan​! Hope you enjoy!

Permanent Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan​ @lowkeyorlokificrecs​ @gaitwae​ @whatafuckingdumbass​ @castiels-majestic-wings​ @kozkaboi​ @cozy-the-overlord​ @birdgirl90​ @myraiswack​ @mythicalgarlicknot​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @marvelouslovely​ @laurenandloki​ @fallinallinmendes​ @sophlubbwriting​ @mooncat163​ 

RHR Tag List: @happygalaxymilkshake​ @electroma89​ @stardust-walker​ @i-would-kneel-for-loki​

Masterlist

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

Loki wondered what his cell on Asgard would look like, for surely he’d be transferred there any day now. For three days now, he’d been held in the belly of a SHIELD base in these ridiculous cuffs. Tony had, at least, sent down that drink Loki had asked for. Whether it was a taunt or a small bit of kindness, Loki honestly wasn’t sure. Either way, he’d downed it in one gulp; Midgardian alcohol never having a strong effect on him. Honestly, he probably should have been concerned if it was poisoned or not. Then again, after everything he’d been through, what did he care?

“Brother,” Loki greeted Thor as he walked into view. “How lovely of you to finally grace me with your presence. Though I take it this is not a leisure visit, hm?”

“You know full well it is not,” the God of Thunder replied with a stern tone.

“And here I was so hoping we could catch up.”

“If you want to talk, then talk, Loki. Explain yourself. What has transpired that you have attacked so many innocent people in this way?”

Loki wanted to laugh at that. Innocent? Who was Thor to talk of innocent with all the unrighteous battles he’d fought, all the blood spilled by his hands? The God of Mischief had done what? Attacked a military base? Made a few people kneel? Corralled a few groups into buildings? Which really was for the own safety so they wouldn’t be in the way of the battles on the streets. But no; conquest was apparently only just when Odin decided to do it. When Thor wanted to follow in his footsteps. But for Loki, there was a whole other set of rules. Of course, no one ever bothered to outline them for the trickster, just let him know he failed to obey them.

Besides, he hadn’t been in his right mind. Rather, he’d been under the mind stone’s influence, under Thanos’s control. He worked his jaw as he tried to figure out whether to say that or not. If he had any sense of self preservation, he probably would have. Yet after living his whole life being told he was weak, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Whether Asgardian culture, his family, or he himself were to blame for that, he wasn’t sure. Still, best just to stick with his wit.

“Pardon, brother,” Loki finally replied. “If it bothers you that much, I will stop following your example.”

“You dare insinuate I would do such a thing?” Thor rhetorically asked, appalled and shocked now that his honor was called into question. “Truly, brother, your mind is far more twisted than I had imagined. I see now I should not have advocated for you; you are too far gone. And yet, I already have, so your second chance you shall have.”

“How benevolent,” Loki rolled his eyes.

In reality, Loki was actually kind of touched Thor had spoken on his behalf. It was more than he expected from the blonde. Though, he had a feeling he hadn’t been spoken of in the most flattering light. Regardless, Thor opened his cell and, accompanied by a couple agents, led him to the upper floors of of the base.

The light blinded Loki for a minute as he saw sunlight for the first time since he’d been locked up. The glares passing agents gave him did significantly less to burn him, though. He was used to scorn. Of course, he did feel a wave of regret as he realized he’d probably killed some of their colleagues, their friends. Even if he didn’t have control of himself, he’d still done it. Why did he have to be so weak as to let Thanos gain control of his mind, he wondered? Such horrid deeds had never been in his nature before, though it seemed Thor was ready to believe he’d been evil all along.

The brothers were silent the whole way to Fury’s office, even as they waited for the director to come in. From his seat in front of the desk, Loki surveyed the office. Nice enough, he mused, but could use some more color. Maybe some drapes. Loki wondered if he should laugh that that’s what he was thinking. Though, in all honesty, it might be a chuckle of relief, knowing that his thoughts were finally his own again.

When the director did finally walk in, he and Loki just eyed each other for a moment, sizing the other up. Loki was fairly confident he could get out of this room, out of this base, if he really wanted to. But what was even the point? He wasn’t particularly interested in playing a game of cat and mouse, as SHIELD would try desperately to recover him. No, he’d rather take whatever punishment was about to be doled out. At least for now, anyway.

“Well, thank you for having me,” Loki quipped, being the first to break the silence. “I am afraid I have never been much good at small talk, though. How about that weather?”

“Funny,” Fury deadpanned. “Glad you didn’t lose your sense of humor when you killed my men.”

Loki’s smile faltered ever so slightly. It seemed like people were going to keep bringing that up despite that it had not even been his intention to kill anyone. Injure and temporarily dispose of, sure, but not kill. He supposed that having been on the verge of collapse himself, he wasn’t able to be as precise as he usually was.

“That little stunt you pulled should have you locked up for life,” Fury continued before Loki could respond. “However, we are prepared to offer you a deal. You are going to work for SHIELD to make up for your crimes.”

“Ah. I see. So gracious of you. And my other options are?”

“You come with me back to Asgard,” Thor chimed in, “and father can do whatever he wants with you.”

Well, that created three possible paths, really, Loki figured. Be sent to Asgard and locked up there was option one. Then the second was to be sent back and killed. Was it bad he kind of hoped for the latter? Oh, it definitely was. Yet, that’s how he felt. And then he could stay here, play along until the opportunity came to break free. Live his life as he wanted for once.

“Alright,” Loki agreed with a smile that he was sure would be seen as more untrustworthy than anything else. “When do I begin?”

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

A week of tedious lectures later, Loki was out in the field. He’d listened with rapt attention as he’d undergone his brief training. And somehow they deemed him trustworthy enough to send on a mission already. So, here he was in a Quinjet with his fellow agents. Maybe they didn’t entirely trust him. After all, Clint kept eyeing him with something akin to murder in his gaze.

Still, once they touched down, Loki followed the procedures he’d been taught. Thankfully, they hadn’t trusted him with any of the more important jobs, just securing the perimeter. That, of course, was a mistake on their part. As soon as it was time to break apart from the others, Loki created a double of himself. Meanwhile, he causally strutted over to a nearby motorcycle. Ok, he had to admit he didn’t really know how to ride one, but he’d make do.

Loki’s drive was surprisingly smooth as he escaped his would-be employers. The joke was on them for trying to tie him down, he thought. It was actually rather freeing to be racing along the open road, wind in his raven-black hair. Maybe he could find a nice little secluded home somewhere and live the rest of his days out in peace. And then he saw a burning building. Really, he should just keep going. You Midgardians had forces to deal with this. And yet, something made him pull over and rush inside, saving those he found trapped by the flames.

“I can never thank you enough,” a lady blubbered as she clung to her child, who Loki had just saved. “Please, what’s your name? How can I repay you?”

“You can call me, Loki,” he replied with a charming grin. “And really, no thanks necessary. It is just what I do.”

And as he rode off again, Loki decided he was going to make that last statement true. Look out, Midgard, he thought to himself. Looks like you have got yourself a new superhero.

[drabsyo]

Drabs, I know that you usually draw Fleur with slightly darker blonde hair than Narcissa. Was it a choice so that it’s easier to distinguish them from each other or was your Fleur maybe slightly influenced by the actress from the movie who had darker hair?

In the books Fleur didn’t seem to have much description other than having long silvery hair (waist length?) and having this glow around her. So like with Narcissa, what works have influenced your design of Fleur?

It’s fascinating sometimes to read the artist’s perspective and your previous reply to the anon about Narcissa has been very interesting.

Thank you!!! 🥺

I was actually pretty embarrassed over how enthusiastic I got over the whole hair thing, but I'm glad it made some sense at least 😂 And now that I've been given even more reason to talk about it... (Let's face it, I shouldn't even be allowed on this website to begin with, ya'll have been way too nice to me.)

Only click on keep reading if you want to read Some Nonsense.

I did consider Fleur's actress when I thought about her hair color. Though I pictured it to be something of a mix between movie Fleur and Elsa’s (from Frozen) hair. But the way I drew Fleur's hair, the way it falls across her shoulders, that was more of... well, I imagined Fleur to have effortlessly perfect hair, like she doesn't seem to need to style it so much because it's already whimsical as it is, what with her being part-Veela. There were a lot of fanfictions that helped me to sort of see a better image of Fleur in my head so really, I owe it to all the talented writers out there!

It's also the same with Narcissa's case. Though I decided to give her paler hair, compared to Fleur's, because I wanted to emphasize that air of vulnerability Narcissa has—this image she conjures, like she's this fragile thing made of glass, which typically in fanfiction is what Narcissa uses so that Voldemort would overlook her a lot, hence why she wasn't given any "missions" or "tasks" while Voldemort was in Malfoy Manor. Slytherin preservation. This "fragile" image was something Narcissa capitalized on and maintained perfectly, but in post-war Cissamione fanfictions, she no longer has to put on that façade—she starts living for herself, but the quiet sadness about her never really goes away.

I really did struggle at first, I had to find a way where I could draw them without confusing people and myself.

So, again, I sifted through a lot of canon and non canon material about these two characters which funnily enough made me see some kind of parallel going on between them. I know. Fleur Delacour and Narcissa Black. Parallels?! It's nuts. But again, this is only within Fleurmione and Cissamione fanfiction, and it really helped me to draw them better. (At least in a way that made them distinguishable from one other at first glance, I’d like to think.)

These 'hair scenes' are mostly the bits where Hermione "first" sees Fleur. Hermione is entranced, a little curious, sometimes she feels indifferent, but the general theme is Hermione immediately finds Fleur beautiful—which probably explains why Hermione in fanfiction sometimes thinks Narcissa could be part-Veela like Fleur. And as you can imagine, that's where my struggle began.

You'll see what I mean in a minute. And just like last time, remember that this part comes with spoilers.

🔹 In Fighting is our form of Flirting by InsomniacAndBi in Chapter 2 Hermione sees Fleur for the first time. This is the first Fleurmione fanfiction I've ever read, and also the first time I've encountered Fleur's character. Tall, bright blonde hair, won the genetic lottery, aristocratic features, face held in a scowl, floats into the room with effortless poise, immediately starts demanding things out of people... Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it. Like some other blonde we know.

"Non!" A voice from the doorway said. "This is not what was agreed."

For a moment, Hermione thought about ignoring it but turned to glance over there if only to quell her curiosity. A girl stepped into the room and Hermione's phone call was forgotten in a moment. She knew that it wasn't nice to stare but Hermione couldn't help but do it because, in all honesty, this was the prettiest girl she had ever seen. She was definitely taller than Hermione was, with bright blonde hair and...clearly she had won the genetic lottery.

Her skin practically glowed and it looked so smooth and soft. It made Hermione wonder if she used those fancy beautification charms or had a very lengthy skincare routine. Or maybe, just maybe, this is what being rich did to people's faces. There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that this girl was rich - like extremely rich, like even rich people thought she was rich. That kind of rich. That was the type of rich that this girl was.

Also, only super rich people curled up their lip like this girl was doing.

She breezed into the room like she was floating and Hermione hastily ended her phone call and promised to call back later.

"This is not what was agreed," The girl said again and Hermione felt incredibly small sitting in front of her. Not to mention, the girl's clothes screamed 'I'm rich and I know it' and Hermione's screamed 'I'm so out of place that I might as well be a bull in a China shop'.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermione managed to get out when it became apparent that the girl was waiting for her response.

"You are English." The girl looked shock for a moment at Hermione's accent before shaking her head angrily. "This is not what was agreed."

🔹 In Oath of Silver by i_shall_wear_midnight immediately in the first chapter, when Witcher Hermione first meets Fleur, it's something Hermione quickly notices. Vivid sapphire eyes. Silvery blonde hair that shimmered in the torchlight. And once again, right off the bat, Fleur is pushy. She wants things done her way. It’s just so cute how she doesn’t even let the fact that Hermione is a Witcher, an extremely dangerous outcast in society, get in the way of that.

(I'm sorry for this but I just have to gush about Oath of Silver. Hermione as a witcher is just so fitting for her character; she possesses that natural eye for detail that remarkable witchers have, witchers like Geralt and Vesimir (a skill that gets even more honed through the Witcher Trials). Hermione even has Geralt's dry sense of humor, a bit rough around the edges, brilliant, snippy without really meaning to (because she asks a lot of questions and would rather get to the point), but has a good heart.)

The witcher figured that would be the end of her human interactions for the evening, but only a few minutes later, the stunning newcomer from before appeared before her. Upon closer inspection, Hermione couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t be conspicuous in any group of people she happened to find herself immersed in. The woman was looking back at her with vivid sapphire eyes, and silvery blonde hair that shimmered even in torchlight. Her attire was travel-ready, but elegant.

“Bonsoir. You are a witcher, oui? Or perhaps a ‘witcheress’ is more accurate? I am not familiar with all the terms…” She watched the beautiful stranger patiently while she fumbled through Hermione’s professional title. As if the distinctive, amber colored cat-eyes hadn’t given her away, the brunette mused wryly. Eventually, the blonde gave up and sat herself down at Hermione’s table, her medallion twitching faintly as the stranger got settled. Hermione filed that away for later. Her new dinner buddy seemed to be oblivious to the curious and concerned looks now being thrown her way at boldly taking a seat at a mutant’s table.

“I came from Ellander,” she began in a non sequitur. “The temple, and spoke to the priestess Nenneke, who told me about you.” Hermione continued eating her second serving of stew and waited for her to get to the point. “I would like to hire you as an escort as I travel back to Toussaint.” The witcher finally put her spoon down.

“Sounds like you ought to be asking some mercenaries to be your bodyguards,” she responded, eyeing the bow the woman was carrying on her pack meaningfully.

“A pair seems doable, and I’d prefer you.”

“I’m not a bodyguard.”

“Yes, technically, I am aware,” she replied, beginning to show signs of impatience.

“Then why are you soliciting a monster-slayer?”

🔹 Witnessed here in Time and Blood by whistle.the.silver is probably the most interesting one because it uses the concept of Veela hair as a wand core brilliantly. Again, this comes with huge 🛑spoilers🛑. Read the italicized words at your own risk. I can't add the entire clip here, as the topic of Fleur's hair is littered throughout several other chapters. But this story shows us a Fleur who is willing to do anything in order to protect Hermione during the course of the war.

My memory is a bit foggy, I haven't read this story in months, but here's what I remember:

This takes place during the time of Shell Cottage, where Fleur is married to Bill and takes care of Hermione. Fleur didn't expect to fall in love with the young brunette and, as the Golden Trio's time in Shell Cottage comes to an end, she worries over Hermione's safety. Fleur, using magic only known to the Veela tribes, does her best to offer Hermione protection in any way that she can--even going as far as to study what Lily Potter did so Harry could live. At one point, Fleur cuts her own hair with a length now roughly above her shoulders to give Hermione a new wand. But this isn't the only bridge Fleur is willing to cross to make sure Hermione survives the incoming battle. Fleur's grandmother, Ron, and even Bill himself, is a little sceptic over the propriety of Fleur's actions, but Fleur is determined to do whatever it takes to make sure Hermione makes it out of the war safe and alive.

So that was a lot to wade through, I know.

But if you've skipped all those parts for the sake of missing spoilers then let me go ahead and explain why the parallel between Fleur and Narcissa are there. Sure, it's plain to see that they have similar physical characteristics, but they're also similar in other ways.

In Witnessed here in Time and Blood, Fleur is willing to do whatever it takes to protect Hermione during the war: sacrifice the secrets of the Veela, make Hermione a wand, make her marriage and friendship with Bill suffer, be scrutinized by her Veela tribe, etc. And didn't Narcissa do the exact same thing during the war to make sure Draco made it out alive? They both chose to 'betray' everyone else for the sake of this one person. Not to mention, in Extinction by rubikanon Narcissa even makes Hermione a wand. (I’m telling you, there are so many parallels between these two ships and I can probably list more but I'd rather not make this post longer.)

Here, I’m just going to go ahead and say it—it’s almost like Fleur and Narcissa in fanfiction have the same love language.

A glaringly obvious difference between them is their upbringing, and we could argue that this why Fleur tends to be more open with her emotions while Narcissa tends to be more carefully guarded with hers. And I don't know if writers realize these parallels but as someone who's a huge fan of both characters and as someone who makes the occasional fanart of them, it's a pretty difficult detail to ignore. This crazy conspiracy all started because I had to find a way to make both characters look distinct from one another... It's just so interesting that writers from two different ships unknowingly make these parallels with two completely separate characters who are often at the opposite ends of the seesaw.

But again, let's take a look at Extinction by rubikanon. (I know. Extinction?! AGAIN?! Always.)

Spoiler warning!

🔹 Extinction by rubikanon has a marvelous take on this, as it turns out Fleur and Narcissa are actually good friends, and if I remember correctly, occasionally exchange letters (I’m unsure about this bit, I might have read it in a different story). They just get along remarkably well; I imagine they both share a kind of mutual respect for each other, a quiet understanding for the way the other woman carries herself: poised, meticulous, they pride themselves in their work, they both know how to handle an Ocean Of Secrets™, they're both accustomed to being under the spotlight of the public eye, and they’re both dedicated to their loved ones. Needless to say, Fleur and Narcissa are both giddy over the prospect of being with someone they love and adore, and end up meticulously planning numerous (I think it was hinted) double dates (Fleur with Bill, and Narcissa with Hermione) with the same kind of endearing enthusiasm that leave Hermione and Bill with no choice but to agree to the whims of their respective lovers.

(Scene seen in Chapter 23: Build Up Your Defense 2 of 2)

Narcissa and (Hermione) I were sitting together on one of the couches when Bill and Fleur arrived later. They showered Teddy with kisses on his little cheeks. He'd gotten past his clingy phase and adored us all, struggling to walk around the room by bracing himself on everyone's knees.

Suddenly Narcissa reached up and grabbed onto someone's wrist behind her head. "Don't even think about it," she said.

"That's just scary. How did you know I was there?" George stood up from behind the couch, a toy spider dangling from his hand. Teddy shrieked with laughter.

"She has eyes in the back of her head," Draco said.

"Mothers," George grumbled, sitting down close to Angelina. "Dump her, Hermione. I need you to date someone more prankable."

Fleur looked in surprise at the two of us on the couch. "Oh, la vache! How did I not know zees? You are lovers?"

"We're dating," I said mildly, though we really were lovers. In every sense. I glanced at Narcissa and bit my lip as heat spread through me. My imagination started planning a middle-of-the-night rendezvous.

"No wonder she (Narcissa) was so adamant about healing that curse," Bill said thoughtfully.

"Adorable! Simply adorable!" Fleur exclaimed, sitting down on Narcissa's other side. "We must go out for a double date next week, all four of us. We'll dine at L'Escargot!"

Narcissa's eyes lit up.

"Oh, no," I said.

"You won't have to eat snails," Narcissa said. "Please, mon amour?"

"French doesn't work on me."

"Please?" She kissed my cheek again and again. "Please? Please?"

Laughing now, I pulled her in for a kiss on the lips and said, "Yes, alright. But only because I have fond memories of trying new foods with you."

"As do I," she agreed.

Then we realized everyone was staring. Narcissa cleared her throat and straightened up, blushing. Draco made a face. Ginny looked a little more favorable. Harry held in laughter, and Andromeda hid her camera.

"Adorable!" Fleur declared again.

🔹 Also, I just have to add Sugar and Spice by waltzlikeits1698 because Chapter 4: Happy Birthday, Harry is absolutely hysterical. During Harry's birthday party, Hermione sulks in a corner because Fleur has apparently been avoiding her. Ginny decides to do something barking mad, something Hermione typically falls for.

“Ooh, someone’s grouchy,” Ginny teased, retracting her arm and facing Hermione fully. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Hermione insisted, although even she could hear the pout in her voice.

“Sure seems like it,” she snarked, summoning two shots and offering one to Hermione with a waggle of her eyebrows. Hermione pulled a face and Ginny shrugged before downing both, one after the other. (...) “You know, I spotted a tall, blonde drink of water hanging around the stairs.”

“What!?” Hermione exclaimed, whirling around and leaning out of the room to look at the staircase. Sure enough, standing at the bottom and resting a slender hand on the bannister was a tall, blonde witch who made Hermione’s heart stop with her mere presence. She had started forward before she knew it, her heart taking up an even quicker beat as she crossed the few steps and reached out a hand to clasp her elbow. The woman turned, that beautiful blonde hair catching the candlelight as it moved in one long sheet.

Hermione retracted her hand in horror, her eyes widening. “Mrs Malfoy!?”

Narcissa Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the witch who had practically accosted her. “Miss Granger. Can I help?”

What was she even doing here?

“Uh,” Hermione said dumbly, “sorry, I just… need the loo. Can I-?”

She gestured lamely to the staircase. Both women stared at the perfectly reasonable gap that Hermione could easily pass through. The moment stretched on.

Slowly, Narcissa returned her inscrutable gaze to Hermione, who squirmed uncomfortably in response. She then took a small step to the side and gestured for Hermione to pass. She did so and, as she turned the corner of the staircase, sent a deadly glare at Ginny, who was practically pissing herself with laughter.

(...)

Fleur had arrived. Hermione couldn’t explain exactly how she could tell, considering she had been in the duplicated bathroom for the last ten minutes after humiliating herself in front of Narcissa, but she knew it like she knew that it was levi-O-sa.

(...) (Hermione) She tried to avoid eye contact with Narcissa on the way back down and was thoroughly unsuccessful: the witch had physically reached out and laid her own hand over Hermione’s on the bannister, forcing her to stop and look up. Then, with an intention behind her eyes that Hermione had neither the brain capacity nor the energy to delve into, she said “It’s Ms Black now.”

Then she had released Hermione’s hand and turned back to her conversation with Andromeda and two wizards Hermione didn’t recognise.

Come to think of it, there were a lot of people Hermione didn’t recognise.

Anyway, long story short, this is the result of reading both Fleurmione and Cissamione—

But RIGHT. At the end of the day, again, these are just some crazy little things I picked up on and I may or may not be right, no one has to agree with me, everyone can disagree with me. Actually, yes feel free to disagree with me. I need to get out of this damn site and you know, touch grass.

Okay. Well. I'm gonna stop here now. So. Bye. But thank you anon for this lovely ask!! I’m really touched that you wanted to know what inspired the way I drew Fleur 🥺💕💖 But still. So sorry for this massive word vomit!! 😂

[enthusiasticharry]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓   |    𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 24.0k

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : in all honesty, i can’t believe that this day has come. the last part of checkmate. i would just like to thank everyone who has given this fic all of the love over the past three months and supported me through the trials and tribulations of writing it. i hope that you have all loved this fic and chessrry as much as i have, words really can’t explain it. please let me know if you’ve enjoyed reading! 

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : sexual content, explicit language and sadness because it’s the end of the chessrry universe. 

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐕𝐈 here

The light slipped through the gap in the curtains, the early morning light dancing over the naked skin of the two bodies that laid in the bed. It wasn’t the first time the morning light had seen the two of them this way, and it certainly wasn’t going to be the last. YN’s head rest on the naked skin of Harry’s chest, her leg slipped between the two of his as his fingertips softly run over the skin of her bare arm. The duvet that should be there to preserve the heat between the two of them rested just to the small of her back, covering up the majority of their modesty whilst they laid there, without a care in the world other than each other. The room was theirs, and this time together was there and nothing else mattered apart from each other and the feelings they had for each other. 

YN lifted her head up so that she was looking directly at him, tilting her head to the side. She couldn’t help but lean forward and place her lips on his, a small grin on each of their lips. 

“Have you had many girlfriends?” It probably wasn’t the best question to ask, but she was curious — and curiosity sometimes got the better of her, “You don’t have to tell me, but if you want to, you can.” 

Harry studied her intently for a while, looking at her as if she’s got three heads for a second before seemingly snapping out of it, “Why do you want to know that?” 

She shrugs, “I don’t know. I guess I’m just curious.” 

“Uh.” He lifts one of his hands over his face, rubbing it slightly before looking at him, “I’ve had a few, nothing serious.” 

“Well.” She bites her lip to suppress the smile that threatens to cross her lips, “Do you want one? A serious one?” 

He pulls away slightly and looks at her, his lips parted in shock, “Are you asking to be my girlfriend?” 

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” 

He grins at her, and she giggles at the excitement that falls over his face, “Of course I do.” 

“Then I’ll be your girlfriend.” 

He tilts his head and looks at her, “Does that mean we’re officially a couple?” 

“I think it does.” They share a kiss, a small one that caused butterflies to erupt in her stomach, something that is very familiar to YN when she’s in Harry’s presence. 

YN and Harry had flown home from Paris the day after the final, and they hadn’t been without each other since that day. It was unusual, to say the least, for YN to feel so strongly for someone in such a small space of time, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. YN loved Harry, and she loved being around him and it only made sense that she would want to spend all of her time with him and near him. He hadn’t complained about it, and it had been a week now so YN reckoned that he felt the same way. If he didn’t, he certainly was a good actor. 

As much as YN hated to admit it, laying in bed with Harry and just being around him in general made up to be some of YN’s favourite times every in her life. The watched the day meet the night together, the days pass by and mould into new ones, all whilst they were together. Nothing could hurt them as long as they were together, and YN was going to live by that. 

Over the last week, they hadn’t done much to say the least. They hardly ever left his house, only to go to the shop, and then the rest of their days were filled with talking, chess, sex and relishing in the time that they had together. In a few months time she would be jet setting the world again, and she wasn’t to know what was going to happen when she arrived so she wanted to stay like this for as long as she could. Neither had them had mentioned the World Championships, and neither of them had made any want to mention it and that was okay. Whilst YN had been laying in Harry’s bed, he had asked her a few things but that had not been one of them. The most surprising thing that he had asked her was whether or not she wanted to live with him for a while, until she found her feet. She had only mentioned that she probably would have to sell the house and buy something smaller once to Harry, but he had mentioned it and he had offered to help her. There was sadness in her, due to the fact that she was having to sell the house that she had grown up in, spent all of her days and learnt to play the very thing that she loved the most just to survive. He’d been there when she cried after talking to the estate agent on the phone, and he had been there when they had phoned her up and said that they already had someone that wanted to look at the house. He had told her that he would be there for her, and YN was beginning to understand that the more that life threw at her. 

An hour or so after YN had gotten the news that people were interested in the house, Harry had called her name from the kitchen. At first she hadn’t wanted to leave the little home that she had made herself under Harry’s duvets, but when he called her name again she sighed and stood up, making her way down the stairs and towards Harry’s kitchen. On the island, Harry had prepared a meal for them, with glasses of blackcurrant squash and candles and everything that she could ever want. The thing that she loved the most was that it was him. He moved around the kitchen, finishing up their meal with such ease and all whilst wearing a yellow, floral apron that looked like it had just walked out of a nineteen-fifties advert of some sort. 

“What’s all this for?” She had asked, walking over and taking a seat in the one that meant that she still had a view of Harry moving his way around the kitchen. 

“I just felt as though. . .” He starts, bringing a bowl over to her and placing it down on the mat that he had placed down, “You needed some cheering up. Pasta always cheers me up, and I guessed that it might work the same for you.” 

She had bit her lip to suppress the smile that threatened to move over it but it didn’t work, and the grin crossed over her face. He responded with one of his own, one that made her stomach flutter and her heart miss a beat. He seemed to know how to bring her out of her funks, and make her feel all the better without actually doing that much. 

“How did you know?” She grinned.

He sat down in the chair next to her, his own bowl of pasta in front of him and he shrugged, “Call it, a lover’s intuition.” 

YN shook her head, laughing at Harry’s choice of words. He was right, they were lovers at some sort at that point in time, but it still didn’t mean that it didn’t cause her heart to flutter in love for the name and also in cringe that the man had said it. There were plenty of things that he could’ve called them, and lovers just seemed to be the worst of them all, “Never call us that again.” 

His shoulders shook when he laughed, and her heart started to beat faster within her chest. It just seemed as though anything the man did, absolutely anything, caused her body to only think of that and what it meant to be with him in the way that she was. They hardly said a word during the meal, only stealing stolen glances at each other whenever they found it right to do so, which to YN seemed to be all of the time. It seemed to be the same for Harry, because he also couldn’t take his eyes off of her — holding intervals of looking at his meal in front of him and then at the girl. 

“You know. . .” He he started, it being the only thing that he had said the entire time that they had been eating, “I think pasta might actually be the key to my heart.” 

When they had finished eating, the two of them moved to the living room. Harry sat in one corner of the sofa whilst YN laid with her head in his lap, him reading a book of some sorts above her whilst she just laid with her eyes closed and the sound of the record that they had spinning filling the room. It was pure and utter bliss, something that she certainly wasn’t going to be taken for granted. 

She looked up at him, biting her lip as she looked at his concentrating face, one that he had seen plenty times before. 

“What.” She giggled and shook her head. 

“Nothing.” She shrugged. 

“Nothing?” He closed his book and threw it so that it landed on the coffee table in front of them. She grinned and moved so that she was sat up and facing him, “I’ll give you nothing.” 

She fell back so that she was laid on the sofa, Harry’s body hovering over hers. He wrapped his hands around her wrists so he could pin them to the sofa, next to her head. He leant down so that his lips were hovering over hers, “Harry, don’t tease.” 

“Why?” He grinned, leaning down to kiss her nose, “I live for teasing.” 

She giggled and she moved her head upwards, capturing her lips on his. He pulled away and tutted, “Less of that, I’ll be the one to decide when I’m finished teasing and not.” 

“What about me?” She mumbled, pressing a single kiss to his jaw and then to his cheek. 

“What about you?” He laughs, “You want to tease me?” 

She shrugged, pouting slightly, “I wouldn’t mind it. You tease me enough, I wouldn’t mind to be on the opposite end of it for once.” 

Harry shook his head, leaning down and capturing his lips on hers again. She never wanted to stop kissing him, she was addicted to his lips, “I’d like to see you try, love. I think you’re all bark and no bite.” 

That night they had gone to bed wrapped up in each others arms, and each other’s taste upon the other’s lips. They were exactly how YN wanted them to be, with each other but also so happy within themselves that they believed noting could hurt them. All of the sadness that she had felt had been pushed to the back of her mind, and all she could focus on was trying to make Harry feel good, and feel as loved as he made her. 

“In all seriousness.” She ran her fingers over his forehead, pushing some of his curls off of his forehead, “How many girlfriends have you had?” 

Harry sighed again, reaching over and placing his hand upon her cheek. He kissed her. He kissed his girlfriend whilst trying to conjure up the best way to talk about his exes with her. She knew that  he maybe wouldn’t want to, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t try. He pulled away and smiled at her, and she knew that everything would be okay. 

“I’ve only had three in my life.” 

“Three?” She looked a little dumbfounded, and she knew that it probably wasn’t the best look. 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “Don’t look so shocked.” 

It wasn’t that she was shocked that Harry actually had three girlfriends, she was more so shocked that the number wasn’t higher. She couldn’t believe that nobody had found him as irresistible as she did. A part of her was happy, though, because it meant that nobody had snatched him up before she was given the opportunity to. 

“I’m not shocked, maybe surprised.” 

Harry chuckled, placing a kiss to her lips, “What are you surprised about?” 

“I don’t know, I thought the number would be higher.” 

“Are you calling me a slag?” 

“No!” She chuckles, shaking her head, “I just can’t believe nobody else has snatched you up, that’s all.” 

He raised one of his eyebrows at her, “Are you saying that you’ve snatched me up?” 

She chuckled shaking her head and snuggling herself closer into his chest. His fingertips danced over the exposed skin of her back, drawing little doodles onto her skin with the tip of his fingers. YN smiled at the feeling, giggling slightly whenever he did something that tickled the girl, which was more often than not. 

“I am.” She grinned, “Is that okay with you?” 

“Fine by me.” He certainly seemed happy with the words he was saying, causing her stomach to bubble with excitement. 

“Now tell me why I’ve managed to do it.” 

He glanced down at her, pressing a singular kiss to her nose, “I don’t know. None of my past relationships ever seemed as serious as this, and they always seemed to end for some reason — usually to do with chess, if I’m honest.” 

YN furrowed her eyebrows, not quite sure what he exactly meant from his words, “Chess? What did chess do?” 

“You have to admit, chess does take over our lives.” 

She ponders the thought for a minute, “I suppose so, yeah.” 

“The first girlfriend I had was in high school, and she didn’t like that every free second I had was playing chess, and trying to get better and she didn’t like that. The other two were when I was twenty and then twenty-two, when my career started to peak and they started to think I cared about chess more than then, which wasn’t exactly a lie.” 

“I understand.” YN nodded, “I guess that it’s easier for us because I understand it for you, and you understand what it’s like for me.” 

He nodded and pulled her closer to his chest, moving slightly on the bed so that his head was level with hers. There was something about laying with him, completely naked for him to see that excited YN but also caused nerves to flush across her entire body. For YN, she had never really had this closeness to someone before and she was learning what she was comfortable with as they went along. She was sure if she wasn’t comfortable she could change the way that she was, but she wasn’t, so she didn’t see the point. 

“They didn’t.” He explains, “They saw that I was spending my time going over Ivanov’s work instead of taking them on dates and didn’t like it. I suppose I understand, because I never had any time for them but for us, we’ll be able to spend that time together and focus on our chess.” 

“You don’t mind that I’m better than you?” 

He looked down at her, “I can’t say my ego likes it but I don’t mind.” 

She pouted, tilting her head to the side. 

“I don’t think I believe you.” 

“Well, I promise you. And anyway, I helped you win. I’ll always have that.” 

“You will. I wouldn’t have been able to do it with out you.” 

YN looked up at Harry, and he looked as though he was going to say something really profound when in reality he said, “I know.” 

Harry laughed as she shook her head, “Are you sure your ego doesn’t mind?” 

He nodded, “I’m positive.” 

“Now I truly think your bullshitting.” 

He runs his fingers across his arm, a silence dropping over them for a second, “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Boyfriends? Relationships?” 

“Uh.” She hesitates for a minute, trying to find the right words to say, “I haven’t had a boyfriend before, you’re my first.” 

“Really?” He does look shocked, “I can’t believe that.” 

“If you knew me a few years ago you would. I never left the house to meet people to date, only to go to the pub and get drunk. People came to the store, obviously, but they were people who knew me as the shy little kid from high school that spent her days with her little travel chessboard rather than concentrating on school.” She explained, “I never tried to make friends because I knew they wouldn’t understand me, and I felt as though people would only want to spend time with me if they had sex with me. It didn’t fill the void when my grandfather left. I still felt just as upset and angry as I did before I left for the pub but it was the only way I thought I could get over it.” 

Harry stilled for a second, “I understand.” 

“I can’t changed what I did, and I can’t say that I regret it.” She explains, “If I wasn’t how I was I wouldn’t be happy with my chess-playing boyfriend as I am now. My granddad will be so proud.” 

“Yeah?” He asks, a large grin crossing his face, “He would?” 

She nodded, “If he was alive he’d want to play with you, and he’d probably beat you.” 

“I’d be defeated happily.” 

“I know you would.”

They smiled at each other and continued to lay in bed, silence overcoming them and the only slight sound they could hear was the light breathing coming from the two of them, and there was something about just sitting with him and doing nothing that she loved, and adored about this man. She was at ease with him, something that she can’t say about much else in her life. Chess made her nervous, and whenever she thought about her family an overwhelming sadness rolled over her but Harry, the man laid beneath her, made everything better. 

When the two of them finally decided to get out of bed, they dressed and moved themselves from the bedroom, to the living room. Harry started to give the place a little clean, whilst YN hoovered and then they both settled themselves in the sofa. There was something about being so domestic with each other that YN loved and wanted nothing more than to do for the rest of her life. YN was reading, and Harry was scrolling through his phone as a vinyl spun around on Harry’s player. It was another thing that YN loved about being with Harry — they didn’t have to talk and they were just comfortable with each other. 

“YN?” She hummed when she heard Harry’s voice, not lifting her eyes away from the book that she was reading. It wasn’t chess, for once, and she was really enjoying it, “We do need to talk about the Championships at some point.” 

She shakes her head, “I don’t want to.” 

Harry chuckled and sat down the sofa with her, dropping her head to her shoulder, “We need to. You have the World Championships in less than a month.” 

“Thank you for reminding me.” 

“You’re welcome.” He chuckled, “But we do need to talk about it. Have the ECA said anything?” 

“Nope.” She pops her ‘p’ and shakes her head, “Well, I don’t think so. I haven’t looked at the mail.” 

“Is it coming here?” He asked and she nodded, so he got up and walked towards the door, picking up a few envelopes and shifting through them until he found the one that he was looking for, “I think I’ve found it.” 

She places the book down on the coffee table and holds her hand out for the letter, “Let’s look at this, then.” 

He passes it to her and she sighs, opening the envelope and immediately being met with the ECA’s logo embossed in gold at the top. Very fancy for a chess association, she must admit. 

“Read it to me.” Harry says, dropping his head to her lap and she nods. 

“Dear YN YLN.” She starts, “To start, the English Chess Association would love to congratulate you on your recent win to become the European Champion, we are so proud of you, and I hope you know how amazing you are. A little bit of history for you: the last British Champion was Isaac Williams who won in 1956. You are also the first female champion to ever win. Honestly, Harry I can’t explain how pissed off I am with the female shit. I’ve had this at every single game I’ve ever played except from the one with Sarah and I’m sorry to get heated, but my fucking vagina doesn’t make any difference to how I play chess.” 

Harry blinks at her for a second before bursting out in laughter. She looks at him and tries not to laugh, because she is being very serious, but his laugh is infectious and she can’t help but laughing. 

“You need to print that on a t-shirt.” He wipes one of the tears that had slipped out of his eye from his cheek, “That was gold, fuck, I wish I had recorded it.” 

She rolls her eyes at him before picking up the letter again and continuing to read, “As you know, the winner of the European Championships is invited to play in the World Championships, with the best players from the other continents in the world in Russia. The last time that a British player made it there, I’m sure you could guess, was in 1956. A British player has never, ever won the Championships, but we hope that it will be you.” 

“It will be you.” Harry nods, “I have absolutely no doubt about that.” 

“I’m glad you don’t because I certainly do.” 

“Oh shut it, will you.” He shakes his head and pokes her stomach slightly, “You’re going to win.” 

“I’ll let you keep thinking that.” She shakes her head and clears her throat, “At the moment, we have the information to book your tickets for yourself and your second, Mr. Harry Styles. The trip will be for seven days to Moscow, Russia. If this isn’t the case please let us know ASAP. We wish you all the best and we will send all of the information closer to the time. Sincerely, everyone at the ECA.” 

The letter wasn’t as impressive or as interesting as she thought it was going to be and she was disappointed that there wasn’t anything of real substance for the girl to read and look at. YN passed Harry the letter, and he reached forward to place it on the coffee table. YN dropped her hand to run through his hair. 

“Is that still the case?” She asks, a slight nervousness to her words when she said them. 

“Is what still the case?” 

“That you want to come to Russia with me?” 

Harry sat up immediately and turned so that he was looking at her, directly in the eye and not moving them away from hers. She would say that she felt a little intimidated but now that she knew Harry there wasn’t an intimidating bone in his body even if he tried. 

“Do you not want me to?” 

“Of course I want you to.” 

“Then I’m coming.” He smiles, “I never wasn’t coming. I’d never let you go to Russia to play on your own — it’s a recipe for disaster.” 

“Probably.” She hums, “I don’t want to think about it.” 

“We’re going to have to think about it.” 

“I know.” She sighs, dropping her head to his shoulder, “It’ll be Mr. Styles’ chess training camp again, and I’ll feel like I’ll be walking around half-asleep all of the time.” 

“It wasn’t that bad!” 

“It was.” 

His lips clamp shut for a second, “I’m not sorry for it. You won.” 

“I’m not either.” She lifts her head up again and looks at him, “I just like complaining.” 

“I know you do.” He sighs, leaning forward to place a kiss to her lips, “It’s a good thing I like you, love you even.” 

It certainly was. 

A week or so later the two of them had to take a break from going over chess games to drive up to the North West of England so that they could pack up YN’s grandparents house up and get everything sorted that needed to be. It was a long few days of packing everything up, and taking things where they needed to go but YN was happy that she had done it, seeing as though she wouldn’t be able to look after the place on her own and it seemed to like a waste to keep the house for herself when a family could live in it and create memories just like she had done with her grandparents. 

All of YN’s boxes of things, albeit there weren’t that many, they brought to Harry’s house. He had offered to let her stay there for a while when they arrived back from Paris, and she promised herself that at some point she would start apartment hunting for somewhere to live but the two of them were okay with what they had going on at the moment, and she wasn’t going to ruin it by starting to apartment hunt. In a few weeks, if Harry turned to her and asked her to leave then she would, but right now she was okay. 

They had gotten back into the swing of practicing and constantly going through and playing different games to the point that YN wanted to rip her hair out. She understood why it was important, because she did want to win but at the same time she hated that the higher she went in the chess world, the more pressure she felt to succeed and find herself at the top every single time. If she didn’t have a chance at all to win, then she would try her best and accept that she lost but when she knows that she could win, it makes everything ten times worse. 

As much as she hated to admit it, she’s noticed that it also makes Harry ten times worse. 

Leant back in her chair, her arms crossed and her eyes slowly closing, she found herself letting out yawns in intervals quick that what she usually would to say the least. Harry was dribbling on about something that she knew that she should probably should be paying attention to but they had been at this for hours today and she can’t remember how many weeks that they had been like this now. There was only so much chess that one can endure without going a little bit insane, and YN was teetering on the edge. 

Harry was looking over something in a book when she stood up to take her plate and mug into the kitchen. 

“What are you doing?” 

She stopped when she heard his voice and turned around slowly to show him the plate and cup in her hand, “I was going to wash up.” 

She raises her eyebrow at him and he looks at her as though she really does have three heads sitting on her shoulders. She really didn’t think that it was too much of an odd thing to want to do, especially as the time was teetering on being quiet late and she wanted nothing more than to shower and get in bed. A hot shower and getting in Harry’s warm bed sounded like bliss if she was honest. 

“We haven’t started these games yet.” 

“I’m just really tired, Harry.” She explains, “I just want to go and get in the shower and then get in bed. Can’t we start them tomorrow?” 

He sighs and drops the book that he had in his hands on the table, “We need to go over Kuznestov’s attack tomorrow, we won’t have time.” 

“Harry. . .we will.” She starts, starting to feel more and more irritated as time continued, “I just need to go to bed now. I’m really tired.” 

“And if we miss something, we’ll fall behind. We don’t have time for that.” Harry spoke, as though it was the most important thing in the world and not the fact that she needed sleep. 

She shook her head and walked into the kitchen, not wanting to listen to whatever else he had to say, “Harry, we’ll make time for it. I need sleep.” 

He shook his head, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest and following her into the kitchen. She didn’t look at him and instead placed the plates and mug in the sink and started the water. 

“YN.” He was close to her, she could hear him. She flickered her eyes back to look at him and saw him leant against the counter opposite where she was stood, “I’m only trying to help you. The more we prepare the better you’ll be when we get to Russia.” 

She looked away from him again, her eyes falling back to the sink that was now full of water. She shook her head and picked up the washing up liquid that was in a bottle by the side of her and grabbed a sponge that would make it easier for her to clean up the dishes. She wouldn’t say that she was annoyed with him at this moment, but if he carried on the way that he was she knew that it wouldn’t be long before she really was annoyed with him. He wasn’t listening to her and seemed to be ignoring every little thing that she said. 

After a few minutes or so, and after she had cleaned both her plate and her mug and placed them on the draining board, she turned to look at him, “Harry?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I want to go to sleep.” 

“You can.” He shrugs, “Once we’ve finished the games we had planned.” 

“You had planned.” 

“Oh, so now you don’t want to do it?” 

“Harry—”

“— YN, I am just looking out for you, that’s all I’m doing. I could be doing a thousand other things right now than helping you with this fucking chess but I’m doing this for you! The least you could do is actually fucking be awake for me to do so!” 

Everything in YN’s body stilled and she closed her eyes. 

“I understand that you want to help me Harry, I do—”

“No!” He stopped her immediately, “I don’t think you do, YN! I’ve fucking planned and worked my arse off so that I can make sure that you’re prepared to play the best fucking players in the world and all I get is that you’re fucking tired?” 

“Don’t you think that I deserve a break? We deserve a break?” 

“I do.” He explains, his eyes lifting to look at her, “And we’ll get it when we’re back from Russia and you’re world champion.” 

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. 

“You know what, Harry?” He hums, “I would agree with you, but I’ve worked my ass off for I don’t know how long, I don’t know whether I have enough money to survive and I’m fucking petrified of playing these players and for one day, one fucking day, I just want to shower and go to sleep earlier than fucking midnight.” 

“YN—”

“No, Harry!” She sighs, “I’m not going to listen to you say all of that and then not stand up for myself. I’m exhausted and I just won’t stand for it!” 

He blinked at her a few times and ran a hand through his hair, “I’m just trying to keep things realistic, YN.” 

“Realistic?” 

“These players, as we keep saying, are the best in the world! Best. You know I believe in your YN, but I’ll believe in you more if you keep preparing and looking over the games like we had been.” 

She sighed, “It’s one night, Harry. Five fucking hours.” 

“That’s still time that we’re wasting.” 

“Does anything matter to you other than chess?” She sighed, leaning back and crossing her arms across her chest, “I’m fucking standing here and arguing with you I could be in the shower and be in bed by now.” 

YN saw the vein pop out of his head, and she wondered how angry he was getting, “Why aren’t you then?” 

“Because I’m stood here arguing with you! You’re so adamant against the fucking thing!” 

YN closed her eyes and tried to stop them from becoming even blurrier than they were. 

“I just want you to win, YN. That’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted.” 

A tear rolled down her cheek, “I know, Harry.” 

“Then you must understand where I’m coming from.” 

YN clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip and nodded, her heart racing out of her chest. She knew that it was important but she just wanted to sleep. 

“I know you’re trying to help me, Harry, I know you are.” She sighs, lifting her hand up to wipe her cheek, “But sometimes people need a break, and today is one of those times. I’m tired. I need a shower. The last thing I want to do is start looking through more of Kuznestov’s games when I know that they’ll be hard and complicated and I’m almost certain that the words will go in one ear and out the other. I just know it.” 

After a minute or so Harry sighed and nodded his head. 

“Now. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get in the shower.” 

There was a part of YN that knew that maybe it wasn’t the best idea to leave Harry and go get in the shower, since he was right and she did have a Championship competition to play in a couple of weeks but she couldn’t overwork herself, and she knew that. She was surprised that he didn’t know that. He had been playing in these Championships a lot longer than she had, so he must know that overworking isn’t a good idea, right? YN knew that overworking in school wasn’t a good thing, and she knew that overworking in a setting like this isn’t something that should be done. That didn’t mean to say that she hadn’t done it to herself in the past, it was just now that she decided not to do so. 

Harry must understand that. He has to. Harry was one of the most understanding people that she had ever met in her life and now here he was seemingly not understanding something that she thinks most people should know. When they were at her house, preparing for Paris, he worked her hard and long hours but she never once wanted to stop. Maybe that was why she hadn’t noticed that he overworks not only himself but the people he is around. 

YN let out a long sigh as she walked up the stairs, making her way down the hall and towards Harry’s bathroom that now had quite a few of her toiletries in. She didn’t know what Harry was doing downstairs, and a part of her didn’t want to know what he was doing. When she walked into the room, she closed the door behind her and leant her head against it with a sigh. She hoped that the shower she was gong to have would calm her down, relax all of her limbs so that she could enjoy it. She moved her towel from the radiator to the cabinet by the shower door so that she’d be able to reach it and turned on the water, not stepping in just yet so it had time to warm up. She stripped of her clothes, dropping the material into a pile on the floor and then kicking it away so that it wouldn’t get wet when she was opening and closing the shower door. 

Once the water was warm enough, she opened the shower door and stepped in, allowing the warm water to flow down her body. She instantly felt her muscles relax under the stream of water, all of the tension leaving her body as she sighed. As she stood there, she remembered that she knew that Harry had did have down time in his life, she just wondered whether he had it enough. She maybe thought that he only had downtime whenever he didn’t need to prepare for something, but because YN did have to prepare for something, maybe he didn’t think that they should have downtime. She didn’t know, because she hadn’t been with him when they had prepared for things before, whether he worked and worked and didn’t give himself any breaks until he had finished the Championships. Maybe that was why he didn’t like the idea of the break but she didn’t know, she was only thinking of things. 

She started to wonder whether or not that was one of the reasons that when YN met Harry, he was so against continuing to play in Championships. If he had been playing non-stop and practicing non-stop than she wasn’t surprised that he wanted to stop playing. It wasn’t an healthy way to do something. All of these thoughts ran around her head and she started to feel sorry for him, and it was as though the argument they had just had evaporated from her and all she could think about was making sure that he was okay and letting him know that she only wants to help him understand. 

As she ran her hand over her hair, slicking it back and making sure that every strand was wet she heard bathroom door open. She turned her head from looking at the wall to the door, where Harry was now stood. He looked at her with questioning eyes and bit his lip, and no matter how much she knew that it probably wasn’t the best thing to do, especially after they’ve just argued, she nodded her head for him to come into the room, and hopefully into the shower. She watched as he slipped the shirt he had on his body over his head and pulled both his joggers and boxers down at the same time, leaving him completely naked and watching every move she made. She looked back at the wall and heard the door open, the cool air of the bathroom invading the shower as she stood there. She shivered slightly. He came up behind her, so close that she could feel him hovering as though he was slightly nervous to touch her. She felt his hand hovering over her shoulder and she leant back slightly so that his skin met hers. He obviously picked up a little courage, and he moved her hair to the side so that the back of her neck was exposed to him. He leaned forward and placed a kiss to her skin, the sort of kiss that to YN felt like an apology. An apology without any words. 

YN leant her head back so that she could rest it upon Harry’s shoulder, her back immediately pressing to his front and the two of them feeling sort of like themselves again. He rested his hand upon her waist, and she closed her eyes at the feeling. YN had never in her life had a connection like this before, one where she could communicate with someone without having to say anything. It was a breath of fresh air, especially since a lot of the time she didn’t really know what to say when it came to talking to people, especially when it came to emotions — she was way better at showing them than speaking them. 

Harry’s hand moved across from her hip to her stomach, dancing across the skin lightly. She threw her head back even further if it was possible and hummed, her eyes fluttering shut when she felt his hand slip lower to meeting between her thighs. He used one of his fingers to run between her folds, feeling the arousal that had started to collect there just from him touching her lightly. To her, she couldn’t understand how him making such light movements across her skin could make her feel the way that it did. He started to circle his finger over her clit, the tightness immediately gathering in her stomach and her legs starting to tremble slightly. She let out what she thought was a quite moan but it must have been louder than she anticipated because it seemed to egg Harry on, circling his finger faster. He couldn’t take his eyes away from looking at her, down her body and to the point where his finger met her. He could almost moan at the sight himself but he kept it together, knowing that it would be a little embarrassing due to the fact that nobody was touching him at all. 

YN couldn’t help it, and she burrowed her hips backward, the softness of her skin rutting against his hardening cock. He couldn’t help but groan into her ear at the feeling of that, she couldn’t help it. Her hips twisted against his finger, and as he circled his finger quicker he could feel how hot and slick her cunt was, and how it convulsed for him. He wanted to please her, and he felt as thong the was when he heard the little moans and whimpers that left her lips. He could listen to that sound forever and never get tired of it. It was like music to his ears, a sweet sound that he wanted to savour and cherish for as long as he physically could. She knew that she wasn’t going to last very long, especially if he carried on like he was, circling her clit whilst one of his hands tweaked her nipple. 

“Gonna come for me?” His voice was gruff in her ear, “Gonna come, baby?” 

“H. . .” She couldn’t even say his entire name, and the words came out of her lips embarrassingly breathy. She whimpered as his fingers left her clit and moved them down so he could slip two into her wet cunt. 

He lifted his other hand to her hair and manoeuvred her head so that he could place his lips upon hers. They haven’t done anything in the shower before, and the feeling of it sent her head spiralling and every part of her body wanting more. She was completely and utterly devoted to him, and to his touch and no matter how much she could try and convince herself that she wasn’t she certainly was. If Harry was the only person in the world that she could speak to and be with after this day she wouldn’t mind at all, because he was one of the easiest people to be around that she had ever met, and one of the best people she had ever met. YN felt as though they were made for each other, and she knew that there was a word for that but she just couldn’t remember what it was. 

She tipped her head back again and whimpered when he started to move his fingers in and out quicker, slipping his other hand down her body to toy with her clit. He knew how to make her feel good and more importantly he knew the things that would have her withering underneath his touchy and screaming his name at the top of his lungs. He loved her and she loved him, and that meant that they knew how to do things for each other, things such as these. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered in her ear, “I’m so sorry.” 

Her eyes immediately opened and she turned her head to look at him, she could almost see the tears in his eyes. He didn’t stop his movements, and she felt overcome with a lot of emotions in such a short amount of time that she didn’t quite know what to do with herself. She didn’t move her eyes away from the side of his head and he didn’t move his away from the spot in between her legs where his hands still rested. 

“Please say something.” 

“I forgive you, Harry.” She says, her words coming out jumbled, “I do, but please. . .” 

He quickened the pace of his fingers and she lifted her hand and gripped his arm, her nails digging into his arm as he brought her closer and closer to her climax, the feeling bubbling within the pit of her stomach and causing her eye sight to go slightly blurred. 

“Please what?” 

“Harry you know what!” She threw her head back and moaned, the sound filling up the small room they were in. 

He curled his fingers deeper in side of her, grinning slightly into her shoulder as she noticed her hips rolling and her lips parted, his fingers obviously hitting the spot within her that brought her closer and closer to her peak. 

“I don’t think I do.” He teased, “Tell me.” 

She was right on the edge of her orgasm. She knew that, and he knew that. The hot water from the shower still sprayed onto them, and she wished that it relaxed her like it had done when she had stepped under the stream not that long ago but now it just seemed to bubble in her and cause even more heat to dance over her body. Her head pushed against his shoulders, and she knew that she was digging her nails into his skin harshly but she just couldn’t help it, her legs were starting to tremble and she knew that she was going to jump off the edge at any second. 

“Come, baby.” He whispered in her ear, “Do it. I know you’re there.” 

She was there. Her entire body shook and she felt a heat run across her body like wildfire. She moaned and didn’t care about how loud she was because she knew that nobody else could hear her but the two of them. She saw stars when she came, and she didn’t know whether or not it was because of the heat of the shower or because of how emotional she felt. It just seemed as though everything that had happened today came to that point. 

Once she had recovered slightly, she turned around and placed her lips onto his. Their fronts were now flushed against each other, her arms around his neck and their lips firmly clamped together. She didn’t want to pull away, and she could feel Harry’s cock against her and she knew that she had to do something to make him feel better. She moved one of his hands down from around his neck to his chest, dancing over the tattoos that littered his skin and down until she could she could take him in her hand. He groaned and dropped his head against her neck as she wrapped her hand around him, moving it up and down as the stream of water poured above them. He knew that he wasn’t going to last long, and the way that she every so often ran her thumb over the tip of his cock meant that the time was coming on them quicker and quicker. 

“What do you want, Harry?” She taunts, the words slipping off her grinning lips, “Tell me.” 

He groans in response to her and shakes his head, knowing exactly why she was saying this. He loved to tease her, and she hated it but whenever she felt like she had the upper hand she had absolutely positively made sure to do it back to him. He deserved it. 

“Fuck, baby.” She moved her hand quicker and she could see his stomach flexing, and she knew that he was close. When he did, it landed both on her stomach and on the floor of the shower, slipping down the drain and being washed away. Harry lifted his head from her shoulder to place a kiss to her lips. 

She pulled away and leant over to grab his shampoo, and he knew that everything would be okay. 

Harry was still asleep when YN woke up the next morning, and she decided that it was probably best if she didn’t wake him up, so she didn’t. She slipped out of bed and pulled on Harry’s purple dressing gown that was hung on the back of the door and made her way downstairs. Downstairs looked identical to how it had when she left last night, with her dishes still on the draining board and the chess board still set out on the table in the same way that it had been when she left. She sighed and moved the pieces back to the way they would be if she was about to start a new game, thinking in her head that it was a new day and it would be best if she was starting a fresh. Once she had done that she made her way back into the kitchen so that she could boil the kettle. She took out two mugs from the cupboard and placed a tea bag in one and left the other by the coffee machine for when she knew that Harry would want when he came downstairs. 

She poured herself a cup of tea, one that she knew would at least start to bring her round once she’d had it from her slumber. She sat down at the table that they had been working at last night, and throughout the days prior to that and looked at the board. She knew that she needed to carry on working through games, and she said that would continue the next day but she just needed a break then, but Harry didn’t listen to that, and here she is. The Kuznestov games that Harry wanted to go through yesterday were still sat in a book by Harry’s side of the table, so she reached over and picked up the book, sighing when she saw the page that he obviously wanted to work on and opened it up, starting to play through the moves in complete and utter silence. 

“YN?” She heard Harry call her name from upstairs. 

“Down here!” 

She could hear the taps of his feet on the ceiling above her, and then to the right where she could hear him walking down the stairs. 

The stairs creaked as he moved, “Have you seen my dressing gown?” 

“The one that’s on my body?” 

He stops dead in his track when he saw her sat at the table, with a king rested comfortably within her palm, “Yeah. That’s the one.” 

“Your mugs under the coffee machine.” 

“Thanks, darling.” He walks past her and places a kiss to her temple, as she just carries on looking at the board and flicking through all of her options in her head. 

She tried to concentrate on the chess board in front of her, but when the loud buzzing of the coffee machine started and then Harry’s whistling that she normally loves to hear but today just isn’t sitting right, she drops her elbows on the table presses her fists into her temple to study the board. No matter how many times she thought she found a move that could counter the one that Kuznestov played, it hardly ever played out for longer than a few moves. 

In a few weeks she would be playing this man, no doubt in the final of the World Championships because if anyone was going to stand a chance of beating her, it was this man, and here she was, unable to find a move to counter his that wasn’t one that caused his opponent to loose. She wasn’t too nervous, because she knew that she’d be able to find one at some point but she was starting to feel as though everything that happened yesterday didn’t help her cause to say the least. 

“YN.” Harry walked over to where she was stood, his now full of coffee in his hand. She had been trying so hard to find a move that she hadn’t even noticed that the coffee machine had finished its buzzing and Harry had finished his whistling, “What are you playing?” 

“Kuznestov.” 

“What year?” 

“2002. Against—”

“— Eugene.”  

YN rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself, “Yes. Against Eugene.” 

“He was at his prime then. Kind of like you are now. I can’t say that he’s gotten worse than then, but I can’t say that he’s gotten any better.” Harry sits down and places his mug on the coaster that they had there from the day prior, “You won’t be able to find any faults because there aren’t any. His games from 2002 and 2003 have no mistakes in them, and if they do, then I and plenty of other people haven’t found them.” 

“Nobody has found any moves that would give his opponent the upper hand?” 

Harry shakes his head, “I studied them a few years ago, when I was preparing for a tournament in Germany. He wasn’t there but it was good practice.” 

“You played in Germany? I didn’t know that.” 

“I went through my international phase just like you are. I think I was twenty-two, twenty-three.” 

“International phase?” She chuckles and crosses her arms over her chest, “That’s what I’m in now?” 

“Yeah. Jet-setting all over the world, playing top-level chess in hopes that I’d bring home a hefty pay-check at the end.” 

“Where else did you play?” 

“Ugh.” He leant back in the seat, blowing out a breath of air as if he was thinking slightly, “I played in Berlin. Kraków, uh, Madrid. I played a bit of speed chess in New York when I was twenty-one, went with Mitch and a few other players from the ECA. It wasn’t really a work trip though, more so a—”

“Play speed chess and gamble sort of trip?” 

He nodded. 

“Exactly that.” 

“Did you always win there too? When you played?” 

He shifted his head from side to side slightly, “The majority of the time. Most of the time it was just betting for money. They weren’t on the book games, so to speak.” 

“But you prepared for them like you would a tournament?” 

Harry furrowed his eyebrows, “What?” 

“How would you prepare for them, Harry?” 

She leant back in her seat, keeping her arms crossed over chest as she looked at him. She didn’t mean for it to come out like it was but she just couldn’t help herself. 

“What is this? An interrogation?” 

She shrugs, “I’m just curious.” 

“Why? It’s all in the past. I won’t be playing anymore tournaments myself but I’ll help you prepare. I always will.” 

“I know that.” She nods, “But how did you prepare when you did play them?” 

It was his turn to shrug his shoulders, “Similarly to the way you do, I guess. I play through the games I find necessary before I leave and then I play.” 

“How long did you practice for?” 

“YN, I don’t know how this is—”

“How long?” 

“I don’t know, okay?” He snapped, but she didn’t flinch at the sight raise of his voice, “I did it like we do now. A nine to five. Like a working day.” 

YN shakes her head, “I know when you’re lying, Harry.” 

He stands up, knocking his chair back slightly as he did so. She kept her face stern and her eyes directly forward. 

“What do you want from me, YN?” 

“I want you to tell me the truth!” She says, looking up at him, “I just want to know, Harry.” 

He looks at her, and sees her eyes and the tears that have started to collect in them and sits down again in his chair. 

“I wouldn’t stop, okay?” He says, dropping his eyes down to the table and then looking back up at her, “I couldn’t stop.” 

YN’s lips parted slightly but she calmed them shut not that long after, “What happened, Harry?” He didn’t say anything, “We’re supposed to talk to each other, right? Trust each other? Tell each other everything?” 

He looked at her for a few seconds and then nodded. YN waited until he was ready to say something, not really wanted to push him further than she already was. 

“When I first started playing chess, I loved it. I couldn’t wait to get home and play the game that I as actually good at, something that I could beat anyone who I played against and I was only a kid.” He shook his head slightly, “My parents didn’t see it as something to be proud of. They saw it as a money making scheme. Started me playing in tournaments and even paid someone to train me.” 

“Train you?” 

He nodded, “His name was Rick. He was a national master of some sorts but then something happened and got his title revoked and he wasn’t allowed to play in anymore ECA games. He still played in underground games and somehow my parents found out about him and hired him.” 

“What did he do?” 

“He cheated.” Harry shrugged, “When I searched him up it only said that he cheated, never explained how. He also never spoke about it, so I didn’t know.” 

“And he trained you?” 

“He made me do what I showed you. Look through certain books and pamphlets and play through the games, hoping that I could find some mistake.” 

“Did you? I find the mistakes?” 

“I couldn’t leave until I did.” 

YN’s eyebrows furrow, “What?” 

“He wouldn’t let me leave the room until I did. I’d spend hours, days and nights staring at the same game on the board until I thought of something, anything so that I could go outside. Or have some food. Just something.” 

“What did you parents say?” 

“They didn’t care.” He shook his head, “My sister tried to get me out a few times but it was useless. He wouldn’t budge and they wouldn’t.” 

“Harry.” Her voice is quiet, and she’s trying to find the right way to ask this but she just can’t find the words, “Did he ever?” 

He looked down, “When it came to Kuznestov’s games, and other grandmasters games where they just didn’t make mistakes he’d get angry. He’d say that he was giving his time to helping me and I couldn’t even do what was asked of me. He’d say I wasn’t worth his time and that slackers don’t get anywhere in this world and then he’d. . . then he’d punch me.” 

The words cut through YN like a knife, and it all starts to become more obvious the more that YN thought about it. When she first met him, the first time she ever got angry with him he was trying to get out of playing tournaments like the ones that they were, and it was starting to make sense. He was trying to break himself out of the cycle, the cycle that he had grown up with and known nothing else but what it was like and she certainly hadn’t been someone to help, to say the last. She had asked him to help her prepare, and because she had no idea about what that as going to be like for him, because he hadn’t spoken to her, he had no idea about the consequences. 

She wished that he had told her. If he had, she wouldn’t have ever asked him to help her. If she had known what it was like for him, and what it could do to him she would have never had offered. At the same time that she was thinking this, he could’ve also told her. At any point during the time they had been together he could have told her, and it had taken to her literally forcing it out of her to get some information. She was guilty that it had to be done this way, but at the same time, she was happy that she knew. It was information that she needed to know. 

“Harry.” A tear rolls down her cheek, followed by others, “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He shrugged, “I don’t know.” 

“I wouldn’t have asked you to help me.” She sniffs, running the back of her hand across her cheeks, “I would’ve done it by myself. You didn’t need to put yourself through it.” 

“I was okay.” He shrugs, “I didn’t struggle with anything up until yesterday. I could feel it all day and I didn’t say anything. I should’ve. I apologise.” 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Harry.” She reaches by the side of the board and over the table so that she could grab his hand, “I’m sorry. I pushed you tell me. I should’ve known that it wasn’t right. I should be the one apologising. 

“I guess we’re both sorry, then.” He says, lifting her hand up to his lips so he could place a delicate kiss to the skin. 

“I just need you to promise me one thing, Harry.” 

“Anything.” 

“You won’t keep anything like this from me again?” 

“I promise.” 

The two of them had a sort of agreement from that conversation onwards. YN still prepared for the Championship in Russia, but the routine wasn’t as rigours and Harry wasn’t as involved with it. He still was there if she needed to talk to him about anything, or if he noticed that she’d missed anything but she never, ever pushed him to do something that she knew might not be the best thing for them, and he never, ever pushed her to carry on doing something or to start something that she didn’t want to. They had their own little routines that they kept to, but they always made time for each other, and that’s probably why they managed to keep everything calm and collected like it had been before their little bust up. YN was thankful for that. 

The week before they left for Russia, YN started to work longer hours than she had done. She’d get up at nine and work though games and tactics and endgames until around five o’clock. Harry would come and help for an hour or so in the morning and then for a few hours in the afternoon but he would distract himself with others things. YN knew that he had started to play in more speed chess competitions in London, but he hadn’t explained to her what else he was doing. She didn’t want to pry but she couldn’t say that she wasn’t curious. 

Leaving for Russia, YN was more nervous than she had been for any other tournament. She had said that the last time she played abroad, in Paris, but she truly meant it this time. The people she was going to be playing, she had been studying their games and learning from their games since she was a child herself, and here she was, going to play them. No matter how many times she reminded herself that she would be able to do it and there was a reason she had gotten this far, but it didn’t help overall when she had a real knack for self-sabotage just before she was going to play in one of the biggest tournaments of her life. 

They were sat in the back of a taxi, on their way from the airport to their hotel in Moscow. YN’s hands were messing with the end of her jumper, and her leg was periodically bouncing up and down. Harry had put his hand on her thighs, hoping that it would stop the bounce but it just transferred to the other leg, and he knew that he had to do something about it. 

“YN.” Harry grabs one of her hands and threads his fingers through it, “Let’s play chess.” 

She turned up to look at him, her eyebrows furrowing, “Chess? I’m about to play hours of it.” 

“I know.” He runs his thumb over the back of her hand, “But you won’t be playing against me.” 

She shakes her head, “We don’t have a board.” 

“We don’t need one.” He shrugged, “We can play in our heads.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’ll be white since it was my idea.” He grins at her and she rolls her eyes, “Pawn to king four.” 

“Pawn to queen bishop four.” 

“N.” Using a ’N’ when describing a piece meant a knight, “K-B3.” 

“Pawn to queen three.” She truly had to think about the moves when she played like this, thinking strategically and focusing on the board and the different movements each person made all on her head. From the years she had been playing, she could imagine the board up but had to focus more on making sure that she didn’t miss anything. She hadn’t played like this before. 

“P to Q four.” 

“Pawn takes pawn.” 

“Knight takes.” 

“N.” She tilts her head to the side, “King bishop three.” 

Thinking more about it, she realised that it was easy, and what Harry had planned for it to do was actually working. She wasn’t worried about what was going to happen in the Championship because she was now focusing on the imaginary pieces on the imaginary board in her head without any difficultly. 

“N to Q-B.” 

“Pawn to king’s night there.” She responded. 

“P to B four.” 

“P to B four.” 

“Not my favourite.” He shakes his head. 

She shrugged, “I like it.” 

She looked out of the window for a few minutes, looking at all of the cars lined next to her trying to get to the centre of the city. They were stuck under a tunnel, and she could hear the driver muttering something in Russian that YN didn’t understand. 

“Knight to B-3.” 

“Knight takes.” 

“Pawn takes.” 

“Pawn to king five.” 

“Pawn takes again.” YN smiles, knowing that she’d studied that a few days prior, “What are you smiling at?” 

“Nothing.” She shakes her head, “Queen takes Queen. Check.” 

“King takes.” They continued to play to around twenty-eight moves, up until the point where he had no choice but to resign. 

“Why did I offer to play you?” Harry shakes his head, running his hand over his face, “I always end up fucking loosing.”

She looks at him and smiles, “You were trying to help me. Thank you for that.” 

He hums, leaning forward to place a kiss to her lips, “I’m just such a good person. I even push past the fact that you’re so much better than me at chess.” 

“I suppose you have to.” 

They were playing and taking for so long that they hadn’t even noticed that they were outside of the hotel they were staying in until the car stopped. Harry thanked the driver and paid and they made their way inside. It was extravagant and beautiful, with marble floors and chandeliers and the expensiveness that YN only ever seemed to have when she came to tournaments and competitions. She couldn’t help that her lips parted in awe as she looked around. It seemed as though not only did the stakes in every Championship rise when YN moved further up, but the extravagance of the hotels also did too. 

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” She mumbled to Harry, as she looked around and he did the same. 

“It’s certainly something that’s for sure.” 

“I wonder what the rooms look like.” 

Harry turned to her and grinned, and she rolled her eyes in response, “I’m sure we’ll be finding out what they look like very soon.” 

“Just get going, will you?” 

He chuckled and walked forward towards the reception. She ignored his chuckles and walked even further towards him, this time making her way to the receptionist first. She ignored his tut and carried on what she was doing. She was given a large key with a fancy keyring on it that said ’24’ on it. Harry grinned and took the key off of her, and she didn’t protest and instead just walked up towards the lift and pressed the button for it. 

Their room was more like an apartment, and it still shocked YN every time she stepped into one of the hotel rooms and it seemed to get bigger and better than the one that they had been in prior. The sitting room had a TV, sofa and a whole dining table that would be perfect for some last minute practice before play started the next day. The colour scheme was black, white and a dark green that YN wouldn’t mind decorating a room in her house with the colours of this room. 

Her house. When the thought ran across her mind of having a house that was hers, she couldn’t quite imagine it. If someone had asked her a couple of months ago, she would probably say that she would live in her grandmother house forever, but that had changed. She would’ve then provably said that she would find herself a flat somewhere, just a small one but somewhere to live and call her own. She loved the idea of having somewhere to call her own when she was younger but now, everything had changed. 

YN couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live without Harry. She couldn’t imagine waking up and not having her beside him, his body touching hers and his light snores filling the room. She couldn’t imagine making herself a cup of tea and not having to make Harry a coffee. She couldn’t imagine playing through a chess game without him either sat across from her or somewhere within shouting vicinity. She just couldn’t imagine it. YN could honestly and truthfully say that if when they return back from Russia, even though they really hadn’t been together a long time and it probably was way too early to think about anything of this sort, if Harry asked her to move in with him, she would say yes without any hesitation. She didn’t know whether he would ask her to move in with him, full time and not just whilst she found her feet, but a part of her wished that he would. Prayed that he would, actually. 

“YN!” She heard Harry call her name from the other room, “Come look at this.” 

She makes her way towards his voice and sees him sprawled out across one of the largest beds she’d ever seen. It must have been double the size of a double bed, and she couldn’t help but wonder why someone would need such a big a bed and how many people would be able to fit in the bed at one time. Harry lifted himself up on his elbows and smiled at her, tilting his head as if to urge her to come and sit on the bed with him. She walks over to him and straddles his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. Harry placed his hands on the skin of her back, underneath her jumper. 

“I’m going to miss this.” He muttered, smiling at her. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Once you win this there’s no where else to go. No more ECA competitions for you to win. You can play wherever you want.” 

“We can still go away though.” 

“I know.” He nods, his tongue slipping out to wet his bottom lip, “But it won’t be the same.” 

“We could make it the same.” 

“I know we could.” He grins, “But I think the next time we leave England, I want it to be for a proper holiday. One where we can be tourists and do touristy things and annoy all of the locals we meet.” 

“By being tourists our just with your bad language skills?” 

“Both.” They both chuckle. 

“Would we leave the chess at home?” 

He nods, “We certainly would.” 

“Where would we go?” 

“Somewhere hot.” She nods her head, liking the idea, “And we wouldn’t do anything. Nothing of real strain at all.” 

“I like that idea even more.” 

“I’m glad.” He leans forward a places a kiss to her nose, “But first? You need to win this so that will all become a reality.” 

“I’ll try.” She grins, “Just for you.” 

After placing a long kiss on his lips, she pulls away and clambers off his lap, making her way into the bathroom that it attached to the bedroom. The first thing she notices is the grand porcelain bathtub sat in the middle of the room, one that immediately sparks her interest as something she wouldn’t mind spending her time in whilst she’s here. She’d probably do it after having a particularly hard game, which she knew would be coming up with all of the people who she would eventually be playing during her time here. 

“I think we should get a bath.” Harry spoke as he walked into the room, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets. 

“A bath? Where? In your house?” 

“No, I think we should get it for the garden.” He sakes his head, “Of course I meant in my house. I think it’d be a good new addition.” 

“Why haven’t you gotten a bath before?” She asks, turning around so that she’s facing him and her back is leant against the sinks counter, “You have enough room in your bathroom for it, and enough money for that matter.” 

He shrugs, “There wasn’t one when I moved in and I never felt the need to get one. I wasn’t one for baths myself and I’ve never had someone to want to share one with. . . until now.” 

She shakes her head at his remark, and more so at the wiggle of his eyebrows that he gives her, “Don’t get your hopes up too quickly, baby, I think I might make you wait a little longer.” 

He sighs, “Why?” 

“Dunno.” She shrugs, walking over to him, “Just feel like it. I have things to do, can’t be distracting myself with baths of all things.” 

She leaves the bathroom with a small smile and after placing a kiss to his cheek. 

When she arrived for play the next day, there was a man stood to greet all of the players before they started. The man in charge of everything spoke a few sentences in English, and then he moved on to speaking more in Russian. YN had learnt a few simple phrases but not enough to understand what the man was saying. He did explain that the games would begin every day at ten o’clock, which she was happy about because it meant that she had time to wake up and prepare herself for the play before it begun. The man also explained that there would be a referee that stands at each table whilst they play to make sure that everything is running smoothly and that there are no irregularity within any of it. 

After the brief introduction, the players were escorted into a room that had not only a large stage in the centre but an even larger area for audience members to sit in. A part of that did worry her slightly but not as much as would have a few months ago. She had started to become more and more used to the fact that the higher she went in these competitions, the higher the stakes were and the higher the popularity was to the point where there’s hundreds more audience members than there are players in the actual Championships. 

In the middle of the stage there were four tables, each the size of a desk with new and clearly expensive boards and pieces set up on them. As well as the expensive board, there was a black chess clock and a jug of water with two glasses, one for each of them. The chairs themselves were padded, meaning they would probably be more comfortable to sit in for the long amount of time that these games usually went on for. By the time they all walked in, the referees were already stood by the tables, pristine black suits on their backs and a board behind them that already had the games set up. 

She stood and waited for the director to say her name, and he did, it spilling it out of his lips and into the microphone for the entire room to hear. There was applause from everyone in the room, and she sort of felt dizzy from the warmth and happiness that it gave to her. She walked over to the table that she had been directed to and sat behind the black pieces with a smile upon her face. She felt like a celebrity, a chess celebrity at that, but one nonetheless. After she had sat down, the applause started again but this time for her first opponent, Volkov. YN knew that he was in his twenties, having been born to play chess like many of the Russian players are and had quite youthful features. What annoyed YN about him was that the second he sat down, he started drumming his fingers on the table. If he continued to do that she wouldn’t know whether or not she would be able to concentrate at the task at hand. There wasn’t a large question about it, though — she would have to be. 

When the applause in the room stopped, and all of the other players, including Kuznestov, had been introduced, the director walked down the row of table and pushed the clocks. He did so with a stuck-up poise that YN wasn’t surprised to see. As he walked past their table, he placed his finger on the top of the button on YN’s side and pressed it, starting Volkov’s clock. 

Volkov immediately started play by moving his king pawn to the fourth rank. YN didn’t hesitate in moving her queen bishop pawn, the feeling of butterflies bubbling within her stomach at just playing this type of chess, against another person of skill similar to hers. The board itself was unlike any she’d seen before, with heavy pieces with glossy finished and each of them sitting comfortable on their opaque squares. The bard had a matt finish to it, which contrasted the glossy one of the pieces. In her head, she wondered whether or not at some point she’d be able to get a board like this one. It was beautiful. She leant back in her chair and watched as Volkov played his king’s knight to bishop three. She played her queen’s knight and moved it to queen’s bishop three. Their play continued, with Volkov playing pawn to queen four, which she took with her pawn and setting it to the right of her clock. She could hear the referee behind them repeating their moves on the big board. She felt her shoulders seizing up and she made a mental note to remind herself to ask Harry to rub her shoulders when her gave finished.

She knew what Volkov’s style was from the games that she had played through with Harry, and she knew which Variation he would use to follow her certain moves because he had done it repeated times in different games. It made it easier for her because she knew that if he had prepared things before, it usually meant that they would prepare things for other games. As far as he could tell, his play was similar to Auch’s who she had played to win the European title, so she knew that it wouldn’t be too hard to beat him, even if it would take quite a while like it had done in the last game she played. She knew that she didn’t really have a name over here, because nobody in her own country had even heard of her until a few months ago and she knew that meant he would be expecting an easy win, but he wouldn’t get it, because she knew what she was doing and she knew that he was good at it. 

She castled in response to his move, feeling comfortable in it knowing that it would help her in the long run from everything she’d learnt about his games. Their game started to gradually move from an opening without any errors to a middle game where the two of them had both without one king and one bishop and their kings protected and no downfalls that each could see in their games. By the seventeenth move they both had found themselves in equal positions on the board that could lead them both to danger. They were playing subtly, and certainly not in the way that she would normally play the game where she would attack early on. 

Due to Volkov playing white, he did have an advantage and he did try to use that by offering threats that could have worked on a less skilled player, but didn’t really work on her. On the twenty-third move of the game she found an opportunity to open a file for her queen rook whilst forcing him to retreat a bishop as she did so. Volkov looked at it for a while, as though he was studying it in his head before retreating his bishop. She brought her rook over, and sighed knowing that it was starting to fall into place for her. 

A few more moves later she found a way of increasing her chances, pushing a pawn to the fifth rank and offering it up as a sacrifice. He didn’t take the offering though, but was later forced to bring the knight it attacked back to the square in front of the queen. YN brought her rook to the third rank, and she knew that he would have to think to respond to it. He seemed to start to become more and more concerned as time moved on, whilst also trying to not look concerned at all that any of this was happening. His clock ticked and ticked as he carried on looking over the board. Maybe he hadn’t prepared for this game as much as she thought that he had, and now he was shocked that he could make a move like that. She continued to attack him, and he finally reached the point where she could safely post her remaining knight on queen five, where she couldn’t dislodge it. Two moves later she moved it there and brought her rook over to the knight file, directly where his king was. He again studied the board for a long time afterwards, and the frequent clicking of his clock and his fingers against the table rung around in her head. She wanted him to make his move for her own sanity. He did make the move that she had hoped, pushing his king bishop pawn up to attack the rook. When he pressed the button of her clock, his eyes didn’t lift up to look at her. 

She picked up her bishop and took his pawn, offering a sacrifice. When she saw the referee move the piece on the big board, she couldn’t ignore the whispers that she heard from the spectators, obviously not expecting her to have made that move. Volkov couldn’t just ignore her bishop, and whilst he looked at it and he tapped his fingers along the table she knew that she had him exactly where she wanted him. He looked at the board for another twenty-three seconds exactly before he stood up and held out his hand to her. Grinning slightly, YN rose and took his hand. There wasn’t a single sound from the audience. What shocked her was the fact that the director of the whole thing walked over and also shook her head, as though it was a right of passage for her to leave. She did so with a smile, just to be nice but didn’t hesitate to walk away with a smile on her face and a relieved sigh leaving her lips. 

Dinner that night was a fancy one that YN and Harry had been invited to by the English Embassy in Russia. Harry and herself walked into the lobby of the hotel, her arm in his and small smiles upon their faces. YN had returned after her game to be greeted by a loving kiss from Harry in the doorway of their hotel room and immediately made herself busy by getting ready for the meal they were about to go to. She had curled her hair and pinned a few pieces back so they weren’t in her face, added some light make-up to her skin and dressed in one of the prettiest dresses she had ever laid her eyes on. The dress itself was a velvet material, royal blue in colour and with a plunging neckline that gave ample cleavage to anyone who dared to look — mainly Harry — and the sleeves came to her elbow with two scrunches and then a flare at the end. She loved how the material looked upon her body, she couldn’t help it. It was gorgeous. Harry was wearing a black suit, with a lace shirt tucked into his trousers. As a pair, the two of them looked unstoppable and she wouldn’t be surprised if people felt a little intimidated by them. She would if she saw them. 

“Do you have any idea who we’re meeting?” Harry asked as they stood by the entrance to the restaurant, his eyes looking around all of the people there just to see if he had any incline by looks to who they were supposed to be having a meal with. 

“All I know are names.” She shrugged, moving a piece of his hair off of his forehead as they waited for the slight queue in front of them to go down, “Patricia Taylor, Nathaniel Baker and Reece William.” 

He raises his eyebrow, “They sound like a treat.” 

She thwacks him on the arm and shakes her head, “We haven’t even met them yet. We can’t be making any judgements yet.” 

“I’m not judging. . .” He shakes his head, “I’m just. . . stating the obvious.” 

“Yeah.” She tilts her head, “We can leave that for another time.” 

The waiter who stands at the door asks them for their name, and the reservation and in sort of broken Russian and English that the man can just pick up on, they find themselves making their way over to a table that three people are already sat at. They aren’t late, because YN made sure of it, so she guesses that they’re just really early. It’s the easiest explanation of why they’re already there. The waiter himself didn’t look a day over sixteen, and he asked them for their drink order the second they sat down. Harry ordered something that she didn’t quite pick up on and YN ordered a lime and lemon, just lime cordial and lemonade — not wanting to get herself into a position that she would regret and not be able to get herself out of. 

“It’s so lovely to finally meet you, YN.” One of the men who had introduced himself as Nathanial spoke, “We’ve heard a lot about you.” 

She smiles, “Good things I hope.” 

“Good things. . . yeah.” 

All of a sudden small baskets of bread and little dishes of butter and what looks like caviar and sour cream are placed down on the table. She looks at them for a moment, and then looks at Harry and he has a slight grin on his face. She watches as the other people at the table tuck in to everything to offer, whilst YN just butters herself one slice of bread and takes a few bites out of it. It wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry, because she was starving if she was completely honest, it was more so that there were still nerves bubbling in the pit of her stomach about this whole ordeal that made it so she wasn’t quite ready to start tucking in just yet. 

The men and woman looked very put together, and they were able to mutter things in Russian that the two of them didn’t understand. They often shared glances that let the two of them know that they’re okay, and also that they both feel more uncomfortable here than they every had within anything to do with chess. The waiter reappears with their drinks upon a tray, as well as a pitcher of a clear liquid and a few small glasses. 

“Vodka?” 

“Nyet.” 

The whole thing was a little off putting to her, and the way that Harry’s fingers messed with hers on his lap. YN couldn’t understand the point of inviting the two of them for a meal to then ignore them and speak in a language that neither one could understand. It was boring and just outright rude, but she wasn’t going to say that to them. She wasn’t rude, and she certainly wasn’t going to stoop down to their level just to get some conversation out of them. 

“YN.” They finally spoke to them, and YN didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed still. It was Patricia who had spoken to her, “How long have you and Harry been together?” 

YN tried not to roll her eyes, and slipped her fingers through Harry’s, “Uhh. . . a few months or so.” 

“Oh?” She raises her eyebrow, “Not that long, then?” 

“No.” YN shakes her head, “But we’ve been friends for quite a while now, opponents beforehand.” 

“When did that change?” YN really couldn’t understand why this woman was interested in their love life so much, “I mean, I thought opponents were supposed to stay opponents.” 

“They are.” Harry says, “And we were, we were just friends and then something more whilst we did it.” 

The dinner continued to be a bore, and she focused on the food that she was eating and the company of the man next to her rather than anything else around her. She knew that this was necessary and the ECA had asked her to go to the meal and she wasn’t going to say no to the people who have paid her a hefty sum of money over the past year. She did learn after the meal, when she and Harry were making their way back, that Kuznestov had won his game and the other players had drawn. She’d learnt that her opponent tomorrow would be Nikolaev, which she wouldn’t say that she was worried about but she would certainly say that she had to get some sleep and make sure that she was fully prepared for what she was about to play tomorrow. It was certainly going to be an experience to say the least. 

She entered the stage the exact same way that she had the day prior, and there was a larger cheer when she walked across the stage when she moved this time. That was surprising to her, maybe people were starting to learn who she was or Harry’s voice had just gotten louder and louder over the last twenty-four hours. She was playing white against Nikolaev, and a part of was thankful that was the case, but it also wasn’t the case because she knew that she’d be able to win him even if she played black. 

On the eleventh move Nikolaev made an error in his judgement, and she made no hesitation to pounce on it, pinning his knight in front of a rook. It would keep him there for a moment whilst she figured out a way to get out her other bishop. From studying his games with Harry, she knew that he was cautious and strings in the defense movements he made, and that was why in a spur of the moment thing she decided to wait until she had the chance to overwhelm him. By the sixteenth move she had both of her bishops on his king, and on the twentieth she had both of the diagonals open. At the start he hid from it, using his knights to hold her off but she brought out her queen and he knew then that there was no way back for him. 

By the twenty-second move he was trying to ward her off but he just couldn’t and by the twenty-fifth he had resigned. The game wasn’t even over an hour long. Everyone else was still playing and she had finished, and words couldn’t explain how good it felt to know that. She walked away from the table, past Kuznestov’s table and saw that he was still playing. Her face broke out into a smile as she walked, feeling so proud of herself that she actually had a skip in her step as she moved. 

Harry met her outside of the stage with a kiss on her lips, and she couldn’t help but smile into it. They ate a sandwich for their lunch, and then decided to take a walk outside of the hotel. They walked down a boulevard and then down a narrow street towards a park. There was a bit of traffic on the road but nothing that they couldn’t manoeuvre if they weren’t ever so careful about it. There were large groups of pedestrians on the pavements, but none of them said anything and only a few offered them a small smile. The sun was shining on the day, even though it was quite cold outside and the two of them stayed pressed up against each other but it was beautiful. 

The park they found themselves in was nestled between the enormous buildings around them. There were benches that people were sat on, and a few of them stared as they walked past. She didn’t focus on it too much, but a part of her couldn’t help but doing so. They soon found themselves in a square surrounded by trees and flowers and everything that made a lovely park. What surprised her more than anything, were the people seated on the paths playing chess of all things. YN looked to Harry and he held the same exact shocked look on his face that she had. 

The men that were playing were mainly old, and from the looks of what she could see they played very old school chess but YN really didn’t mind, just seeing all these people who could be doing anything they wanted but they weren’t and instead they were playing chess made her tummy flutter with excitement. They walked past the tables slowly, just so that she could look at some of the positions that they were in whilst she did so. There were a few that she recognised from some of the books that she learnt to play from, and others from games that she played. They didn’t have clocks, and it seemed as though they were truly just playing the game for the fun of playing chess — something that could often be lost when she played the games for the stakes that she did. 

“I can’t believe it.” Harry muttered, shaking his head in shock as he looked at her, “They’re playing chess.” 

“I know.” She grinned, “I knew it was big over here but I didn’t know that they just played in parks, just like this.” 

“I almost makes it seem fun.” He chuckles. 

She nudges his shoulder with hers, “Don’t be like that. It is fun. You’ll find that again, I promise you.” 

“I always thought that I’d be like this when I was younger.” He explains, their hands swinging between them, “That I’d play chess all of my life and then when I was old just play it because I loved it. Not for the money, not for the publicity it gets. Just because I love it.” 

“That can still happen.” She squeezes his hand, “I swear to you Harry, we can make that a reality.” 

“Chess helped me through some of the hardest times in my life, because even though it was the root of many of them, it was also the thing that helped me through it.” He explains, “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I want to do something. I don’t know what exactly it is yet, but something that can use Chess to help people, and young people for that matter, who need it by focusing their mind on something else.” 

After a few seconds YN smiles, “I think it’s a wonderful idea, Harry.” 

“You do?” His whole face lights up. 

“I do.” She nods her head, “People need something like that, and who better than you to help them with that.” 

“Who better than us.” He says with a smile, “Us. It won’t just be me, YN. It’ll be both of us.” 

“Us, then.” She grins and he quickly pecks her lips. 

The games that she had next were with Solovyov and Titov. Both of them were gruelling and exhausting and by the end of them YN didn’t know how she could keep her eyes open, but she never found herself falling into a position where she could loose her winning streak, and for that she was thankful. The work that she had done with Harry over the past few months gave her strength in her already strong opening moves, and she even managed to maintain them throughout the middle games and until the point where both of them had no other optimum but to resign. 

Solovyov resigned with dignity, and gracefully shook her hand and did everything that someone who has been playing chess a long time does when they realise that they can’t get themselves out of whatever mess they’re in. Titov didn’t take it as well and he didn’t say anything to her, and he didn’t even shake her hand. She was used to it, so that from him didn’t make any change to what she felt about him. She had to play seven games in all, and she had known this from the first day but it didn’t make it any less daunting the more that she thought about it. She knew that on the last day she would be playing white against Kuznestov, and she knew that was what she needed to do was play the games well so that she would make it to that game relatively unfazed. 

She wasn’t playing Kuznestov today though, she was playing black against Golubev. He was the oldest player there, and YN remembers playing her game when she was little. He had won the World Championships years before she was born, and now here he was. He was an icon in the chess world and a part of her felt lucky to say that she was going to sit across from him and play his games. He was an amazing player and even better man, and she knew that she would have to be ever so careful whilst she was playing him. She would be though, because she always was when things were at stake. 

They were playing at the first table today, the one that Kuznestov had played all of his previous games at during this Championship and a part of her was excited by that. Golubev bowed when he walked over and then took his seat. He was wearing a maroon suit that looked highly expensive, but she knew that if anybody could afford to buy a suit like that it would be him — he was loaded. YN’s long forest-green skirt and black turtle neck looked like nothing compared to it, and a part of her genuinely thought that she had looked amazing when she walked out of the hotel room earlier. Harry certainly complemented it. 

He was ready to attack by the eleventh move, subtly but YN noticed it. He moved his pawn to queen rook three. Thirty-five minutes later he had a heavy pawn defense on the queenside and she had to delay what she was planning to do so that she could deal with it. She had to study the board, and a part of her certainly wasn’t happy that he had made that move but she knew that it had to be done. She lifted her eyes upon to look at him, and he was smiling. It was almost as though he was happy with what he was doing. 

He continued to advance his knights pawn as if to ignore where she was with her knight. A part of her couldn’t understand it, and she couldn’t figure out what he was doing. She had to find a way out of the trap that she found herself in, because if she didn’t then she would have to take the rook pawn with her knight and four moves down he would be able to attack her queenside and pick off her queen rook in exchange for it. It wasn’t an exchange that she would be happy with if in a few moves he would be able to do it. 

She leaned forward and placed her elbows on the table, her cheeks resting against her clenched fists. She knew that she could work this out if she tried hard enough. She could hear the clicking of the clock getting louder and louder as she continued to study, flicking through every combination of move that she could see until there was nothing. She had to give the exchange and get his rook pawn as consolidation. It meant he would still be attacking her queenside, and she wasn’t too fond of that. She was too stupid to have seen it actually coming and she hated it. 

YN pushed up her queen rook pawn and watched the moves play out. He took the rook for his bishop some moves later and she couldn’t help but have a little bit of her die inside when she saw it happening. She knew that it would have to in her head but seeing it was a completely different thing. She took the rook pawn two moves later, but it offered her very little help for everything else that she was doing. She had fallen behind, and she didn’t really know what else to do. 

Stopping his advance of pawns on the queenside was enough for her to want to rip her own hair out. She had to return the pawn she had taken from him, and he was doubling his rooks on the king file. There was no way that he was going to let up. She made a threat towards his king to cover up the fact that she was trying to trade his rook for her remaining one. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to ride whilst she was down but she had no option but do so. She had to. 

By the middle game they were both entrenched with every piece supported at least once and a few of them twice. She tried her hardest to avoid trades so that she could find a wedge that could bring her back even but he countered everything that she attempted. The intervals between each moves were long, and there was an opportunity down the line that she wouldn’t be able to bring herself back. She knew that she would have to at some point. 

A few moves later he had brought his rook to the third rank and put it above his castled king, limiting its movement to to three squares. If she found a way to trap it before he lifted the knight, it would put her in a stronger position than the one that she was in. Flicking through the play in her hair, she couldn’t find anything that would be able to help them and she wasn’t happy about that. She felt dizzy and she pulled her elbows off the table and leant back so that she could look at her clock. She had less than fifteen minutes. She had to make her move quickly or there was no way that she’d be able to recover from it. She moved her knight to knight five, a strong move but one that didn’t really help her in any way. His reply was as expected and it forced her to bring the knight back to king four where she had wanted to put it in the first place. She didn’t have much time left on her clock and she made sure to study the board in the time that she had left. He moved the rook move that she had known he would and she made her move. He advanced his pawn just as YN had expected. 

From finding that move in such a short amount of time, a part of her was thankful that she had done it because it gave her the hope that she might be able to recover the game in front of her. She needed to do so to win. Golubev was ahead, and the two of them knew that but he had a rook that she had to contend with and she could use it against him. If she could bring it off, she could exchange a bishop for it and even the score. She started to work quickly on that. It was difficult and long but he seemed to be ready for it, obviously having studied it ob the board himself. She pulled the bishop away from the diagonal his rook was on and hoped that he wouldn't see what she was planning. It would look as though she was attacking his pawn formation, forcing him to weakly advance. She wasn’t even a little bit concerned with his pawn positions, all she could think about was getting the rook off of the board. 

Golubev pushed up his pawn. In her head she knew that he should��ve thought about it longer, but he didn’t. He made the mistake and moved the pawn. She felt an excitement in her stomach that she hadn’t felt at all during this game, She took the knight off of the diagonal and put it on queen bishop five, offering it to this queen. If he took that move she would be able to take the rook with her bishop. He hadn’t even noticed that in the mist of all of this, making the move he wanted meant that she would get his knight in return for the queen move. She felt unstoppable. She looked up at him with a smile upon her face. 

He looked over the board for half an hour and found nothing. He then took the knight, and she was finally able to take the rook. He took her bishop and she checked him. The game was even know, and they both knew that there wasn’t going to be a lot left of the game anymore. There wasn’t a clear reason for him to resign, and his queenside pawns were evenly placed, but she attacked them and his remaining bishop, forcing him to bring up his queen to hold onto his pawns together. She knew that she would have him, and she now had to focus her attention completely on his king. 

She had twenty-seven minutes left on her clock and Golubev almost had an hour but she wasn’t going to let that effect her. She brought her rook pawn up to the fourth rank, announcing her intentions and he had no option but to move. She worked out each variation of moves he may make trying to find an answer to them, and she finally did when he made his move of bringing his queen to protect. She ignored the chance to grab one of his pawns and advanced her rook pawn one more square. It was an amazing move, and she certainly knew it and it was almost as though he knew it as well. 

He looked over the board fora few more minutes, as though he was contemplating what he was going to do. Then, he lifted his eyes up to her, looked at the board briefly again and then smiled. 

“That was amazing.” The words came out of his lips in a thick Russian accent that she certainly should’ve expected but it still shocked her, “I’ve never seen someone recover from something like that so well before.” 

YN can’t help but smile at his words, agreeing with him and starting to feel more proud of herself. She watches as he reached forward and grasped the the top of his king and tilted it over to its side. 

“I resign.” 

They shook hands, and YN’s never seen it happen so warmly from someone before that wasn’t Harry, “I’ve always played your games. I learnt chess playing your games.” 

“Don’t.” He shakes his head, “You’ll only make me feel old.” 

“I don’t mean to.” She smiles. 

“It doesn’t matter.” He shakes his head, “You’re a marvel, dear. Don’t ever forget that.” 

When she had walked into the hotel lobby, she felt arms wrap around her waist and spin her around. She couldn’t help the squeal that left her lips as he did so, and she noticed the watchful eyes of other people in the lobby once the culprit had put her down. She wasn’t surprised that it was Harry. 

“I’m so proud of you.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, “So proud.” 

She turns two him with furrowed eyebrows, “Did you not think I could win it, or something?” 

“Of course I thought you could win.” He brushes it off but she raises one of her eyebrows, “Okay maybe I was a bit nervous when I woke up this morning, and when you were loosing — but you brought it back!” 

“I know I did.” She tuts, “At least I believed in myself.” 

“I always believed in you, YN.” He shook his head, “I was just a little. . . nervous.” 

“You don’t need to be nervous about that game.” She says, slipping her hand into his, “You need to be nervous about Kuznestov because I certainly am.” 

“Nah.” He shakes his head and lifts the back of his hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to it, “We don’t need to be. You’ll be fine.” 

“How are you so sure?” She asks. 

“I just know.” 

When they walked back up to the room, YN immediately drew herself a bath to relax her muscles. Harry ordered some food and he sat and ate what he ordered. He did ask to join but she decided against it saying that she needed the time to relax and she understood. The fact that in a few days she would be playing Kuznestov laid heavy on her chest, and no matter how many times she tried to knock the idea out of her head, she just couldn’t seem to do it. She wasn’t too worried, but there was a part of her that knew that it could any which way and it was just a case of her knowing what to do. 

She walked out of the bathroom half an hour later with just her towel wrapped around her, and smiled at the sight of Harry sat on the bed with a book in his hands. It was one of the books that she had given him from her grandfather’s collection, and she couldn’t be happier that the book came to a person that would enjoy it. He looked up at her over the book and raised his eyebrows, and she raised hers back. She walked over to her suitcase and started to shift through the clothes that she had in it, trying to decide what she wanted to put on so that she could sit and go through some games. 

She’s about to do that when she hears a loud groan coming from the man behind her. 

“What?” She flips around to look at him, and the book was now abandoned on his chest, “What is it?” 

“You can’t walk out here like that and then put on clothes.” 

“Oh, really?” She asks, “Is my lack of clothes sparking the teenage boy in you again? 

“It is.” He pouts, opening his arms for her, “I can’t help it.” 

“Well.” She sighs, “I better do something about it then shouldn’t I?”

She climbs onto the bed and straddles his hips, her hands slipping underneath the material of his shirt and onto his stomach. She can feel it tensing and relaxing beneath her. He grins up at her. 

“You should.” 

And she does. She leans forward and kisses him, her hands gripping his waist as she did so. She would never, ever get board of kissing him no matter how many times they did. He kissed her back almost instantly, not even an ounce of hesitation on him. He made sure that the kiss wasn’t quick like she had intended it to be, and she draws it out. He coaxed her lips further apart, being able to slide his tongue into her mouth. It’s so familiar, and so comfortable that it was like almost second nature to them. What was just a nice kiss between the two of them soon turned into an urgent and messy kiss. 

“Fucking addictive.” He mumbles as he pulls away, “Could never get enough of you.” 

The two of them are panting against each other, and she moves her hands up to his hair so that she can grip it slightly, “I never want you too.” 

She slips her hands down to grip the collar of his shirt, placing her lips back on his. The only sound either one of them could hear was their laboured breathing. They often had to pull away slightly to catch their breath, but it didn’t stop him from dragging his nails down her back, pushing the towel that she had around her down so that she was exposed to him. His hands rested upon her hips and squeezed the flesh, just like he always did and just like she wanted him to do. They never pulled away. They stayed there, with their lips against each others and their hands all over each other. 

“Are you sure you can be doing this?” He says against her lips. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” He asks. 

“It can wait.” 

Her lips are back against his and she’s moaning into his mouth when his hands fall to her arse, squeezing the flesh. He buried one of his hands in her hair and tilted her head, allowing him to kiss into her mouth again. A smile crossed her lips as he did so. He fumbles with the towel on her body and pulls it off, throwing it a direction that she doesn’t know. He thrusted his hips upwards towards her, and she could feel how hard he was against her. 

“Fucking hell.” He moaned into her mouth, “You’re soaking me.” 

It was impossible not to moan against his lips, but it was cut short when Harry flipped them over so that she was laid on the bed and he was hovering above her. There was something to her about being with him like that made her feel as though her entire body was on fire, and it was only ever put out when he touched her which he was doing, and she wouldn’t tell him stop when he was making her feel the way that he was. He started to kiss her again, this time moving them down from her lips to her neck and then down to her chest. 

She closed her eyes when she felt him press his tongue over her nipple, circling it with her tongue. She arched her back off of the bed, feeling the need and the want for more and more from him. He knew exactly the right spots to make her toes curl and have her withering beneath him, just like he was now. He continued to move his tongue over her nipple, and she gripped his hair in encouragement. 

“I fucking love you.” He places his hand upon the outside of her thigh, “No two ways about it.” 

She grips down on her bottom lip to stop anymore sounds from escaping her lips, even though she knew that probably wasn’t what Harry wanted, but YN couldn’t help herself. She started to rock her hips up to him, letting him know that she was ready for him, He needed to know that she was ready for him. 

“That’s good.” She grinned, “Because I love you too.” 

He pecked her nipple again, wrapping his lips around it briefly before he started to kiss lower and lower down her stomach, closer and closer to the place where she was absolutely dripping for him. 

“What do you want, baby?” He muttered against her stomach, wanting nothing more than to do everything under the sun but he knew that he had to be patient, “Tell me. I want you to say it.” 

Her breath is shaky, and she doesn’t know how she’s managing to keep herself together but somehow she is, “I want you to fuck me.” 

“How?” 

“On top.” She lifted his hips off the bed, “I want you on top.” 

“Your wish is my command.” 

She watched as he unzipped his trousers, the sound of his belt sending her heart beating in her chest quickly. He takes his trousers off as well as his boxers, taking his time to truly tease her. YN bites her lip as she watches him pull his shirt over his head, revealing not only his tattoos but the train of hair that leads down to between his legs. She couldn’t stop the small giggle that escapes her lips.

“What are you giggling at?” 

“Nothing. . .” She shakes her head, “Nothing!” 

“Yeah.” He kneels back on the bed, “We’ll see if you’ll be laughing in a minute.” 

Harry leaned over her, his face hovering above hers as he looked down between them. She could feel him on her thigh, and her inside started twist. She watches as he slips his hand down the front of him and grips his cock in his hand, bringing it to her entrance. He back arched up off the bed again, and she moaned into his mouth as he kissed her again. He started moving himself in, slowly to start with and then more so so as time went on. 

“Fucking, shit.” He muttered the words through his teeth, trying to mask the moan that would escape if he didn’t keep them clamped shut.

YN couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips, wrapping her arm around his shoulders so that she could have something to grip on to. She lifted her knee slightly so that she could spread her legs and give him better access. When she moaned, Harry couldn’t help but pick up the pace of his hips, moving them in and out for her. 

“Keep going.” She moaned into his ear, her eyes clamped closed, “Go faster.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

She chuckled slightly, squeezing his shoulders as she could feel her stomach tightening with every move that he made. She was addicted to it. More so than anything else in her life. She continued to focus on her climax, his hands resting on the pillows by her bed. The sound of their heavy breathing was now masked with the sound of their flesh against each other, and the occasional moan or groan that escaped their lips. 

As much as they would love to be slow and sweet with each other, they just aren’t physically able to. They couldn’t stop themselves from being hard and quick with each other, but it made them the way that they were together. For the amount of time they were with each other, they focus on one and another and making themselves feel like the best in the world. It was just how it was with them. Harry’s grip on her skin tightened and the loud moan that escapes her lips as she’s pushed closer and closer to her orgasm. 

“Feel so good, YN.” He mumbled against her lips, “The fucking best.” 

YN arched her back again, her chest colliding with his and he continued to moved with each other, in one rhythm and with the feeling of bliss washing over both of their bodies. She couldn’t understand how being like this with someone could melt away everything else that she had to worry about until it was nothing. Her grip on his shoulders tightened more and more and she could feel her insides twisting, as he thrust himself forward and back. She moved her thighs so that they were behind him, helping to thrust his hips forward to her. She could feel her orgasm coming on and she clamped her teeth on her bottom lip, not wanting to be too loud because she knew that there are other people in the hotel and she didn’t want to be too noisy. 

“Be loud.” Harry seemed to know everything that she was thinking and a part of her hated that, “Let them hear.” 

“Are you sure?” She mumbled, her eyebrows furrowing, 

“I’m positive.” He kisses her cheek, “Come, baby.” 

YN dug her nails into the flesh of his back as she came, it overruling her body quicker than she could’ve caught up with. His name escapes her lips in a string of moans, and she physically can’t control how loud she is because of how it feels. Harry came not long after her, spilling into her. She watches his face, unable to bring her eyes away from him, and the small furrow between his brow. Their chests were heaving up and down from how mind-blowing its was, and she never wanted it to stop. 

“I love you.” She runs her fingers through his hair, “I love you so much.” 

“I love you too.” He grins, pushing her hair off her face. His becomes quite serious all of a sudden, “I hope you know that you’re going to win this thing.” 

“We don’t know that Harry.” She smiles, “We just hope.” 

“Then I’m hoping a whole lot.” 

A few days later she found herself walking onto the stage about to play against Kuznestov, somebody who she used to read to prepare for her games. It truly felt insane to her that she’s sat across from someone who she used to learn about in order to plat in tournaments well and now she was here trying to win his title. She hoped that he wasn’t too annoyed with her. 

She was playing white, which certainly gave her a nice advantage. She would have to hang on to that advantage if it was the last thing that she did. She would play the Queen’s Gambit, because playing the Sicilian against him just didn’t seem like the best option. Her best option was to try and get him to make a mistake, it was all that she could hope for. There was an applause from the audience as they both walked out, and she knew that it was going to be now or never. This was it. She had played through all of these tournaments, practiced for hours upon hours and all she had to do was make sure that she didn’t mess up and that she won. It was certainly going to be easier said then done. 

The referee pushed the button, and her clock started. YN moved her pawn to queen four and looked down at the pieces. She wouldn’t look at his face, not yet. He moved his pawn to queen four, and she responded by playing pawn to queen bishop four, offering it as a gambit, but he declined, moving his pawn to king four. She took the pawn, and he played pawn to queen five. He looked up at his face and it was completely calm, as though he wasn’t nervous and nothing at all was worrying him. She hoped that she could feel like that at some point but she knew that would be a long way away. She continued by playing her king’s knight and he played his queen’s and the play continued. 

The seventh move he played surprised her more than she had expected it to, and it was obviously something that he had thought to spring on her. She responded and was glad to get him out in the open, it would make it easy for their dance. By the fifteenth move they had equality, and he maybe had an edge. She knew that if she was to win she would have to continue developing her pieces, opening files when she had the opportunity of physically anything that she could do that would give her the edge that she needed. If she let his rook out, it would tear her apart. If he allowed her queen to move to the bishop file his king’s protection would topple. She wouldn’t let his bishop to check. He didn’t look at her the entire time that he was looking over the board, and then he moved his knight to bishop five. If she could have chosen a move for him to make, it would’ve have been that move. She pushed her rook pawn a square forward. 

The next few months ran swimmingly but before she knew it he brought his remaining rook to the centre and she felt her stomach sink. She hadn’t thought of this when she moved through all of the movements in her head that he could make. It was almost as though she was back to square one again. She took her eyes away from the board briefly so that she could figure out how to do something about the rook. It was staring at her in the face and she knew that at some point she would have to do something. It sat on a black square and her bishop would be gone. Three moves of her knight would get her near enough but it was too long. She couldn’t use a pawn and she couldn’t use her own rook because it was in its corner, not having been moved. Her only option was her queen, and she’d have to find a safe way to move it because it truly was her only option. 

She leant her cheeks against her fists and looked all over the board. She could move it nine squares in one direction, three in another. Each one looked weak, so she started to examine all of the in-between squares, finally falling upon king knight five. If the queen was there it meant he could swing his room under and occupy the file. She couldn’t do that. No check was possible without her bishop but after that she could attack the queen with her knight. He would have to put it on one of the black squares, and that would start something. She could drive the queen into a king-queen fork with the knight. He would ate her queen afterwards but she would still be down a bishop. She would be able to take his bishop with her knight and it would be equal again, and then she could threaten the rook. 

She moved the queen. He brought his rook under it and with no hesitation did she pick up her bishop and bring it out to check. She was waiting for his queen to take it. She didn’t know whether she had missed something by the way he looked at the board, but she certainly knew that she hadn’t when he muttered the word, “Draw?” 

She looked down at the board for a second and contemplated the word in her mind. Taking the draw would meant that she would be a co-champion again, and that wasn’t really what she was looking for. She was looking to win the entire thing, and she knew that she could do it, especially now that he was so scared to even continue to the point where he had asked her those words. 

“No.” She shrugged, “Sorry.” 

He himself shrugged and took the bishop. She attacked his queen wither her knight and he moved it where he had to and brought the knight up. He moved the king and she lifted his queen up from the board. He took hers also. She attacked the rook and moved it back a square. That was the whole point of the sequence and now that she had done it she was unsure what to do next. She knew that every move that she had to make needed to be strategic. There wasn’t the opportunity to not be strategic with it. She needed to win. 

Unlike all of the other games she played, she couldn’t hear the ticking of her clock. She silently looked over the board and looked at what she could do. If this carried on how it was going, it would be mate in nineteen or so moves. She reached forward and moved her king pawn to the fifth rank. Kuznestov advanced his king to stop the pawn and she advanced her knight forcing him to protect. She moved the pieces with a new found speed, but his started to slower. When she had finished threatening, she moved a pawn to a sixth rank. His expression didn’t change and hers didn’t either. 

When she advanced the pawn to the seventh rank, he grunted. He let out an actual, physical grunt and she didn’t know what to do about it. He took his time to move his knight to block it. She didn’t look at him when she picked up the knight and set it down, because she knew that was it. The moment he let out another grunt her heart started to beat quicker and quicker within her chest. 

“You’ve done it.” In one movement, his king was on its side. 

The applause was almost deafening, and she knew that the majority of it would have probably been Harry. They were standing and clapping for her. They were making that sound for her. YN genuinely couldn’t believe that she had won, and in a time that she couldn’t help but be proud of. She had won.

She was the World Chess Champion. 

All of the time that she and Harry had spent preparing, every little second of it was so they could make it to this moment — to the moment where she won. She couldn’t have done this without him, and she hopes that he knows that. She stands up with a smile and turns around, immediately spotting him on the front row. She can’t help it when her feet drift towards him. He smiles and opens his arms so that he can catch her body as she basically plummets it at him. She chuckles into her ear and lifts her up slightly, before pulling her away so that he could press a kiss to her lips. It was a kiss that celebrated so many things, but more importantly it celebrated them. The two of them together and what they have achieved. 

“I did it.” She grins once she pulls away. 

“I always knew that you would.” He places her back down again, “I never doubted you, not even for a second.” 

“I’m sure you didn’t.” She grins, with a roll of her eyes.

“I didn’t!” She exclaims, “Well, not a lot.” 

“I don’t care, Harry.” She wraps her arms around his neck, “I knew that it was going to be hard and I’m absolutely certain that I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.” 

“You would.” He shakes his head, “You have the talent for it, I just helped you bring it out.” 

“You helped me in more ways than that.” 

“Oh yeah?” He raises one of his eyebrows, “Care to explain.” 

“Another time.” He chuckles. 

She pulls away and looks at him, threading her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, “Can I say something, and it might be a little cheesy?” 

“Of course you can.” He smiles. 

“I really do love you so much, I feel like I’ve won more than just a Championship because I’ve won you. You’re the check to my mate.”

He grins, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, “We’re checkmate, baby, I’ve always know that.” 

One Year Later 

A year ago today YN was in Russia, winning the World Championship as the younger ever contestant there. When she had won, she hadn’t thought of anything other than the fact that she had, and she certainly didn’t think of everything that was going to follow. She was plummeted into a year of interviews, and photoshoots and recognition that she didn’t know what to do with. Everyone knew about her, and it wasn’t just the chess players of the world anymore, it was everyone. 

It did start off with the interviews being in the chess world, which she had expected, but then the entire country seemed to realise who she was and she was asked to do interviews on national television and in magazines that everyone would read and not just people that knew about chess. That did cause nerves to bubble within her, but everyone was lovely (for the majority) and there wasn’t anything for her to be nervous about. She loved reading about how many people were now playing chess because of her, women and men to the point where she couldn’t understand how herself just being herself caused them to want to play the very game that they did. It was baffling to her. 

As well as all of the chess in her life changing drastically, everything else about her life changed drastically also. She moved in with Harry, which wasn’t too much of a shock to everyone who knew but it certainly started to make everything more real between the two of them. Her things weren’t in a suitcase anymore, or in boxes, but they were laid out. She had space in the bathroom cupboard, she had her own wardrobe space and her little knickknacks that she wouldn’t let go of now were dotted around his house.  The most drastic change certainly had to be the fact that they now had a bath that they had installed because it made it theirs. 

Words really couldn’t describe how much she loved that man. 

Over the past year or so, the best thing that had happened to them was their Chess School. They originally spoke about it on their trip to Russia, and the second they made it home they started to plan it and look at places that they could buy. Harry had enough savings, and from the money that YN had made from the championships and the appearances she was making, they were able to gather enough money to put their deposit down on a building that the rented. It wasn’t huge, and it only had two rooms but they promised each other that when they made a little more money they would buy some place bigger and better for them to turn into a proper school.

The building itself looked a little out of place on the street it was on, and there were only two rooms in the entire thing — one that was the classroom and the other that YN had lovingly dubbed: ‘the safe hub away from children.’ YN did like children, she wouldn’t have started the school if she didn’t, but she wasn’t a very patient person and to teach loads of young children how to play chess wasn’t exactly in her agenda. YN knew that she was better with the older kids and that’s why she found herself being more comfortable teaching them than teaching the youngest kids that they have in their midst. 

Today was a little different than any other day, though, just because of what it was commemorating. Instead of getting and ready and going to the Chess School, YN found herself having to go to the ECA for an interview to commemorate the last year and let her ‘fans’ know what she had been up to. She found all of it a little off putting, and she doesn’t know how many times she’s going to be able to carry on sitting through interviews where they care more about what she’s doing with Harry than their chess. All in all, it had been quite the long day and she wanted nothing more than to return home, snuggle up on the sofa with Harry and eat her annoyance away with Chinese food. 

When she did return home though, and she called out Harry’s name into the house, she didn’t receive any response, which did confuse her. The school was open, but Harry usually closed up when it was just him at four so he had time to get home and make sure that he was home for your arrival back. That’s why YN was quite surprised when she walked through the door of the house and saw no lights on and no Harry anywhere. However, when she walked into the kitchen she did find a note, one that was folded and her name scribbled on in Harry’s very particular handwriting. 

Opening it, she couldn’t help the smile at the writing that was scribbled inside: 

Come to the school. I’m waiting for you. I love you. H. 

YN wasted no time in getting herself to the school, maybe going a little bit over the speed limit but that didn’t really matter. When it came to things like this all of the patience that she has evaporates and she’s left wishing that someone would just tell her what was happening so that she wouldn’t to conspire any more. 

From the outside, the school looked as though it was locked, and that nobody was going in and nobody was going out but when she walked up to the front door, she realised that the door was open but there still weren’t any lights on inside. 

“Harry?” The door shut behind her and she could feel her heart starting to beat faster than it already was in her chest, “Are you there? If you’re planning on jump scaring me I won’t be happy.” 

“In here!” 

YN instantly feels herself relax at the sound of his voice, and her feet carry her quickly in the direction that it had come from. He was in the main room, she could see that now. The entire room was lit up with what felt like to be hundreds of candles all around a lot of chess boards, she couldn’t even count how many there actually was. YN found herself raising her eyebrow at him, throwing him a quizzical look. 

“What’s all of this?” She asks, taking a step forward. 

He was dressed in a suit, a beige one with a thinly striped shirt and a dotted tie, one that she had definitely seen before but she couldn’t quite pinpoint where. 

“I have a question to ask you.” 

She furrows her eyebrows at him, “Could you not have asked me it at home?” 

“No.” He shakes his head, a small smile dancing over his lips. 

“Well.” She takes another step forward, “What is it?” 

“Why don’t you look for yourself?” 

His hand motions to the boards set up in front of him, all in a row and all with a very special message on them. She moves forward so that she can look over all of them individually. She can feel the tears starting to well up in her eyes, the feeling becoming almost overwhelming and she knows that at some point if she isn’t careful a sob could leave her lips and make this situation a whole lot more embarrassing that it was. 

The first four boards had the letters: W, I, L and L written on them. Will. 

The next three boards had the letters: Y, O, and U written on them. You. 

The next five boards had the letters: M, A, R, R and Y written on them. Marry. 

The last two boards had the letters; M and E written on them. Me. 

Every breath that YN takes she feels as though the whole world is slowing around her, and all she can think about is the letters she’s looking at, all made using chess pieces, the thing that they love the most apart from each other, asking her a question that she never, ever in her life thought that she’d ever hear. 

A part of it was that she didn’t think she deserved to have a love that she would call everlasting, the love that means a person wanted nothing more than to marry her. She never thought that she’d get that. YN did see love like that when she was growing up with her grandparents, and a part of her like any child would thought that maybe one day she’d get to love someone like that but she never thought that somebody would love her in that way. Of course it had crossed her mind whilst she was with Harry the subject of marriage but because he never mentioned it to her, she automatically just thought that he didn’t want to marry her and she was okay with that. She had to be okay with that because that was what she thought. 

It turned out that she was really, really wrong and that really wasn’t the case. 

Her eyes floated up from the board to where she thought Harry would be stood but he wasn’t, he was down on one knee in front of her with a box open in his hand. A tear run downs her cheek, and she swears that it was a happy tear, she promises that it was. 

“YN.” She nods her head a few times, moving fast so that she fears that she might give herself whiplash, “I know that we haven’t been together for the longest time, and I know that the start of our relationship wasn’t the most conventional but it was ours and we had that.” He hesitates for a second to let out a long sigh, “I know that you love me, and you know that I love you more than anything in this world. I know we haven’t spoken about marriage before and I’m now really hoping that you aren’t against marriage because if you are I’ll look like a right twat—”

“Harry.” She interrupts and he hums, “Breathe.” 

He lets out a deep breath before continuing, “I know that I’m not the best with words the majority of the time and that’s probably why I haven’t asked you this before, or about this before but. . . YN YLN, will you marry me?” 

She doesn’t even hesitate, and she’s nodding her head again and muttering, “Yes!” over and over again. 

To YN it doesn’t seem real, certainly not true that he’s saying this to her and asking her this question but as he walks over and slips the ring onto her finger and she looks down at it, she knows that it is. It is real, and Harry had just asked her to marry him. To marry him. YN really couldn’t believe it.

Harry’s quick to stand up and wrap his arms around YN’s waist, and she places her hands upon his cheeks and their lips are pressed together in a kiss that’s quick and rushed but everything that they need at this moment in time.

“I love you.” She grins once she pulls away, resting her forehead against his, “So much.” 

“I love you, too.” 

A year ago YN’s life changed in ways that she could only dream about. She became one of the most recognised chess players in the world and had a title to match that. A year later her life had changed again, in this way to the point where she would be spending the rest of her life with the man who she loved more than anything. 

In her eyes she had won, she had reached a checkmate and there was no turning back from it. 

She didn’t want to. 

𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 buy me a coffee

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 : @havethetimeofyourstyles​ @stylesfics-xx​ @millennial-teenybopper​ @burberryharold​ @heartbreakweatherharry​ @ucancallmechlo​ @ill-be-your-honey-bri​ @the-tumbl-r-of-my-youth @njpic @hipslikejagger​ @caprisunstyles @itsbuckysworld​ @afire-hes​ @louie-bug​ @lolapuffs​ @cutemint​ @hswritingrecs​ @disposableerror​ @peachybloomss​ @rubytersteege @coni-martina​ @sleepingdancer​ @harrys-cherrry​ @rainbowbutterflyboy​ @shawn-youth​ @swtxel @harrysunflowerkiwi​ @nesiamenick​ @glitterandharry​ @hhh33-3l​ @yourhsficsplug​ @gliitteryy​ @duh-dobrik​

[dcbutinamrev]

Yo can i get some hurt/comfort historical lams please

You want more angst? I gotcha! This is going to be based off of when Laurens found out about Hamilton's marriage to Eliza. I used Nora from Duty and Inclination because she's the only person/name I could think of-

***

Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens sits at the dining room table in his father's house in Philadelphia. The house empty only but him in the room, the candle light flickering on the table as Laurens narrows his eyes on it. He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the table as he ponders about something. His expression, anyway, dark and exhausted, seems to be pondering on something.

Laurens frowns with his lips pinched together as he leans forward against the table so his chest is pressed agaisnt the table with his arms folded on top. He stares down at the piece of parchment before him, blank. His quill and and inkpot beside him. He thinks about writing a letter to his Hamilton, updating him on his health and safety during his time on parole as prisoner of war. It's been almost a year since he last laid eyes upon his beautiful Hamilton and to be quite honest, Laurens has almost forgotten what he looked like. Which is what his portfolio is for.

Laurens reaches for his portfolio nearby and flips it open. He sighs through his nose as he pulls out a rough sketch of Hamilton, of when he was his and his only. In the sketch, Hamilton beams back up at him, his eyes closed and the corners of his eyes crinkle, his nose scrunching up. Mouth opened. He appears to be laughing at something, probably a joke Meade had said or a sarcastic comment from Harrison.

Laurens smiles as he stares down at the sketch, laughing himself a little as he traces over Hamilton with his thumb, resting one hand on his cheek while the other grips the paper. He swallows the lump down his throat as his eyes begin to water. In all truth and honesty, Laurens misses his Hamilton. He misses him more than anything. He misses that bright red hair of his, those strange violet eyes. He missed how Hamilton would talk in his sleep, curled up beside him and face buried in Laurens's chest. He missed how he would used to count Hamilton's freckles as he slept peacefully. In all, he missed Hamilton's beauty. He missed those soft, pink lips most of all. 

Laurens sighs as he sets the drawing back down, face up. Laurens returns his attention back to the paper and grabs his quill. He begins to write. 

A half hour has passed since Laurens began his letter to Hamilton. His father’s...employ in better terms...Nora enters the dining room hesitantly, watching Laurens draft his letter. Nora bites her lip as she glances at Laurens’s back facing her before back at the letter clutched at her hands and then back at Laurens. 

“Mr. Laurens, sir?” Nora asks sheepishly. 

“Yes?” Laurens says polietly as he turns around to face her. 

“There’s a letter from a...from Mr. Alexander Hamilton for you?” she says, quickly handing it to him. 

Laurens frowns slightly at the hesitancy of Nora’s voice but takes it nonetheless, carefully ripping it open. He braces himself for whatever news may come as he unfolds the letter and reads it. 

His eyes scan the words until he stops on the words in his Hamilton’s handwriting: I give up my liberty. 

He freezes, shaking his head as he rereads the words. His Alexander’s own words. 

I give up my liberty... 

Give up your liberty? Lauerns thinks. What-- 

I give up my liberty to Miss Schuyler. She is a good-hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant. Though, not a genius, she has a good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes--is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy. 

Laurens stares at the letter in his hands. He repeats those words in his head, his breathing starting to quicken as he shakes his head, his vision getting blurried. The words morphing together so it’s difficult for Laurens to make sense of them. 

He’s married? Laurens thinks as he shakes his head, slumping back down in the chair. Nora rushes towards him immediately, crouching down in front of him to try to comfort him. 

Laurens stares at his half-written letter to Hamilton in shock. 

He’s married. His Alexander is married...? He’s... A thought suddenly clicks. 

“Revenge...” Laurens whispers to himself. 

“Sir?” Nora whimpers, scooting back as Laurens slowly stands from his chair, his mind churning. 

“Revenge...he’s doing this for revenge...for me...because of me...” Laurens says as he begins to pace back and forth. 

“Sir?” Nora whimpers from behind. 

“He’s doing the same thing I had done...revenge...he did this out of revenge...otherwise...he would have told me sooner...”

 Laurens mumbles. He glances back down at the letter in his hand, feeling himself growl low and his face twisting sourly. 

Laurens growls, ripping the letter in shreds. He storms towards the table, grabbing the sketch of Hamilton he just had, staring at it for less than five seconds, before he tears it in half then tears it into smaller pieces. He yanks the other sketches of Hamilton out of the portfoilo, tears prickling in the corners of his eyes as Laurens shakes his head, not wanting to believe it. 

He doesn’t look at the drawings as he tears them piece by piece. Laurens lets out a desperate wail, unable to hold it in any longer. He runs up the stairs towards his room and pulls out the other letters Hamilton had wrote to him. Words of comfort, words of hope and assurances. Words of love. 

Laurens slumps down to his knees as he stares wide-eyed at the letters, his hands trembling. He hears Nora calling his name, but he ignores her. Growling again, seething, Laurens rips the letters in half. He then rips them into smaller pieces. HIs eyes lands on the first letter Hamilton wrote to him and freezes. Shakily, he grabs it and reads it. 

Cold in my professions. Warm in my friendships. I wish my dear Laurens it might be in my power by actions rather than words to convince that I love you. I shall only tell you that till you bade us Adieu. I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart upon you. Indeed my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain in mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You should not have taken advantage of my sensibility to steal into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into me. 

 Laurens scowls at the letter, the letter crumpling in his hands. 

And rips it. 

~~~ 

A few weeks have passed since the Laurens had discovered of Hamilton’s marriage to Eliza Schuyler and nothing has approved. Laurens has been rather quiet and distant, even around his father which concerned him somewhat. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t spoken a word since the discovery of the marriage. The marriage that took his Alexander from him. 

Now Laurens sits at the table he was before, gazing off when a knock is heard. Nora quickly rushes over to open it, lifting her dress as to not trip over it. She opens the door and freezes. 

Alexander Hamilton stands before her with a kind smile on his face, wearing his blue Continental coat and uniform. His bright red hair underneath the tricorn hat. Hamilton bows respectfully. 

“This is the Laurens’ residence,” Nora says. “May I help you, sir?” She knows who he is, she’s seen such drawings of Hamilton from Laurens and she knows how he broke his heart. 

“Good evening, Miss,” Hamilton says. “I am Alexander Hamilton, current aide-de-camp under General Washington. I am here to see an old friend of mine who was recently captured under the British seige at Charleston and taken prisoner. I heard he was on parole and he would be here.” 

Laurens tenses when he hears Hamilton’s voice but remains still like he was before. His back facing Hamilton. 

“His name is Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens?” Hamilton says. 

Nora glances over her shoulder at Laurens before back at Hamilton. Finally, she steps aside and lets him through. Hamilton breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees Laurens alive and well before him. Safe and unharmed. And God, alive. 

Hamilton takes off his tricorn hat and tucks it under his arm as he marches slowly towards Laurnes. He stops when he notices Laurens’s hand clenching around the quill. 

Hamilton knows what this is about. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before reopening them again. 

“John...?” Hamilton says. 

Laurens swallows as he turns around to face him. “Alexander...” 

Hamilton sighs, relieved. His tense shoulders slump. He smiles. 

“It’s good to see you again, Jack,” Hamilton says. 

Laurens says nothing. 

Hamilton sighs, frustrated. “John--” 

“Don’t,” Laurens hisses, his throat working as he clenches his jaw. “Just don’t.” 

“John...my dear...you know ...you know I had to get married at some point...right?” Hamitlon asks. 

Laurens still doesn’t say anything. Hamilton sighs and walks up towards him, standing face to face. Laurens narrows his eyes at Hamilton but tries to remain calm. Laurens crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I can’t...we can’t be like this for the rest of our lives! Men can’t get married! Men can’t have children! We can’t...we can’t raise a family, Jack. We--” 

“I know.”

“John, please,” Hamilton begs as Laurens turns around, his back facing him. “I understand your frustration and upset and you have every right to be but--” 

“Do you?” Laurens snaps, glancing over at Hamilton. “Do you, Alexander?” 

“Yes, actually, I do!” Hamilton argues. “I’m not the one who lied for two years about a wife left back in England and a child!” 

Laurens winces. 

“John, you have to understand--” 

“Understand what, Alexander?” Laurens snaps. “I loved you!” 

“Yes, I loved you as well! So much! And still do, every aching day!” Hamilton protests. “But it is required of the law, John! We...people like us...we do not have a place in this world.” 

“I loved you!” Laurens shrieks suddenly, grabbing hold of Hamilton’s arms. “Do you hear me? I loved you, Alexander! I loved you first!” 

The sight of Laurens breaks Hamilton’s heart, seeing Laurens so distressed and hurt. Tears trickling down his cheeks. Laurens lets out choked sob and rests his head on Hamilton’s chest. 

“I loved you,” Laurens whimpers as more tears start to slip. “I loved you, Alexander...” 

“But that does not mean you own me, John,” Hamilton whispers, stroking Laurens’s honey blonde hair and pressing a kiss to Laurens’s forehead. “I love you too, my Jack. Always.” 

Laurens sniffs as he lifts his head back up to meet Hamilton’s eyes. Hamilton smiles softly as he cradles Laurens’s cheek. Laurens closes his eyes he leans into Hamilton’s touch. 

“Marrying Betsey is, yes, indeed the happiest day of my life--” Laurens winces but Hamilton contnues. “But marrying her doesn’t chage my love for you, Jack. My love for you is never in doubt.” 

“I wished to be your life, Alexander,”  John mumbles. 

Hamilton’s eyes widen and stares up at him in shock. “Jack...” 

“I know it is impossible. I know...” Laurens sighs as he struggles to get his words together. “But if we could, if we were able...I would...I would want to spend the rest of my life with you Alexander.” 

Hamilton beams as he stands on his toes suddenly and smashes his lips onto Laurens. Laurens grins as he presses his lips harder to Hamilton, causing Hamilton to grunt in response and hiss sharply through his nose, startled. 

After a few minutes, Hamilton and Laurens unfortunately have to pull away and Laurens presses his forehead onto Hamilton’s.Hamiton giggles as he traces the crook of his jaw. 

“I do.” Hamilton laughs, pressing his lips to Laurens once. “I do. I do.” 

Laurens grins as he kisses Hamilton hard, their kiss turning from slow to a quick and rushed one, their breathing labored with each kiss. Laurens pulls back slowly, resting his forehead agaisnt Hamilton’s. He smiles as he whispers: 

“I do.”  

[nettlestonenell]

Enola Holmes in Review

Gentle Readers:

1.       I did not plan to watch Enola Holmes

2.       I do not/have not watched Stranger Things, and my entire concept of Millie Bobby Brown as a human is encapsulated in the occasional errant tumblr post, and a line of eyewear she apparently has created, posters for which hang at my glasses-provider.

3.       I had never heard of the YA novels about Enola Holmes

There she is!

Yes, I do tend to enjoy nearly any incarnation of Sherlock Holmes. And, yes, I am often surprised by this fact. For some reason, Holmes, unlike, say, Chris Evans as Cap or Chris Hemsworth as Thor [instances where I can’t really imagine enjoying anyone else in the role] I am always interested to see someone else’s [writer and actor and director]’s take on him. *Subtle shout-out to James D’Arcy’s 2002 turn in A Case of Evil.

Mr. Jarvis! [and there was Vincent D’Onofrio and opium!!]

And yet, watching the Enola Holmes trailer [no doubt b/c of tumblr], and yes, admittedly not unmoved [we are not made of stone] by Cavill’s Curls™ the delight I felt in watching that advert led me to start informing my family that on September 23rd what I was going to be doing was enjoying Enola Holmes on Netflix [and anyone else was free to join me].

Someone important is missing from this picture

And what a delight it was. In the run-up to its debut I read more than a few reviews of the film [and, I think, every one of them written by men], some of which struck me as simply coming from a place of mean-spiritedness, yet none—even the positive reviews—preparing me for how ENJOYABLE this film is.

I’m not going to provide a full review point-by-point here, b/c the film involves cases to be solved (no, none of them are overwhelmingly complex—YA novel--, so all the more reason not to spoil any pay-offs). But I do have some things to talk about.

THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM – And what a nice, nice elephant it is! Henry Cavill as Holmes is, in my opinion an absolute delight of a performance. From the moment he first says Enola’s name (a perfectly-rendered reaction to the moment playing out) this Holmes fits into this Greatest Showman-like version of Victorian England, where no one’s too dirty no matter how poor, and where despite a flaming red dress, cut too low for daytime wear, young Enola is never once mistaken for a working girl. [Again, YA novel] As other reviewers have noted, HC is, well, Cut and Bulked Out, and in his highly tailored frock coats well, strapping is too light a description word. *not a complaint. Cavill’s Curls are out and proud and here to tell us that we are meant to be Having Fun, and Gentle Readers—THEY DO NOT LIE.

No, not a priest’s collar where he is undercover (though I had thought so)

In fact, you could absolutely write your thesis statement on this film, that it’s really a fraternal, familial love story between Sherlock and Enola. Sherlock is the character during the two hours that actually changes. [Yes, Enola comes to an understanding about herself, and her circumstances change repeatedly—but it is Sherlock who experiences a Change of Heart/Reversal]. 

Raise your hand if you’re totally here for significantly older brother/significantly youngest sister family love!

HOW I WOULD DESCRIBE IT – This might in no way be helpful, but, Enola Holmes is basically The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles...

Where have you gone, Sean Patrick Flanery?

a YA historical storyline that’s written adjacent to [there, famous people] here, enduring fictional characters. It’s adventurous and pleasantly immersive, historical morays are given a slap-dash portrayal, rather than a fully-accurate representation, there’s adventures to be had, and side-characters to be converted into caring about the title character as much as we, the audience, do.

LUCY HONEYCHURCH – Yes, that gorgeous girl from Windy Corner. The timeline doesn’t jibe, but I daresay Helena Bonham Carter (back in a corset—though she may have worn those for Bellatrix) as Eudoria Holmes *IS* what Lucy Honeychurch might well have become beyond A Room with a View’s end. Bonham Carter looks absolutely at home here (period films have sorely missed her! –she had a part in 2015’s Suffragette), and still wears the trappings of Victorian England like a second skin. 

Not to mention that she now join my personal comfort-list of on-screen mothers with the likes of 1997’s Little Women Susan Sarandon and Cinderella’s Hayley Atwell.

FAMILY ISSUES OR PLOT HOLES? 

It’s a fair question. There’s a lot going on in this plot, some of which...seem solvable. Why has it been so very long since the Holmes brothers have seen their own mother? And sister? How could the woman we come to know as Eudoria raise a Mycroft? [see also, Molly Weasley?] Why aren’t people who seem to care about Enola more engaged with saving her from all the dangers London throws in her way? Why does Enola accept several acts of violence aimed at her, why does she in certain instances Do What She Is Told? Rather than chalk these up to plot holes or convenient devices, I’m siding with the Holmes family being dysfunctional [who knows what dad was like? We’re certainly not told here]. 

[clears throat]

The conversations between Mycroft and Sherlock barely skim the surface of any subject they interact on. Classic dysfunction: distancing one’s true self from human interaction b/c keeping the peace supersedes all else.

Enola accepts certain treatments b/c if we really do watch her relationship with her mother, there is an element of something amiss—as I will declare the later abandonment shows. Enola is a child used to being elevated and celebrated on one hand, and shut out and isolated on the other. Her parent has informed her about so much, but essentially locked her away in a false reality, where Enola is not taken to see the world, nor taught how to interact in it (which is explicitly stated). Perhaps it is not so surprising that the Holmes’ brothers have not cared overly much for visiting their remaining family. And when repeatedly confronted with a minor child (and yet a child likely though old enough or about so, to be married off) being forced to endure things diametrically opposed to her will—the brothers’ reactions are stoic, the system they accept as to how life must be lived immoveable and morally right simply by its very existence.

MILLIE BOBBY BROWN – THE STAR – In what has to be an Emmy-nomination-deserving turn, MBB is nothing short of wholly in charge of the screen. She never overpowers the story. She’s as loveable as Sandra Bullock in While You Were Sleeping, and as ready for her closeup as Jennifer Lawrence in The Hunger Games. As another review mentioned, she handles the 4th wall breaks in such as way as we look forward to the next time she’s going to talk to us. We ache with her sorrow for her lost mom, and rage with her at the adults in her life choosing wrongly for her future—or simply not choosing at all.

A random observation, but one that feels important to me: her HAIR. Yes! They’ve managed to make a late Victorian-era film where the heroine’s hair looks like real hair that someone really styled (or in some scenes, didn’t). And yet, where the hair looks proper for the time. [wild applause]

COMPLAINTS: Well, in honesty there aren’t any. If you want to complain that there isn’t any dirt, that the evil of the world (I mean, c’mon, this is narrowly post-Dickensian London, here) is neutered, that the adults in question seem neither alarmed enough or emboldened enough at either their mother or sister being missing and possibly out of their depths in a dangerous society without protection, and in Enola’s case real-world skills--? Well, I’m certainly not going to disagree with you. This is YA Victorian London, after all, not Ripper Street. There is also neither a hint of or actual threat of sexual violence at any point in the film. But the lack of that has preserved us from having to sit through that, as well as no doubt lectures about how Enola’s virtue might be spoilt and she might become useful to no man.

The relationships are appropriate, too. Despite strides between Enola and certain adults in the film, by the time the credits roll they’re not showing physical affection toward each other (a move that would have seemed over-the-top), and teen relationships are shown progressing at a reasonable and mutedly awkward pace.

Now, Netflix, green-light me five more films (or more). There’s still a new version of John Watson to meet, after all!

[s-creations]

Return the Flames - Chapter 14

All at Dead Bird Studios knew of Amos' (The  Conductor's) ability. How the owl could suddenly erupt into flames if  angered enough. When the studio first opened, Dominic (DJ Grooves) was  told that Amos had his ability under control. Nothing to worry about. No  possible loss of anything from an open flame.

A few years later however, and that control seems to have lessened to a dangerous degree.

It should have just been a simple, week long drive to fix the problem. It really should have been.

Dominic should have asked a lot more questions and should have been prepared for a twist ending.

_________________

Fandom: A Hat in Time          Rating: General Audience           Relationships/Pairings: The ConductorXDJ Grooves         Warnings: Eventual depictions of violence, slow burn relationship, named characters, attempt of an accent, being hunted down, a race against time (sort of).

Author’s Note: This is the final chapter for this story, but don’t fret! I have three sequel stories currently in the work for this AU. So there’s a lot more to explore with this pairing and story. Thank you so much for reading this!

It wasn’t cold…

It wasn’t warm…

It wasn’t bright…

It wasn’t dark…

Amos wasn’t fully sure where he really was. All he knew was, after touching that feather, he woke up here. Floating in...nothing. He wasn’t even sure where he was or how long he’d been there. Wherever ‘there’ was. Just floating in nothing. Unsure of what he was supposed to do. 

Just as he felt himself going insane with nothing happening, Amos jumped in surprise when a bright light appeared before him. Warmth hitting him after so long. It was inviting, Amos started to move forward. Desperate for something else besides this nothingness that he’d known for what seemed like forever.

“Amos!”

He paused. He knew that voice. It sounded so...desperate. So sad. Why did it sound so sad? 

“Amos, please come back… I need you to come back…”

Looking around, Amos was shocked to find the Moon lying below him. Glowing softly, almost gently compared to the harsh light above him. The heat is almost unbearable. Even more so compared to the calming cool. Without a second thought, he started to move towards it instead. Easily landing on the soft surface with a plume of dust being created at his feet. 

It was comfortable, calming, on the surface. Amos somehow knew this was where he was supposed to be. That the light above was going to be the end of everything. Quite literally everything. The moon, somehow, feels like home.

“...Dominic?”

It was uncomfortably hot. Amos finding it very stupid that someone had decided to drap a blanket over him. He let out a low groan as he slowly sat up. Whipping the blanket off and moving to sit on the edge of the bed. 

 “What the peck happened…” Rubbing his forehead, Amos took his surroundings in. Quickly realizing he was back in the medical hut. 

 He was only able to have a few seconds to himself before the blanket in the doorway was pushed aside. Light spilled into the small hut as Dominic stepped through carrying a tray with food and water on it. His eyes on the ground with his posture showing nothing but defeat. The penguin, lifting his gaze up from the flattened dirt, froze upon realizing Amos was awake. Both starting each other down, Dominic looking absolutely stunned. 

 “...Uh… Mornin’?” Amos flinched when Dominic dropped the tray. All items break when they hit the ground. The owl had no time to recover or comment before Dominic kissed him. Full of desperation and want pushed into the action, Amos’ gripping onto Dominic’s shoulders to ground himself. The moment ended when the penguin pulled away and smacked his arm. 

 “Ow! What the peck was that for?”

 “For being an absolute idiot! A peck neck if you will. You...scared me. Everything that is holy and decent Amos, you… I thought you were pecking dead.” 

 “I…” The owl frowned, fully taking Dominic in. The penguin looked absolutely exhausted. Hair disheveled, signature sunglasses off to reveal deep bags under his eyes, feathers unkempt. In all honesty, Dominic looked dead on his feet and the worst Amos had ever seen him. “How long have I been out?”

 “...5 days.”

 Amos swallowed weakly. “Oh… Do ya think everyone at home thinks we’re both dead?”

 “You absolute peck neck.” Dominic laughed softly, sitting down next to the owl. “...How are you feeling?”

 With the initial shock now wearing off, Amos realized the fire from within was… Well, it wasn’t as strong as it was before. He could still feel it burning. But he wasn’t in pain nor did he feel as if the power was going to flare up. After so many years, he felt as if he was the one in control of the burning power.

 “Better...far better… The C.A.W. agents?” 

 “Ah, well, the majority of them fled…”

 “Do I want to know?”

 “Probably not.” 

 “Alright…” Amos let out a weak sigh, leaning against Dominic. “Do we just...go home?”

 The penguin laughed again. “Don’t make it all sound so anticlimactic!” 

 “A near death experience wasn’t good enough? Can’t we just have one peaceful moment that doesn’t lead to almost disaster?”

 The Elder walked in to find both birds clinging at each other while laughing hysterically. “I suppose this is where you release that built up energy. You seem to be doing well Amos.” 

 “I believe I’ve earned my ‘oh-my-peck-I-survived’ hysterical laugh.” The owl teased back. 

 “That is a fair assessment. All joking aside however, how are you feeling?”

 “Better than I have in years.” 

 After a more than thorough medical check up (Amos swears his tail feathers weren’t laying properly afterwards) they prepared to depart. Bakle was thrilled to see Amos was awake and well. The owl easily caught the young Nomad who had basically launched himself into Amos’ arms. The large father merely gave a hearty clap onto Amos’ shoulder. A silent indication to show he was happy the other was alive. As the rental car was being uncovered, the Elder gave the request to have the duo return next year. 

 “Do ya think I’ll be in that poor of shape again?” Amos asked. 

 “Oh no, far from it. But it would be a good measure to make this a yearly pilgrimage. To make sure you don’t reach such a dangerous level again.”

 Supposed they couldn’t argue with that logic. 

 It wasn’t before long that they were back on the road, one final goodbye before they started heading home. While the road in the jungle was still just as bouncy as before, there was nothing heavy hanging over them. Amos wasn’t unconscious. There was (hopefully) no one hunting them down. Just a wobbly, silent ride back towards the paved road and then a straight shot back home. 

 “Oh boy.”

 Amos was pulled away from his thoughts, turning away from his window to look at Dominic. “Oh boy?”

 The penguin merely nodded before them. An uncomfortably familiar scene was put on the road. Numerous black cars were blocking their progress. Instead of crows however, there were a number of different beings standing by said cars. The closest was a large eagle. All wearing black suits and dark sunglasses. 

 “If we’re startin’ this peckin’ dance again…” Amos growled darkly.

 “Calm down...let’s just see what this is.” Slowing their car to a stop, Dominic put it in park and climbed out. Amos follows behind closely. The eagle pushed away from their own car and met the duo halfway. 

 “Gentlemen.” The eagle nodded to them both. His voice was deep and commanding. 

 “Are...we in trouble?” Dominic cautiously asked. 

 “Far from it actually. Merely here to take your statement.” 

 Amos huffed. “And who the peck are ya.”

 “Agent Mobus. Department of Mystical Operation.” 

 “Are you with C.A.W.” The penguin frowned. 

 Agent Mobus shifted and cleared his throat. “No. They are actually who we need a statement about.”

 The duo gave a raised brow exchange before Dominic replied with, “Are you...associated with them, in any way?”

 “Far from it. They are an organization that claims they’re tied with the government even when they’re not. They have the mindset that those who are...different need to be removed.”

 “What is your philosophy in all of this?” Amos asked. 

 “We look to preserve and protect.”

 “You did a peckin’ great job.”

 “Amos.” Dominic quietly berated. 

 “No, he is correct to question our motives and our actions in this matter,” Agent Mobus replied, “We’re normally able to follow their course closely and intervene before C.A.W. can cause any real damage. We couldn’t understand their sudden change in destination. Until we were then told of the dinner burning down.” 

 Amos crossed his arms. “Not one o’ my finest moments.”

 “It still took us a while to understand what they were going after.”

 “Even after the dinner burnt down?”

 Agent Mobus’ mouth twitched, as if holding back a smile. “You’ll have to understand. Phoenix’s are rare. Even more so when it’s a child of said creature. This is a situation that...well, has never happened.” 

 “So,” Dominic slowly began again, “what do you need from us?”

 “Merely statements, or at least a few answers. Do you know where the C.A.W. agents are?”

 “No, they fled when things became a bit...heated,” Dominic tried not to smirk when Amos glared daggers at him, “But I will say that one agent...didn’t survive.”

 Amos turned away, frowning deeply at what that statement meant. 

 “Which one?” Agent Mobus asked. 

 “What I assume was their ringleader? He was the loudest out of all of them, that’s for sure.” 

 “Do you know at least the direction to which the rest of the agents ran off to?”

 “No, sorry.”

 “Very well. We’ll be in contact if we have further questions. Enjoy your trips home.” Agent Mobus turned to return back to his car. 

 “Wait, that’s it?” Amos questioned.

 “What else were you expecting?”

 “Being arrested?”

 Agent Mobus sighed softly and faced them again. “I understand your concerns. But, you clearly have a solution to your ailment. Unless you start using your ability maliciously, there’s nothing we can ‘do’. Or even have anything to worry about. Until that day possibly comes, enjoy your drive home.” 

 Nothing else was said. The group of black cars driving off. Even then, the duo didn’t get back in until the cars disappeared over the horizon. They shared a look, said nothing themselves, and drove off. 

 It was strange traveling home. It only took about two days with no interruptions or possibility of death looming. They stopped to pick up food, take small breaks, and slept in the car when they couldn’t stay awake any longer. Hand clasped together as they moved forward. 

 It was a relief when they entered the city. Sure, Amos found the towers and tall apartments a little claustrophobic, but the familiar sight was still comforting. The roads leading them back to the studio. A silent agreement between them that, with the rising sun, it would just be best to go there right away. 

 No doubt their workers wanted to know right away they had finally returned. 

 The parking lot was full. Very opposite to how they had left it. Amos even spotted his daughter’s car parked in one of the closer spots. Dominic pulled into his assigned spot, both stepping out. Eyes traveling over the area, neither truly believing that they were standing where they were. 

 “Well...shall we go in?” Dominic looked over to Amos. Who gave a deep breath and nodded.

 “Yeah...let’s go in.” 

 Just as this entire trip, their hands connected and they entered into the busy studio.

1 Year Later

“And you will call me every step of the way. And no lying. I’m serious dad. You keep that cell phone on you at all times.” 

 Amos sighed softly but nodded to Amelia’s demands. Her eyes staring him down. “Aye, I will. Promise.”

 Amelia, seemingly still unconvinced, looking over to Dominic. Who merely smiled back and nodded. “We’ll call.”

 “Good,” she let out a small sigh with her shoulders relaxing, “Just be careful, please?”

 Amos smiled softly, placing a gentle kiss on her brow, and they climbed into the car. The trunk was closed, two workers giving a wave before stepping away. The duo waves to all in the parking lot seeing them off. The duo waved to all in the parking lot as they left, the sun barely seen over the horizon and soon enough the city was far behind them.

 As they exit the city, Amos pulls out a rolled up piece of parchment. One of the numerous that had been sent to them since last summer. Stories filling them from Bakle, the Elder, and many others in the small village. This final one being sent to inform the two that everything was ready for their arrival. “Think Bekal will like the present we got him?”

 “Of course. Although, I’m sure he’ll just be excited to see us again.” Dominic commented. He reached over and took Amos’ hand. “How are you feeling, Sweetheart?”

 Amos smiled back over, placing a kiss on the back of the penguin’s hand. “Absolutely perfect Darlin’.”

[boyy-wonder-grayson]

Forever Yours

Summary: Dick and reader had a bad break up but things work out at the end.

Request: yes, thanks to @wintercapilson​ !!

Pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader

Warnings: lil angst but nothing bad, swearing and fluff.

Word count: 1807

A/n:hopefully this is as good as i think it is lmao. I really really liked the way this turned out! so feedback and rb’s are always welcomed :)

Based on prompts from this list!

*pics mine*

51. “He’s no good for you”

57. "Days without you are my reminder that there's something wrong"

58." I'm forever yours whether you have me or not"

-----

Dick watched as you laughed at something Brad said. He scoffed thinking what could have been so funny that had you laughing that hard. He drowned the rest of his whiskey before asking the bartender for a refill; he knew he was staring too much, but it was impossible for him to look away when you were having a good time in someone else's arms. He knew he shouldn't be upset about it, after all it was his fault that you two were no longer together, and boy he regretted that every single day.

"You're staring" Donna said sitting in the stool next to his best friend. She asked for another beer while awaiting Dick's answer. She thanked the bartender and took a sip of the beer while rolling her eyes. "You know, it's getting kind of creepy."

"Shut up" Dick said not tearing his gaze from the happy -disgusting- couple. 

"You do know she still loves you right? But at least she had the guts so move on, unlike someone else" Donna mumbled the last part but loud enough for him to hear.

"Look, Donna. I love you, you're my best friend,but shut up.i know I fucked up okay? I know" Dick said drinking the whiskey, liking the burning sensation the liquid left on his throat. "And I know i don't deserve her, or her forgiveness. But seriously, that guy?" He asked looking back at how Brad. 

"You really are stupid aren't you?" Donna asked in a serious tone.

Dick looked back at her not understanding what she's trying to convey.

"Jesus Christ, I mean what can I expect you're a man after all" she mocked him "do you really think that Y/n Is not waiting for you to make another move? Yes, she's with Brad now but it's because you're not with her! She loves you and even though you screw your chances with her, she's still waiting for you to come back. How blind you have to be not to see that?" Donna got up and went back to the group of friends that, unlike Dick, was actually having a good time.

Dick was astonished to hear her friend say that. He actually thought that after what he did, Y/n would hate him. But hearing Donna say that gave him hope. He couldn't stand seeing the girl he loved being touched and loved by someone else. He needed to do something. All the alcohol he consumed was not helping him think straight so instead of waiting to sober up a little he went looking for his girl.

Y/n was glued to Brad's side when Dick approached the group stumbling his way to the group, bumping into anyone that stood on his way to get you. When he finally reached the table he smile at Y/n which looked at him with confusion in her eyes.

"Heyy Y/n can I talk to you?" He slurred his words a little bit "in private" he added the last part quickly.

"Umm, sure" the girl said getting out of Brad's grip and followed the dark haired boy outside. 

She rubbed her arms trying to preserve the heat from leaving her body, but San Francisco nights were cold as ice. They stood outside for a few minutes in silence before Dick spat the words to her.

"He's no good for you,you know?"

"What?" Y/n asked unsure of what he had said.

"Bryan, he's not good for you. You deserve better" he said not looking at her.

"It's Brad, and what do you know what's good for me?" Y/n scoffed. She was tired of Dick's entitlement.

"Because I know you Y/n! And I know you'd never go for someone like Brad" Dick answered quickly. "I know you're only doing this to make me jealous!" 

Y/n laughed bitterly, trying to control herself, she really wanted to punch Dick, "Wow, so everything is always about you Grayson huh?" 

"That's not what I meant" the boy tried to get closer to her buck she took a step back instead getting away from him.

"No, that's exactly what you mean. Drunk minds speak sober thoughts and all that bullshit right?" Y/n turned around to go back inside the bar, she stopped in her tracks without looking at Dick "Go home Dick, get some sleep and then maybe we can talk."

Dick cursed under his breath, tugging at his hair. He knew he screw up yet another opportunity to talk with you about what happened; the alcohol running through his veins evaporated when he saw the look on your face after he said those words to you. He sobered up immediately and even though you didn't shut him down completely,he still feel so stupid for trying to get you back while intoxicated. He was going to have to wait till tomorrow when, hopefully, his head would be in the right place.

---

Dick woke up when he hear Donna's - loud - voice; he groaned in response and hissed when the light hit his half open eyes. 

"Rise and shine sweetheart" Donna said in a sing-song voice. "Ready to fuck things up again with Y/n? Or did you manage to grow some balls overnight that would help you talk to her,you know, like a normal person?" She said smirking at the hungover boy.

"Fuck off" he said grabbing a pillow and hiding his face on it, only for the object to be taken away by none other than his best friend.

"Oh I will fuck off, when you go and apologize to her. Seriously what were you thinking Dick? As if things weren't bad enough you managed to make them even worst" she said sitting next to him.

"I know okay, I will talk to her. Just...give me some time" he replied rubbing his throbbing temple.

"Not gonna happen. You're going to take a shower, have some coffee and you gonna get your ass in line and go talk to her, you hear me? I'm sick and tired of seeing you mope around because you're 'oh so sad because you can't be with her'.

You need to go and fix this, now."

Donna was right and Dick knew this, but he was afraid that you may not be willing to give a relationship another shot, and that terrified him.

He followed his friends advice and within an hour he was ready,and determined to get you back.

---

Ever since her and Dick broke up, Y/n decided that it was best to get her own place. Living in the tower was easy and y/n really enjoyed it,but waking up every day to see your ex boyfriend was not something she looked forward too. 

So she decided to look for a place not too far from the tower in case of an emergency. 

She cleaning some dishes that were in the sink from the night before when she heard a knock on the door. She wiped her hands with a towel and went to open the door. When she saw it was Dick she moved aside so he could get inside and sighed preparing herself for yet another argument.

"I'm sorry" he said first not wanting to beat around the bush any longer. "I was drunk last night and I know that's not an excuse for what I said but I'm really sorry Y/n"

The girl looked at his appearance and noticed the bags under his eyes and how dull his eyes were;it was weird seeing him so defeated, she hated to see him like this.

"I know Dick, but we've been having this type of conversation for weeks now. And I- I'm just tired of it ending in a fight where one of us always gets hurt" she said looking down, finding the rug under her feet quite interesting.

Dick took a step forward and when she didn't backed away, he smiled a little.

"Look at me" he said softly, lifting her face with a finger under her chin, looking over at her glossy eyes. "You deserved better than this, than me" he said.

"Don't you think I have some say in that?" She asked him grabbing his hand and caressing it with her thumb. "I know you want the best for me now and back then too,but you were, you are what's best for me Dick. I know it" 

Dick realized he was crying when he wiped the tears with her fingers. He wasn't really the type to cry, but he felt so vulnerable under her gaze. 

"I miss you, so much. And all those days without you were my reminder that there was something wrong" he said pulling her closer to his body so she could rest her head in his chest. 

They stood there embracing each other, reminiscing about when they were in the exact same position but in a different situation, a much happier one.

"I love you Y/n. I have loved you ever since you set a foot in the tower. From the first time I have loved you and it scares the shit out of me how much you mean to me. I know I was unfair to leave you without explaining the reason, but I just couldn't keep lying to myself, so I needed to let you go, because alone was safer than with you. I needed to keep you away from me so I could keep you safe, and i know it's a bullshit reasoning but I have never loved anyone as much I love you. But I promise I'll be better if you take me again. I'm forever yours, whether you have me or not"

Y/n didn't answer instead she just hugged him. She was crying too. When she pulled away to dry her puffy eyes she smiled at the brown haired boy in front of her.

 "I love you too Dick, so much" she bit her lip "i- i also told Brad that we would have never worked out" she said laughing a little "it was unfair for him to keep leading him on when I knew it was not going to work, so I won't be seeing him again."

"I'm sorry It didn't work" he said with honesty.

"No, you're not" she laughed a little louder this time making him laugh too.

"You're right" he looked down biting his lip not wanting to ruin the moment.

"So...do you think we could try again?"

Y/n smiled sweetly at the boy and brought a hand up to caress his face, dick leaned into her touch.

"I think we can,yes. But I'm gonna need some time,okay?" 

"As much as you need" he said quickly. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Good, cause neither am I"

[mortuarybees]

@dorfette​ @saaliyah​ i hope this suffices!

In truth, Jaskier hadn’t expected Geralt to seek him out, but he had, and with his bloody child surprise in tow.

“We’re going north,” he’d said. “Now. We’re too close to the border, we can’t stay. They’re still looking for her. Will you come?”

And Jaskier had blinked at him, half wanting to refuse on principle, but Melitite preserve him, he knew he would follow Geralt to the ends of the earth if he asked. He’d packed up his lute and his belongings, and they’d set out within the hour.

It was a hard press north, without much time to talk privately with Ciri always around--and Jaskier liked her, he really did, quite a lot, she was stubborn and curious and she had her grandmother’s dry humor, it’s just, ‘hello, Geralt, why, exactly did you tell me to fuck off and then show up a few months later and ask me to come with you and your daughter’ didn’t feel like a conversation to have in front of her--and at night, he was far too tired to do anything but go immediately to sleep.

There was plenty of time to study Geralt, though, and notice that there was something different about him. Despite Nilfgaard on their tail and their dogged progress, he seemed...easier. As if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and he smiled more freely than Jaskier had ever seen.

Told you, he thought smugly. You can’t escape the child that belongs to you. Though it seemed that now he had her, there was nothing in the world that could make him give her up.

It took two weeks to finally arrive at the rooms Yennefer was renting in Vizima, which was--well, he hadn’t exactly been surprised when Geralt said that’s where they were going, but disappointed nonetheless. He’d thought that perhaps Geralt coming for him meant something, but--

Well, that was stupid. He knew better.

He left Geralt, Yennefer, and Ciri to work out the details of Ciri’s education--the girl had magic, powerful magic, because of course she did--and settled in Yennefer’s parlor, idly plucking at his lute. He wasn’t going to feel sorry for himself. He wasn’t. Geralt was an asshole, Yennefer could have him, gods help her. He wasn’t even sure why he’d come.

He thought of the smile Geralt had given him when he’d come down the tavern stairs, ready to go, a small thing, but--soft, and relieved, and his fingers began to play the familiar tune of Her Sweet Kiss.

“I haven’t heard that one,” Geralt’s voice rumbled behind him when he’d finished, and Jaskier jumped halfway out of his skin, whirling around to look wide-eyed at the witcher leaning against the doorframe.

“It’s new,” he said stiffly, and raised his brows. “I haven’t seen that shirt before.” It was a deep midnight blue, rather than his usual black. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Geralt in anything but black, black armor, and white bandages.

Geralt’s lip quirked. “It’s new.” He pushed off the door frame and took the seat across from Jaskier. “Does it have words?”

Jaskier frowned. “Does what have words?”

“The song,” he said, and Jaskier swallowed hard.

“Er--yes, it does,” he said. After several moments of silence, Geralt’s brows raised.

“Will you play it?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, and took a deep breath. “Why did you ask me to come with you?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “Because I wanted you to.”

“But why,” Jaskier demanded. “The last time I saw you, Geralt, you blamed me for--for all of life’s injustices, might as well have blamed me for every splinter you’ve ever had, and then you show up and ask me to come with you, I mean, really, Geralt, it’s confusing, is what it is--”

“I...owe you an apology,” he interrupted, and Jaskier gaped at him.

“You what?” he said, blinking. “Er, I mean, yes. You do.” Geralt took a deep breath, and didn’t say anything, so Jaskier helpfully prompted, “Saying you need to apologize isn’t an apology.”

“I know that,” Geralt growled, shaking his head. “I missed you,” he said, after a long pause.

Jaskier’s heart flipped in his chest. “You missed me.”

“I was angry,” he said, and he wasn’t looking at him. “Not at you. At destiny, at all of it. You were right, that I wasn’t sleeping because of Ciri. I think a lot of things were happening because of Ciri, and I think even then I knew it.” His lip quirked. “You always called me a big idiot. I think destiny agreed. It was trying to force me to find her, and I wasn’t listening. And you were there, because you’re always there. I didn’t want to believe in destiny, I wanted to blame something else. So I blamed you. For being there.” He ducked his head. “I should’ve thanked you.”

“I--” Jaskier’s voice came out hoarse, and he blinked, embarrassed to notice tears building in his eyes, cleared his throat. He’d known that, at least once he’d cooled off, because he knew the big idiot, but he hadn’t expected Geralt to actually admit it. “Geralt.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and looked up. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have met Ciri, or Yennefer.”

Jaskier’s breath stuttered out. Right. Yennefer. “Well, I think I owe you an apology on that one,” he said weakly, but Geralt shook his head.

“Ciri needs a teacher,” he said. “You may not trust her, but we need her.”

“And you’re in love with her,” Jaskier said, and he tried not to sound bitter about it. “Despite my warnings.”

Geralt frowned. “I’m not in love with Yennefer,” he said. “She’s--I care about her. She’s important to me. But I’m--” he sighed, frustrated. “I’m not in love with her, Jaskier.”

“Whatever you want to call it,” he snorted, and kicked his feet up on her expensive sofa. “I’m sure she wouldn’t call it love either. You’re perfect for each other.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled. He looked up, frowning. “Thank you.”

“For what, Geralt?” he said, exasperated, and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I don’t think you’ve ever said that many words at once in your life. Are you alright? Do you need a glass of water? I know you don’t really do conversations, but they’re allowed to end, you know, you don’t have to just keep going in circles until I fall asleep or a monster shows up.”

“For being there,” he said, and Jaskier’s heart twinged. “And for coming with me.”

“Apology accepted, Geralt,” Jaskier said gently. “You can let it go. It’s fine, water under the bridge.”

“I’m trying to say something,” Geralt said, staring at him as if he thought Jaskier could help, but he was being deliberately obtuse.

“I’m lost,” Jaskier told him. “Truly lost.” Geralt made several frustrated noises and stood, looming over him. “Er, Geralt?” Geralt took his lute and laid it gently aside. “Geralt, Geralt, Geralt--”

“Jaskier,” he said, his voice tight, and leaned down.

“What are you doing,” Jaskier gaped, Geralt’s face stopped inches from his own. “Are you okay?”

“Jaskier,” he said again, and then frowned, leaning back.

“Waitwaitwait,” Jaskier said, snagging the front of his shirt to stop him. “That wasn’t a no, it was just--I mean--what the fuck, Geralt?”

Geralt blinked at him. “Is it too soon?”

“Too soon--it’s been a decade and a half!”

“After apologizing,” Geralt said. “Do you need time?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Jaskier swore. “I’m going to kill you, with that big sword, your own sword, and you’re going to be so embarrassed, killed by a bard, with your own sword--”

Geralt smiled, a small and hesitant thing. “Jasker,” he began, and Jaskier rolled his eyes, pulling him forward into a kiss.

It was awkward, and clumsy, given the angle, and in all honesty, the taste was a bit off, given the weeks of nonstop travel, but it was fucking perfect, and Jaskier pulled at him until he climbed onto the sofa, legs bracketing Jaskier’s hips, adjusting the position, and gods, if it had been perfect before, now it was fucking transcendent, without their teeth knocking awkwardly together.

“I’m still angry with you,” he said, pulling away for a moment. “One apology isn’t going to do it. You hurt my feelings, Geralt.” He made a sound Jaskier would’ve described as a whine if he didn’t value his life, trying to catch his lips again, but Jaskier shook his head, warring with a giddy smile. “I think maybe we should talk about why you feel this urge to lash out at people who are close to you, get to the root of the problem, start with early childhood--”

“Jaskier,” he murmured, kissing his jaw. “Later.”

“Later,” he agreed, and tilted his chin to encourage attention to his throat. He would be seeing Yennefer in the morning, after all, and he needed some kind of leg up. A love bite from her ex, perhaps. “Later.”

[shyneanon]

And our boy MF Sans too. Here’s the next chapter of The Boss’s Daughter. This story is way too fun to write. Like Skeleton Magnet, it’s on AO3.

Enjoyyy.

---

Once your lunch date with Mindy was over, the both of you walked back to your house and gave each other a goodbye hug. When you went inside, your parents asked you how it was and you told them it was good, leaving out any details about Sans or Mindy’s teasing (though you often had to omit details about Mindy’s sense of humor). You then gently and carefully brought up the subject of going dancing, leaving out that the place was a speakeasy, and you humbly asked for their permission to go.

They said yes.

You were so thrilled you threw your arms around your father and thanked him profusely, which seemed to convince him that he had made the right decision.

Mindy was ecstatic when you called her and told her you’d been given permission. She insisted that you should get yourself a new dress for your first time out, and you had to admit, you didn’t mind that idea. So you agreed to join each other for a shopping date on Friday.

Unfortunately, her parents dragged her into some social meeting of their own at the last minute, meaning you’d be doing your shopping by yourself. Perhaps it was for the best; knowing Mindy, she would probably have tried to convince you to buy something more scandalous than you would like to wear. The flappers’ dresses were very cute, but you weren’t sure how eager you were to sparkle so much. Not to mention that your father would rather burn the money for it than allow you to wear it. Instead you would look for something a bit less flashy.

Being out without anyone, even Mindy, felt liberating. You were shocked your father had allowed it— although it was in the middle of the day, and you were being driven to the destinations you chose. He wasn’t about to let you walk around town completely unsupervised. Rival gangsters did know what you looked like.

Eventually you found a dress you enjoyed; it was form-fitting, but not so much that there would be protests. It was also a nice bright blue, with darker blue sequins adorning it in a very pretty design all across the front and back. It was a nice balance between the flashy flapper dresses and the more boring, grown-up dresses you wore for formal gatherings. It took you a few tries to find the right size, but once you did, it fit very nicely. So you purchased it and left. You had to admit, the feeling of being able to splurge was quite nice.

You would miss it when you finally left the horrible environment you’d been raised in.

You decided to step outside and enjoy the relatively fresh air, sitting down on a bench. You kept imagining how amazing it would be to be somewhere where your father wouldn’t be able to see you. Just you, having fun as an adult with Mindy. Drinking alcohol, dancing… There would be boys there. Probably boys who weren’t criminals at all— besides drinking bootleg liquor, anyway.

Some of them probably didn’t even know how to use a gun.

Swoon.

A pigeon started to make its way past you, eyeing you suspiciously. You snickered, your worries forgotten for a brief moment. If only you had some sort of food on you to give it. Not that it didn’t look well-fed— it was a particularly fat pigeon.

You wondered what it was like to have worked for what you had.

The pigeon suddenly started as a pair of only mostly-polished black business shoes appeared in your field of vision. It immediately flew off.

Oh God no.

You didn’t even bother to look. You knew who it was. “Maybe Mindy was onto something. Are you stalking me?”

“Nah, doll. I think yer the one stalkin’ me.”

The weight of the bench shifted slightly. You turned to glare at Sans, who had leaned back and was making himself quite comfortable next to you on the bench. He had a cigar between two fingers.

“Do you need something?” you asked him.

He smiled. “Penny for yer thoughts?” he asked before placing his cigar in between his teeth.

You leaned back and folded your arms in an attempt to look as standoffish as possible. “I was just thinking that that pigeon was almost as fat as you are.”

He immediately choked on his cigar, so violently his hat almost fell off his head. He started coughing, and you felt your lips curl into a smug smile.

The smile vanished when he wheezed and then roared with laughter. He leaned forward in his seat, slapping his knee. Initially, you were annoyed. You couldn’t even insult him? He would just laugh?

But as his absolutely stupid guffawing continued, you found yourself biting down on your lip to keep from smiling. That didn’t work, so you tried biting the insides of your cheeks. That didn’t work either.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, his eyes full of mirth, “ya really hate me, don’tcha?” Raising his brows at you, he added, “So much that ya think about me when I’m not around, huh?”

Goddammit! How had he managed to turn the tables? You wanted to glare but you were still smiling. So instead you just said, “Have you not learned to not speak to me?”

“I don’t do much learnin’, sweetie.”

“Clearly.”

He laughed again. It didn’t seem to be at you, though. Why did his laugh have to be so funny?

Still smiling, he looked down and nodded at the bag sitting by your feet. “What’s in there?”

You shrugged. “A new dress.”

“Yeah? Will I get to see ya in it?”

You gave him a bitter smile, though at this point you weren’t sure if it was sincere. “In your dreams,” you told him.

“Absolutely in my dreams,” he said, winking.

You felt your face get hot. You wanted to scream. How? How did he turn your own words against you?

“What’s the occasion?”

He was still looking at the bag. Without much thought, you said, “I’m going out dancing tomorrow.” The corner of your mouth quirked up in a smile. “It’s my first time.”

“Didn’t think you were one to party.”

“I don’t because I can’t,” you told him. “My father doesn’t want boys talking to me.” Raising your eyebrows, you added, “Like you, for example.”

“I know that.”

“No, you obviously do not,” you said. If he really understood the gravity of it, he would stay the hell away like everyone else. “He will have some men find you, and they will riddle you with bullets. Or he’ll kidnap you and riddle you with bullets himself.”

His eye sockets lidded, and the lights in them seemed to dilate. A lot. He removed the cigar from in between his teeth.

“I know,” he growled, and the sound seemed to roll through the bench, through you.

You just stared, baffled.

“And I don’t care,” he added. Your brow furrowed. Did this man have any self-preservation instincts whatsoever—

His arm rested behind you on the bench, and you glanced back and forth between it and him. He was giving you the same look from the night you met. You felt your face heat up, but you kept a stern look on your face.

He leaned close, looking you dead in the eyes. It was like some kind of insane staring contest that only one party member was enjoying.

An inhale from him.

“You’re wearing different perfume,” he observed, his smile growing.

“You are going. To die.”

He only moved closer to you on the bench. You were tempted to try reverse psychology, but you had the feeling that telling him you wanted him wouldn’t end well for you either.

The two of you were so close, that when he spoke in a low whisper, you could hear every word perfectly:

“Your Papa can shoot me dead as long as I can have you,” he rumbled, his teeth almost touching your lips. “Just once. ‘N then I can die.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you asked.

He grinned that predatory grin, though the way his eyes lidded looked more drunk than anything.

“Sweetheart…. you’re what’s wrong with me.”

The lights in his eyes dropped down to your lips and he leaned so close that your cheeks brushed against each other. He was clearly moving to kiss you. Your heart started to race for some unfathomable reason, and the sensation frightened you.

You slapped him across the face.

He withdrew, rubbing his cheek. If only it could be red where you’d slapped him. That would be satisfying.

“Fuck, that fuckin’ hurt,” he muttered, as if he’d lightly bumped his head against something.

“Good!” you replied.

“OK, OK,” he said. “‘M sorry. I’m really sorry.”

He made eye contact with you as he said it. You blinked, then resumed your stony expression. “For what?”

“Fer flirtin’ with ya just now.”

“And how do I know you mean that?”

“I do actually like ya,” he said. “Not just…” He gestured to your form. “I like ya, yer smart. And fun, when yer not mad at me.”

“I’m mad,” you said, “because you just won’t stay away. There are so many other girls, you can go and talk to them instead.”

“I don’t wanna, though. I wanna talk to you.”

You watched him, and he watched you back. Did he mean that? Or was he just saying it so that he could smooth things over with you now, and then try again the next time you saw each other?

You took a breath.

“If you’re not lying to me,” you said, “then you’re forgiven.”

He smiled sincerely, looking more sensitive than usual. “Thank you, doll.”

“You should be thankful, you absolute idiot.”

He chuckled again. “You tell it like it is. I like ya for that.”

Well, you weren’t used to anyone liking brutal honesty. You felt the tension in your body dissolve just a bit.

“No lies,” he said, his look sobering. “There’s just… so much lyin’. ‘N cheating. ‘M no exception or nothin’, I just… It’s nice to talk about it with someone who won’t lie to you.” He smiled gently. “Y’know?”

For a moment, you said nothing. Was he trying to soften you up?

It was awful that you were even having to worry about that.

“I wouldn’t know,” you told him, though it came out far more vulnerable than you meant it to.

His smile faded. “... Yeah.”

You stood up, grabbing your bag. “I should go,” you said. “My parents will worry if I’m gone for too long.”

He moved to get up.

“No, you don’t have to do that.”

He paused. You thought a moment, then grinned.

“You just keep resting your fat ass on the bench.”

He snorted and laughed big belly laughs again, falling back into his seat. “Jesus,” he muttered, still smiling. “Yer great.”

It felt good to be able to say whatever you wanted.

He nudged your leg with his foot. “Hey.”

You were smiling now. “Mm?”

“Have fun dancin’ tomorrow, huh?”

Not able to put on a firm expression, you just nodded. “Thanks, Sans. You have a good time lying around doing nothing.”

He snickered, and you turned around and left.

***

When you got back home, you found your mother in hopes of showing her the dress you’d bought. She was reading in the living room, so you got her attention.

“Mama,” you said, “look at this dress I found.”

You pulled it out and showed it to her, and she smiled.

“You seem excited,” she said.

“I am!” you told her. You were going out for once.

“I’m glad.”

You admired the dress’s fabric.

“You’ll look very nice at dinner tomorrow.”

You blinked, your smile faltering. “Dinner?”

“Adolfo called, and your father invited him over for dinner tomorrow.” She shrugged with an amused smile. “He forgot about the dancing. You know he does that.”

Forgot, or had changed his mind and done this to keep you from going out? You weren’t sure, but you were angry either way. “So I’m just supposed to call Mindy and tell her I can’t come?”

“Yes.”

“No!” you said. “I’m not doing that!”

Her look grew stern. “(Y/n), finding you a husband is more important than—“

“I don’t want one of these men for a husband!” you told her. “They’re all horrible people! Every single one!”

“So I suppose your father is.”

“I never said anything about Father! But all the men I could marry are murderers, and liars, and cheats—“

She said your name harshly. You knew that tone. She was serious.

She set her book down and stood up from her seat. “We’ve had this talk too many times. You need to grow up.”

Your jaw clenched.

“You know as well as I do that you need to marry one of these ‘murderers, liars and cheats.’” She sobered. “You can’t just walk away from this life. No one can. Don’t pretend you don’t know what will happen if you try to walk away like it’s nothing. You know, don’t you?”

You said nothing.

“The rival gangs will find you and either kill you, or use you against your father. And then kill you when you are no longer of use to them.” She cocked her head. “And as much as many men don’t want to admit it, they need us. Our family is counting on you to marry someone who can continue building this business. You need to accept the life you’ve been given.”

Your chest was burning. You wanted to curse, and tell her that fuck that, fuck Adolfo, fuck everything, you didn’t care if your father’s business burned to the ground. And that you would rather get shot by a rival gang than be stuck for the rest of your miserable life raising children who would either become criminals or the wives of criminals.

But instead you sighed.

“I’ll go call Mindy,” you said, albeit through gritted teeth.

“Thank you,” said your mother.

You picked up your bag and went upstairs to your room, locking the door behind you. You hung the dress up neatly, and then sat on your bed, by the phone.

You reached into your purse and fished out the card that Sans had given you.

Blinded by sheer rage at your parents and at that ass Adolfo, you dialed the number and then waited.

The voice that picked up was loud and harsh. Papyrus.

“PAPYRUS AND SANS, ATTORNEYS AT LAW. THIS IS PAPYRUS. WITH WHOM DO I HAVE THE PLEASURE OF SPEAKING?”

Before you could stop yourself, you snorted and started to laugh. Lawyers? Really? You wondered if that had been Sans’ idea.

You hoped so.

“... WHO IS THIS?”

“Sorry,” you said, and gave him your name. “May I speak to Sans, please?”

There was a moment of silence.

“GODDAMMIT, SANS, YOU COMPLETE IMBECILE!”

He instantly hung up, and you stared at the phone, confused. You dialed them again, but no one picked up. The small spark of hope that you’d had started to flicker out. You just sat on your bed for God knows how long, feeling it die.

Had you said something wrong?

The phone rang and you instantly picked up. “Yes? Hello?”

“Hey, dollface.”

You never thought his voice would give you such a rush of relief. “Hi, Sans.”

“Sorry about that, sweetheart. Papyrus doesn’t exactly like me talkin’ to ya.”

You heard Papyrus’ shrill voice screaming in the background, though you couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“No one likes it,” you told him with a smile.

“Well, clearly you do, beautiful. What can I do you for, hm? Feeling phonely?”

You tried to hold back a snicker, but it came out anyway. You then composed yourself, going so far as to sit up straighter in bed.

“Remember when we met?” you asked, doing your best to sound serious.

“Do I?” he purred, and you were glad he couldn’t see your red face. “What about it, dollface?”

“And you told me that you could leave the party without having to walk out the door?”

“Yeah.” You heard a mischievous tone in his voice as he said, “Why do you ask?”

You hesitated. The rage was starting to fade away.

You forced yourself to picture Adolfo’s stupid mug again and you quickly felt the fire you needed to continue.

“Doll?”

“My parents are forcing me not to go dancing because Adolfo Acerbi wants to have dinner with us.”

There was a moment of silence on his end this time.

“Sans?” you said.

“Acerbi, huh?” He sounded like he’d said it through gritted teeth (weird, considering he always spoke through closed teeth).

“Yeah, him. He’s a lying shit,” you told him, taking the opportunity to swear. “And I fucking hate him, and he just ruined my chance to go out for once.” After a moment of more hesitation, you told him what you wanted:

“I want you to help me sneak out after dinner tomorrow. I’m not letting Acerbi ruin my night.”

Another moment of silence, and then Sans replied.

“I can do that.”

[palmett-hoes]

hello!!!! how do u feel about the pairing of kevin day and allison reynolds, if u dont mind me asking

uuuhhhhhhhhhhh,,,

in all honesty i have very few thoughts on the matter

like i've scrolled past the handful of fics for them and seen maybe one fan art and just kinda went "okay" and moved on

it doesn't really do much for me, though i can definitely respect bi4bi relationships

so i did spend a little extra time thinking on it to answer this ask, and my conclusion is that i don't think it would really be a stable, healthy relationship, which is usually what i talk about when i talk about good ships bc i'm a romantic and a coward who tends to only like ships that i think should get married and grow old together

to comment on their dynamic though, i think they could be good bitchy, judgemental friends and i think allison would be a good person to pull kevin out of his head and force him out of his comfort zone and away from exy. as a romantic relationship though? i think she would steamroll him

look, i love allison, but she's a ball-buster tbh it's part of the reason i love her, she's totally unapologetic

we see it with seth, and later a little bit with neil, too: allison does not tip-toe around your problems, and she's not nice about confronting them either. she throws them right in your fucking face and she doesn't give a shit if you can't handle it. and then in return, she expects the same back. she likes to yell and she isn't afraid of being yelled at

in fact, the thinks that the yelling and the insults is all a part of airing out grievances. she's from a very stuffy, uptight world where no one actually says what they think, where issues never get addressed head-on and where resentment can fester underneath a smile for years or even generations

her attitude is a direct response to the superficial, two-faced world of the super-rich. it's a powerful statement of her own identity and individuality, and to her it's the most direct and most effective way to solve problems

unfortunately, this also means that her relationships with other people are going to be ROCKY

when she's upset, her focus is on feeling and expressing all of her emotions in the moment, not preserving someone else's. she doesn't care about harmony and she doesn't care about the long-term consequences of her words, but she also probably hits a lot of nerves that don't blow over in a day. just because she doesn't internalize insults doesn't mean everyone is like that

allison and seth had an explosive relationship, but they seemed to be on the same page about this, and it's probably because they were both the types of people that dealt with their emotions like this that their relationship lasted as long as it did. the other upperclassmen got used to allison over time, but it was rough, and it was clear in the summer practices in tfc that she wasn't always on their sides, and was just as open to starting fights with them as her boyfriend

and that brings us to kevin

kevin seems very tough on the outside. he's rude and condescending and judgemental and picky, just like allison. but unlike allison this attitude doesn't really go both ways. kevin is actually somewhat delicate

kevin is from an environment of open, constant criticism. of high achievers aiming for perfection. but that criticism wasn't a two-way street. he couldn't tear down riko or the master the way they tore him down, he could only transfer that censure by proxy onto the lower ranking ravens or take it to heart and internalize it

remember "As brutal as Kevin could be toward the rest of the team, he was hardest on himself"?

kevin has an inferiority complex enforced by years of abuse, and he's been taught to shut up and bend the knee to people with more power than him

i think that kevin and allison could go toe-to-toe, tit-for-tat for a while, but i think that there are lines kevin has that allison would be willing to cross that would bring him to his knees, and she wouldn't even realize. but once she did her relationship with kevin would never fully be the same

it's not the same as with riko, allison doesn't actually have power over him, but ince the association is there even subconsciously it would color the way he sees her. he would become afraid of her

she probably wouldn't even know what she'd done, let alone know how to fix it

but yea, that's my take on kevin/allison

i really think that kevin needs a partner who is supportive and kind. (in the same way, allison needs a partner who is confident and opinionated)

i think a good way to determine what someone needs out of a partner is what they look for when they're under stress.

when kevin is scared he seeks goes to abby. he seeks out comfort and compassion. he seeks out kindness.

people like allison or neil or andrew confront the issue head on. they prepare for the worst so they want the bitter, jagged truth

kevin wants to be told it's going to be okay

if there are any foxes that i think kevin would be compatible with, it's either matt or renee or maybe even nicky tbh. i also like,, just don't care for any of those options as ships so pls don't ask me for more on this i'm not about to become a mevin content machine

i'm also actually pretty shocked that kevin/jeremy isn't a bigger ship, given that it was all but stated out loud that kevin has a crush on him, and tbh it's kinda sad that kevin's crush gets written off as a joke because of the popularity of jerejean which ive spoken about my feelings on before. like,, jeremy is kind and genuine and fiercely committed to exy, and in just the one scene he appears in it's very clear that he's super familiar with kevin, knows that he's a grumpy asshole, and is extremely fond of him anyway

like,,, what's not clicking?

[phykios]

honesty and promise me, part 4 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

 July twelfth dawns like any other day, Annabeth wrapped up in Percy’s sheets. She’s spent significantly more nights in his bed than she’s spent in her own apartment over the last two months, but who could blame her? This bed is literally to die for. Therapeutic mattress for the fucking win.

 Percy, to her greatest confusion and chagrin, is a morning person. Well, actually, what he is is someone who runs on very little sleep for three weeks at a time, before crashing headfirst into his bed for thirteen hours. It is a decidedly unhealthy way to live, but it means that Annabeth is used to waking up alone. The nights where she gets to wake up with Percy are the nicer ones, sure, but his presence is suffused in every corner of the room, his smell wafting from every piece of sweaty clothing tossed haphazardly about the floor, so much so that she never feels like she is truly waking up alone.

 Gross? A little. But the smell is oddly sexy, too, especially after he’s just come home from a run, all wet and glistening and flushed, panting hard--

 Ahem.

 The point is, when Annabeth rolls out of bed in one of Percy’s shirts (the one that says “Do You Even Lift, Bro?” with an image of a male dancer raising his partner, courtesy of one Jason Grace) and stumbles into the kitchen for one of Percy’s patented brunch specials, it’s a pretty normal morning. What catches her off guard is the spread: eggs and bacon, obviously, with fruit and granola and yogurt, but also an enormous tray of delicious, flaky croissants, perfectly crescent shaped, with little bowls of every condiment imaginable, multiple flavors of jams and preserves and Nutellas.

 “Bounjour, mademoiselle!” Percy says cheerfully from the oven, perfectly accented, bending over to take out a tray. “Ça va bien?”

 “Um… bonjour…” She pokes a croissant experimentally, and is equally delighted and dismayed to find that it is just as flaky as advertised.

 “Take a seat, these ones just need to cool for a bit and then we can get started.”

 Spring in his step, he opens the refrigerator, taking out the most beautiful cake Annabeth has ever seen in her entire life. Perfectly round, paper white, with little blue borders piped around the edge, but it’s got Annabeth feeling like she’s just been doused in cold water. “How the hell did you know it was my birthday?”

 Immediately, she knows it was the exact wrong thing to say. His eyes go wide as the saucers on the table, mouth open in shock. “It’s your birthday?”

 Goddammit. “Um.”

 “Why didn’t you say anything?”

 Because birthdays were inherently a dumb concept? Because her father had to be reminded of her birthday more often than not? Because her mother had stopped sending her birthday cards after she turned thirteen, calling them a waste of money and resources? “I don’t know,” she shrugs, dipping her finger into the strawberry jam. “I guess I just didn’t think it was a big deal. Ooh, does this have rosemary in it?”

 “Annabeeeeth,” he whines, plopping the cake onto the kitchen island. “I can’t believe you! I love birthdays.”

 “Well,” she flounders, attempting to duck his sudden attention, “what were you originally celebrating? I don’t usually think of cake as a brunch option.”

 He raises an eyebrow, not at all impressed with her attempts to change the topic, but he answers dutifully, “Originally, we were celebrating me being one month cig-free--”

 “Percy!” Annabeth gasps, clapping her hands delightedly, and a little exaggeratedly. “That’s great!”

 “But,” he continues, “now we’re definitely celebrating your birthday instead.”

 “Oh, come on!”

 “Nuh uh,” he chides, grabbing his phone and beginning to type something, “I am asking Nico to pick you up a birthday card as we speak.”

 Oh. “Nico’s coming?”

 “Well, this is his apartment. Part of the deal is that I make him breakfast. I think he’s bringing his boyfriend.”

 “Is… anyone else coming?”

 “Just a couple of people, my friends Frank, Grover, Rachel… I invited Hazel and Thalia, too, but I think Hazel told me she was busy, and you know Thalia. If it’s not at a crappy dive bar then the odds of her showing up are virtually none.” Percy pauses in his text, fixing her with an odd look. “You really don’t want anyone to know, do you?”

 How easily he reads her is a little disconcerting, and also a thought that she just can’t handle right now. “I just don’t like people making a big deal out of it. You know, it’s just another day. I’d much rather celebrate you quitting.”

 He holds her gaze for a beat, before smiling, finishing typing out whatever he was doing on his phone. “Yes, I am officially quitting. Cigarettes are terrible for you, and I do not have the money to keep up the habit. So, I swear,” he holds up a hand, “No cigarettes, no weed, no vaping. Not that I ever vaped before.”

 “Oh, never?” Annabeth teases.

 “Not ever.” He leans in, grinning that devastating grin that is seriously detrimental to her health. “You could not pay me enough.”

 “Good.” She goes to meet him, pressing her mouth to his, sweetly and chastely, but swiftly turning deeper, almost against their higher brain functions, like they only exist to be here in this moment, lips against lips, tongue and tongue. She’s always hated the taste of cigarettes, she prefers edibles to blunts, and anyone who vapes is automatically dropped from her list of potential partners… but she’s never minded the taste of ash on Percy’s tongue. It was just another part of him, another facet of the whole sexy package.

 Now, though, she has the full taste of him, unfettered and unfiltered, his morning coffee and his morning breath. It is disgusting, but again, oddly thrilling. This is Percy, stripped down and divested of all the trappings of blue lipstick and tight pants. She wonders what he thinks when he sees her like this, messy haired, face and ears empty of metal, last night’s mascara smudged all around her eyes. Given the way that he deliberately threads her hair through his fingers, winding the frizzy curls around him, pulling her close enough that the pristine cake is in danger from some serious smushing, she thinks he likes it just as much.

 Unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on which perspective, either Percy’s, Annabeth’s, Nico’s, or the cake’s, their little impromptu makeout session has cold water dumped on it before they can end up doing it on the kitchen island. The sound of someone unlocking the front door is almost comically loud, and they break apart, equally red and flushing.

 “Gross,” says Nico di Angelo. “No heterosexuality allowed in my kitchen.”

 “Take that back, you biphobic ass,” Percy says. “I have never been heterosexual in my life.”

 “I’m not biphobic, I just don’t want to see you getting it on on my marble countertops.”

 “Speak for yourself,” chimes in Will, setting down a grocery bag right on the spot which would have been ground zero. “Hi, Annabeth.”

 “Hey, Will.”

 “Nice of you to join us today,” he says, as though he doesn’t see her here all the time.

 She offers her assistance in cooking or setting up, knowing full well that she will be firmly rebuffed--domestics are not her strong suit, by any stretch of the imagination--and is sent away with an iced coffee that Will has so thoughtfully bought for her instead of the birthday card she was dreading.

 Soon after, the party is in full swing.

 Well, she uses the term party loosely. It is fairly intimate, even with Nico’s enormous apartment making everything smaller. They have assembled an odd amalgamation of people: “You already know Nico,” Percy says, indicating the goth prince next to, “and Will,” his boyfriend, the perpetually cheery med student, next to, “and this is Frank,” a large, physically imposing man with a shy smile, next to, “Rachel,” a red-headed girl who looked like she just walked out of a paint shower, all making space for, “and my buddy Grover,” the guy in crutches who had immediately dropped into the single, out-of-decor, but extremely comfortable-looking loveseat Nico had placed nearest to the bathroom. All told, they look like the brochure for a community college who really, really wants to publicize how diverse their student body is, but with a kind of natural chemistry and camaraderie that those kids on that brochure could only dream of. “Everyone, this is Annabeth.”

 They greet her, each giving a limp wave.

 Then Percy leaves to attend to his brunch spread, but not before giving her a quick peck on the cheek. She can feel all eyes on them, hot and burning.

 Silence.

 “So,” Annabeth says, as awkward as a freshman in an orientation mixer. “What’s up?”

 “Your hair is amazing,” says Rachel.

 Hers is crusted with paint, a deep red that turns pink against the orange in the light, a close cousin to Annabeth’s, which is in dire need of a touchup, curls thrown in disarray by Percy’s grasping fingers. “Thanks, I--”

 “So how do you two know each other?”

 Annabeth blinks. “Friend of Thalia’s,” she says. “You?”

 “Used to do ballet together,” Rachel says, brusque, efficient. “Frank, too.”

 Frank waves again.

 A beat passes.

 Annabeth looks to Grover, who watches, bemused. “You, too, I take it?”

 Another second. Then he laughs, weird, but hearty, a joyful bleat. “Oh, sure,” he says. “I’m a regular Baryshnikov.”

 She can almost feel the room relaxing, heaving a sigh after holding its breath.

 “Are you with NYCB, too?” she turns to Frank, shoving her hands in her pockets, fingers curling around the fabric there.

 Shaking his head, he swallows his orange juice. “I mostly do modern and hip hop, now, music videos and stuff.”

 Objectively, she knows that you don’t have to be skinny as a rake or bodybuilding champion to dance, but Frank is neither of these, a huge, sweet-faced guy with a healthy layer of fat around his face and torso--a strict counterpart to Percy, who could give the Belvedere Apollo a run for its money. “Have I seen you in anything?” Not that she really watches music videos, but she figures it’s the polite thing to ask.

 “Um, maybe,” he shrugs, embarrassed. “I’ve been lucky enough to work with some really big people.” Though he offers no further details.

 “Working on anything cool?” She asks, doing her best not to cajole.

 He nods. “Percy and I have a thing coming out probably in the next month or so, with--ah, well. Can’t say.”

 “Tease,” Rachel grumbles, tossing back her mimosa. “I’ve been trying to get the secret out of him for months.”

 Frank smiles, secretive and a little smug. “Sorry. You’ll find out along with everyone else.”

 “Do you work together a lot?” Annabeth asks. She had thought that Percy was strictly ballet--though, she supposes dancers do crossover work more often these days, if only for the money.

 “Not as much as we used to, sadly,” he replies. “We actually lived together in Paris for a few years while he was contracted with the opera before I decided to come back home. Vancouver,” he adds at her unspoken question.

 “Bit of a hike, from Vancouver to New York,” says Grover.

 Frank shrugs. “I was in town anyway, and I haven’t seen Percy in about a year.”

 Annabeth frowns, doing some mental math. If Frank hadn’t seen him in two years, then that meant… that Percy had been alone in Paris all that time. The man thrives off of friendship and social interaction; no wonder he was jonesing to come back to America.

 “Remind me again how long you two were together?” Rachel asks, red hair bouncing as she cocks her head. A jolt goes down Annabeth’s spine, appraising Frank in an entirely new light.

 “On and off for about two years,” says Frank, thoughtful. “But I just lived with him to save money. The rent in Paris sucks.”

 “And you were the best roommate I ever had,” Percy says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Clean, good cook, better kisser--”

 Frank shoves him away.

 “You’ve only ever had one other roommate, other than Nico or your mom,” Grover points out. “That one guy when you first moved overseas--Frodo? Fedora?”

 “Fyodor,” Percy corrects. “He was terrible. I didn’t know any Russian, he didn’t know any English, and our French wasn’t good enough to actually hash it out, so he just gave me a permanent cold shoulder.”

 “Kind of a low bar, don’t you think?”

 “And there was my roommate in Boston.”

 Sharply, she turns her head. “You lived in Boston?”

 “Yeah, for like a year. I told you I was with Boston Ballet for a little bit, didn’t I?”

 Pretty sure he didn’t. She almost opens her mouth to retort, to ask when and compare notes, to mention that she lived in Boston, too, before remembering who she is with, swallowing her words.

 “Fyodor hated you,” Frank hums, reentering the circle. He’d wandered away and returned with a croissant, dipped in chocolate.

 “Trust, me, the feeling was mutual.”

 “It must have been,” Frank says, “because I saw your new apartment after he kicked you out--that place made a shoebox look luxurious.”

 Something in Percy’s face almost falls when Frank says that. Annabeth is sure there is a story there.

 But Rachel laughs. “Annabeth, you have no idea. It was a      Chambre de bonne    ,” she says, exaggerating the accent, “which might sound super fancy and French and cool, but trust me, it wasn’t at all. It was this size.” She slaps the kitchen island, a little too hard, her third mimosa making her loose-limbed and loud. “When I visited for Thanksgiving that year      I     had to pay for the heating bill, because Percy basically refused.”

 “It was cozy,” Percy mutters, suddenly very preoccupied with the half a croissant on his plate.

 “It was not.” Rachel says. “It was sad and cold and small.”

 Nico looks interested, but not nearly as boisterous as Rachel or Frank, “Was that the place…”

 “Ye,” Percy cuts him off, “Yes it was.” He smiles, Stepford-strained. “But, then Frank came to town, and so did his grandmother’s money.” He slaps Frank on the back. “And I got a bathtub.”

 “I still can’t believe that a ballet dancer lived anywhere for two years without a place to soak,” Frank says, shuddering.

 “I can’t believe you waited until Frank got to Paris to get yourself a sugar daddy,” Grover quips. Percy throws a grape at him. Grover, to her immense surprise, manages to catch it in his mouth.

 Annabeth can’t really be impressed. This is the second time someone has brought up Percy and Frank having a history. Something hot and angry curls in her stomach. But Percy is laughing.

 Rachel laughs too. “Oh, he didn’t wait,” she says. “He had a bevy of sugar mommies for trips to Ibiza and Moscow and Beijing.”

 “It was Tokyo,” Percy says, “and they weren’t my Sugar Mamas.” He turns to Annabeth, sheepish, but not actually shameful. “They weren’t. Honestly.”

 “Uh huh.”

 “They were mostly Kym’s friends, and sometimes we’d go out when they were in town, and if we had fun, they’d invite me wherever they were going next. And if I didn’t have to work, I’d go with.”

 “I have heard rumors,” Will says, popping his head in, Nico attached to his hip, “of Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous of Europe. Is it true?”

 “Yes,” Grover and Rachel say at once.

 “Do you want to hear about that, Will?” Percy asks, “Or would you rather hear about the summer Nico came to stay with me and Frank before he started college, and slept with every single dancer in Europe except Frank?”

 Nico waves him off. “Only because you were already sleeping with him, cause he was your sugar daddy. Not like I needed the money.”

 “It wasn’t like that.” Frank says.

 “And now that we’ve aired all of my dirty laundry,” says Percy, “I need to borrow Annabeth for a second.” Gently, but with force, he tugs her arm, his other hand around her waist, directing her where to go like she’s one of his dance partners. Usually, she minds--a lot. She’s not about to let anyone, let alone a man, tell her where to go--but, you know, it’s Percy. Alone time with him is never a bad thing.

 He pulls her into the hallway, shoving his hand into his pocket. “What’s up?” she asks.

 “So.” Mouth open, he pauses for a moment, just… looking at her. His eyes are soft, warm like the first day of spring.

 “What?”

 “Uh, nothing,” he shakes himself a little, pulling his hand out. “Sorry, I just--I know you said you didn’t want anyone making a big deal out of your birthday…”

 Oh, no. She braces herself for the worst.

 Uncurling his fingers, he reveals his present for her.

 “It’s… a pin?”

 “Yeah,” he smiles. “Remember when I took my sister to the Met a few weeks ago? They were having that thing on Egyptian jewelry? Well, of course we had to stop in the gift shop, and I saw this and just--you know, thought of you.”

 It is a pin--one of those lapel pins that more often than not are added to a collection usually displayed on a backpack. This pin is a silhouette she recognizes instantly: the Parthenon, its columns and angles rendered in sterling silver, little grooves dug into the metal in an approximation of the fluting.

 “Wow,” she breathes. “Thank you.”

 “It was nothing.” His ears are pink. “Happy birthday.”

 And then he hugs her.

 After a moment, she hugs him back.

 It’s amazing how she can have had sex with someone so many times, but feel so awkward giving them a hug.

 “I didn’t, um, tell anyone else,” he says, pulling back. His hands linger on her shoulders, thumb tapping at the base of her neck. “But, I kept meaning to give this to you, so, you know, now was as good a time as any, yeah?”

 “I love it,” she says, honestly. Which surprises her. “Thank you.”

 She slips it into her own pocket, not even minding the sharp corners.

 When they return, Nico has already cut into the cake. “You were taking too long,” he snips.

 It really is delicious. Much, much later, Percy sends her home with a sweet, soft kiss, and one of the last remaining slices, rather than staying for dinner.

 Percy is the kind of boy who goes to his mother’s for dinner every week. She had been invited, but also threatened with the promise of another cake, and his ten year old sister, who would “love to make you a present.”

 It sounded nice, but Annabeth knew when she wasn’t really wanted, and so she demurred, citing a need for some solo downtime.

 She hasn’t heard from Thalia in, like, four days, which meant she had probably gotten a short-term gig. (“You’re lucky, she’s had Jason paying for her phone the whole time you’ve known her. Before that, she was almost impossible to get ahold of.”) Piper would take her out to dinner tomorrow, “just because.” But they would both know it wasn’t true.

 So, to refresh and relax after a long, harrowing day of socializing, Annabeth goes home.

 Or at least to her apartment.

 It doesn’t have a doorman, or the views, or the room, like Nico’s place. Nor does it have any of the people, the energy, the joy. Her furniture doesn’t fill it up. The most appetizing thing in her kitchen are the granola bars Percy had made the week before, or maybe the brownies he made four days ago. She sets her to-go bag of cake and croissants down next to them, a smorgasboard of Percy’s culinary prowess.

 Despite the long hours, her clothes still smell a little like last night’s bar, and her skin has a faint patina of dried sex sweat, and smudged makeup.

 She doesn’t want to start leaving things at Percy’s place--don’t want him to get the wrong idea--but she also occasionally needs to be able to touch up her eyeliner. She’s either going to have to find a bag that isn’t embarrassing to carry, or surreptitiously shove some eyeliner and lipstick next to the condoms in Percy’s nightstand next time they have a sleepover. Or raid Nico’s bathroom.

 Regardless, she needs a wash something bad.

 As she scrubs down, she does her best to focus on the lemon scent of her body wash, and not Percy’s perfect form, dripping with water. She tries to visualize her last trip to Sephora, not blowing him under the hot water.

 It doesn’t really work, so she gets herself clean and gets herself off and considers just spending the rest of the day naked, in case the mood strikes her again. But it's only 5PM, and she doesn’t have Percy to cook her some dinner tonight, so she sucks it up and puts on some pants.

 When she had visited Boston for work a couple of months back, Alex had insisted on taking her shopping, complaining that her sister and her friend Mallory didn’t understand Versace quite like Annabeth did, and that Blitz sucked all the fun out of fashion, anyway. Then, she had bullied Annabeth into buying a set of sweats, claiming it was because of the Grecian patterns, but probably because she thought Annabeth in that much purple would be funny.

 But eventually, she had wheedled, cajoled, and threatened Annabeth into buying a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. After deciding to forgo a bra, because that is just one more area she has always fallen short in, she shoves on a School of Architecture underneath them. The crimson clashes terribly with the lavender and seafoam, but she kind of likes it. Piper would call it “artfully nauseating,” or something.

 Besides, no one is going to see her but her delivery guy. And if someone did see her, someone like Thalia or Percy, well, the clashing colors would be the least of her worries.

 She is folded into her couch, wedged into the corner, very much      not     looking up Paris Ballet clips from the past few years, trying to spot Percy in the background, when there is a knock on her door.

 Not for the first time, she curses her lack of doorman--and then frowns. Who even knows where she lives?

 Piper and Leo? Magnus and Alex?

 Has she already ordered food and just forgotten?

 Is memory loss a side effect of a SK-II mask no one had warned her about?

 Tentatively, she creeps towards the door, opening it slowly. If this were a horror movie, the door would creak open, revealing the villain cast in the shadows of the hallway, holding his weapon of choice.

 She sighs.

 The man is only a few inches taller than her, and dressed impeccably in a t-shirt and jeans that probably cost half a year of her rent-- a big critique coming from her, since she wears a month of her own rent as sweats. His blond hair is impeccably combed, his tennis shoes impeccably white, and his smile the most charming thing you can find this side of the Brooklyn Bridge.

 “Happy birthday, girly,” he says, giving her an awkward, one-armed hug, trying to avoid getting any of her facemask on his shirt.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “It's your birthday,” he reminds her, holding up the bag. “I told you I’d stop by last week.”

 Had he? Maybe, and she’d just been too drunk or hung over to really process it. But maybe he’d also meant to, and then failed to follow through. Luke has a bit of a nasty habit of treating his intentions as the same as his actions. His intentions are good, usually, but it means that he often ignored the actual actions. Like how his intention was to support his mother in the best nursing home in the northeast, but his action was to work with Saturn, a very shady hedge fund, to facilitate it. Or how his intention was to have someone at a stuffy party to talk to, but his action was dressing up Annabeth as his arm candy because none of Piper’s models would call him back anymore. He hasn’t asked her to do that since, like, February though, thankfully.

 “Sorry,” Annabeth says. “I just… you know I don’t like my birthday.”

 He also has a bit of a habit of ignoring her distaste in a really blatant way.

 He’s a little like Percy that way, actually.

 She’d only ever told Luke about her birthday back in those embarrassing freshman days, when she’d thought he looked as good on paper as any Harvard MBA student possibly could, with a devastating smile to match. She’d been so convinced that he would be the right boyfriend that might finally get her mother’s approval, and she figured that her future husband should know her birthday.

 “Come in,” she says, reaching for the bag, but he shakes his head and brushes past her, dumping his black back on the coffee table. Graciously, he doesn’t look at her as he starts to empty out its contents, giving her an opportunity to dart back to her bathroom and peel off her facemask. Luke would forgive designer sweats, but they aren't at the “just chilling in a facemask” level of a relationship.

 When she returns, there is a small assembly line arranged on her coffee table: a stack of paper plates, a carton of Haagen Daas, forks and spoons, and a Milk Bar cake, all wrapped in its box.

 “Is Milk Bar still the ‘it’ thing?” she asks. “With locations all over the country, I figured it would be passé by now.”

 “I know it’s your favorite,” Luke says. “I don’t always have to choose the most popular thing.”

 Milk Bar had been her favorite, that is true, right up until she’d started fucking Percy Jackson, and eating his food.

 “Thanks,” she says, cutting herself a slice, and scooping herself some ice cream.

 “That’s all you’re going to get?” he asks, cutting himself a sliver.

 “I have had so much cake today,” she says. Milk Bar really isn’t as good as Percy's, but it reminds her of birthdays in high school, waiting for her mother to visit, sneaking out when she inevitably didn’t, convincing the local bad boy to buy her some alcohol. She eats it, eagerly.

 Luke’s jaw drops. “You had a birthday cake? By choice? On your birthday?”

 She shakes her head, swallowing. “No, I was at a party with some friends. They didn’t even know it was my birthday,” Until she had stupidly revealed it. Whatever. She just has to make sure he’s been excised from her life by this time next year. And maybe freeze some of his baked goods beforehand.

 Luke doesn’t let her go through with her evening plans, which consisted basically of watching      Legally Blonde     for the gazillionth time while she slurped down some pierogies, but he capitulates to      Roman Holiday    , helping her put away the leftover cake and ice cream. “Thanks,” she says, when the movie was done. “I’m glad you came over. “

 No one ever comes over. Thalia is her best friend, but Thalia would have questions about how she could afford the place, Piper never understood why she’d moved out here at all, and Percy… Percy was irrelevant. There is no reason for him to come here.

 “I always like to see my best girl.” He smiles at her, charming and rogueish.

 “If all those models you keep trying to date know that your best girl is an architect who lives in Brooklyn who you actually feed, that’s probably why they don’t want to date you back.”

 Luke laughs, leaning over and knocking his shoulder against her own. “None of those girls could hold a candle to you.”

 “God, you must be a terrible boyfriend.”

 “Probably,” he agrees, sitting up and stretching, before reaching back to the bag he brought the cake in. “After all, you are the one I bring all the nice presents. But I think I’m a pretty good friend.”

 He takes out a box, burnt orange, a black ribbon wrapped around it, because Luke is nothing if not predictable.

 Annabeth sighs internally, quietly reminding herself that money is how Luke shows his love. And that she is wearing Versace sweats.

 “Herm  é  s,” she says, pulling off the ribbon. “This box looks too small for a Birkin.”

 “Do you want a Birkin?” he asks. “I can get you a Birkin.”

 “I probably don’t need a Birkin,” she admits. Though maybe it would be nice to have one in her closet, if her mom ever calls her up for lunch again. She could show up with a Birkin and an eyebrow ring. Sweet revenge.

 Luke waves a hand. “It doesn't matter if you need one, just if you want one.”

 Inside the box is a scarf, the silk soft and smooth between her fingers, a pleasing gradient of oranges and reds and pinks and corals. When she unfolds it, laying it out before her, she finds a sharp, geometric design, columns stacked together like skyscrapers. Luke obviously had her in mind when he picked it out.

 “Thanks,” she says. It’s pretty--perfect for an ambitious young architect with two degrees from Harvard who had moved to New York City with an offer from one of the best architecture firms in the world. And Annabeth has no idea where she could possibly want or need to wear it.

 “Hey,” Luke says, suddenly soft, “don’t cry.”

 Shocked, she reaches her hand up to her face. It’s wet.

 Luke is probably the only person she will let herself cry in front of. She’d spent three years doing that in college. He’d seen her through heartbreak and hangovers, guiding her through it all like an aloof big brother.

 “I’m okay,” she hiccups, wiping her nose.

 He hands her a napkin.

 Annabeth blows her nose, wet and gross. “I’m sorry, I promise I’m alright.”

 “You sure?” He sounds sincere, but she catches him glancing down at his wrist.

 “Do you have a date?”

 “I…” At least he has the decency to look sheepish. “Just some guys at work. You can come, if you want.”

 It could be fun. Hanging out with Luke can be fun. Get a little lit, take a business bro home, screw his brains out, send him on his way. But there’s an unspoken dress code to these things, and Annabeth just doesn’t wear Louboutins anymore. And the idea of fucking a business bro just… doesn’t hold any appeal right now.

 “No thanks,” she nods, using the clean edge of the napkin to wipe her eyes. “I am going to watch      The Search For Elle Woods    , and you're going to strike out with some models, and everyone is going to be happy.”

 “You really are so mean to me.” Luke complains, as she walks him to the door, before giving her another hug. “You sure you’re going to be okay?”

 “I am.” She is different and new, but Luke is still her friend. She had survived. It would be okay.

 “Well, call me if you need something.” He kisses her cheek, sweetly, without any heat. Perfectly platonic. “I love you very much. Happy birthday.”

 “Thanks,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

 “Always.” And he is gone.

 She folds the scarf, going to put it in the dresser in her room, shoving it among a handful of accessories, gathering dust. She realizes, with a start, that she’s left a week’s worth of clothes all over her room on the way to the shower, and, with a sigh of adulthood, and the knowledge that if she doesn’t follow the ADHD gods and pick them up now, they’ll be there for weeks, languishing on her floor and stinking up the place, she goes to at least move them into her hamper. She rifles through ripped jeans and band t-shirts and black socks as she goes, checking each for anything like discarded change or a bus pass she doesn’t want to wash.

 She shakes out the pants she’d worn out the night before, and therefore the entire day until she’d gotten home. There is a rather unfortunate stain on the knee that she can’t quite parse--ketchup? Chocolate?

 Then she reaches into the pockets, touching metal, and she suddenly remembers her other birthday present for the day.

 Pulling out the pin, she feels strange, hot in the face, funny in the belly, tossing the jeans haphazardly in with the dirty laundry. It's small and shiny, cheap metal for mass market production, and yet, she walks it over to the dresser, laying it down on the silk scarf like it's the diamond broach her aunt gave her for her sixteenth birthday.

 She really is beyond Hermès scarves now. But that pin? Well, you never really can get more Annabeth--the middle school know-it-all, teenage debutante, college perfectionist, New York yuppy, or barfly and punk princess--than one of the greatest architectural achievements in human history.

 She is still a little shocked by how much she loves it. How much it means to her that Percy saw that it was perfect for her.

 And like so many times when she is confronted with an emotion she doesn’t like, she slams the door closed, and goes and watches a favorite movie from high school.

 She does order dinner, eventually, setting out her meal in between texting Piper about brunch tomorrow. It's a whole thing, pretending that they’re not going out for her birthday, but eventually they agree on a time and a place, and she can eat her sausage and watch everyone practice the Bend and Snap in peace.  

 So she is very annoyed when her phone buzzes again.

 Maybe the reservation fell through. Or maybe she doesn’t want Annabeth to show up in ripped fishnets, even though that only happened once.

 Her stomach sinks when she checks her phone. It isn’t Piper.

Hello Dear, Happy Birthday. We miss you. Please call anytime. Love Dad, Mary, and the boys.  

 Below the text is a link, leading to a gift certificate for $200 to Sephora, which has Mary’s name written all over it. Aunt Natalie would have suggested Bergdorf Goodman.

 Her hand clenches, momentarily overcome with the urge to hurl her phone against the wall. But there is no one around, so there wouldn’t be any point to it.

 She stabs at a pierogi with a chopstick, and watches the girls dance on screen, humming along.

 She passes out on the couch after midnight.

 Her mother never called.

[rainecreatesstuff]

A Well-Known Fact

Word Count: 8610

Warnings: Janus kinda freaks out when Roman gets mad, but... I think that’s about it? It’s sorta described as a panic attack so. Look out for that.

So, um, this was just an excuse to write Janus-centric fluff, umm.... enjoy?

———————————————————————————————————

A well-known fact about Janus: he is cold-blooded. Or, at least, he thought it was well-known. Remus has known for quite some time, and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. And whenever Janus was around the others in the Mindscape, he was always somewhere warm, be it under a blanket, by a fire, or near warmed up electronics.

He hadn’t considered that even the most observant of them would fail to observe this.

So now, here he was, trying to figure out how to explain it while Patton kept grabbing his hands, trying to warm them up.

“It really isn't a big deal, Patton. This is just the way I function.”

Patton frowned.

“Sorry kiddo, but no. Virgil runs cold, and he’s warmer than you. Have you been in the Imagination? Are you feeling okay?”

Janus sighed as Patton led him to the couch and threw a blanket over him.

“Yes, I have, and yes, I’m feeling fine. I’m not joking, this is literally how I function.”

Patton huffed.

“You are aware I’m cold-blooded, right?” Janus waved away the hot cocoa the other had made.

“I- what? What do you mean?”

Janus really didn’t want to have to explain this. In all honesty, it was a little embarrassing. He could handle the frightened glances at his scales and his eye, and his forked tongue and his lisp. They were part of his snakelike appearance, and he could easily shapeshift them away if he wanted to.

But his cold-bloodedness? That was something that he couldn’t change, that proved he was inhuman.

And of course it had to be Patton Dad Popstar Morality Sanders that he was explaining it to. He had nothing against Patton, however he was aware of the moral side’s squeamishness. Not only was he morality, but he was also Thomas’ emotions. And Janus was almost certain that the side that had screamed at cartoon spiders would find his inhumanity disturbing, or at the very least frightening.

“I don’t function the same as you, and the others. My body can’t regulate my temperature. I was in the Imagination today, and Roman and Remus tend to keep it cold and rainy during fall, so it makes sense that I’d be a little colder than usual.”

Patton didn’t seem frightened, just… startled.

“How does that work? We’re not real. Well, of course we’re real but… we don’t have like… physical bodies? So how do you get all cold n’ stuff?”

Janus shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just happens. I’ve gotten used to it after all these years. As long as I go under my heat lamp for a while every day during the fall and winter, I’m fine.”

Patron huffed.

“Well, that’s no good! You can’t be locked up in your room all the time just ‘cause you’re chilly!” Patton threw another throw blanket over him.

“When Roman gets back I’ll ask him to put a lamp in here, if that’s okay.” He smiled widely.

“Uh- yeah, um that’s-that’s fine.” Janus accepted the cocoa and snuggled into the blankets.

That had gone… well. Too well. Was he just pretending? Patton didn’t like lying, he knew that, but he’d seen him repress several times, so hiding discomfort was a strength of his.

Janus eyed him warily.

“You’re not… upset?”

Patton’s eyes widened.

“Oh, Jam, did you not tell me ‘cause you thought I’d be weird about it? Of course I’m not upset! When Virgil started hanging out with us we had to make a few adjustments to make him more comfy, and we’re more than willing to do the same for you!” Patton gripped one of Janus’ hands in his own, rubbing the back with his thumb.

“Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Patton grinned.

“Of course, kiddo! I was gonna make some cookies, do you wanna help decorate them once you’ve warmed up some?”

Janus felt a ‘no’ at the tip of his tongue, but then Patton looked up at him with his signature puppy eyes, and Janus couldn’t have said no if he’d tried.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

Patton squealed.

“Alrighty! I’ll go get them started then! Lemme know if you need anything!” He bounced up from the couch, planting a kiss on Janus’ head before skipping into the kitchen.

The next person he told was Roman. He’d been expecting it, as a request for a heat lamp would probably seem pretty odd.

Roman had come into the commons while Janus had been basking. Which, in all honesty, just meant he was lying under the heat lamp and playing on his phone while Patton cooked dinner. The prince had walked right over, sat beside him, and stayed there for a few minutes.

“Okay, I don’t get it.”

Janus rolled his eyes.

“Don’t get what?”

“Why you wanted this put in? It’s not really that great. Actually, it’s a little uncomfortable.” Roman moved to sit on the couch.

“What does it matter to you?” Janus hissed.

God damnit Patton was looking at him all disappointedly.

“Kiddo..”

Ughhhh not with that voice, he can’t do that, that’s unfair.

“Imcldbldd”

“What?”

“I’m cold blooded.”

Roman froze for a second.

“What the fuck, Jan?”

Patton kept a close eye on the two, sending a worried glance in Janus’ direction.

“It’s totally my fault, I obviously chose to be Deceit.”

“No, fuck, not like… I meant that I’ve literally dragged you into the cold, rainy imagination for adventures and you didn’t fucking say anything?” Roman looked furious.

Janus’ eyes widened. That’s what he was upset about? Not the fact that Janus, a master of deception and an embodiment of lies was literally cold blooded, but the fact that he’d never complained about it?

“Oh, please do act like you wouldn’t have flipped out if I’d told you before all of… this.”

Janus curled in on himself a little more.

“Before the Melding? Yeah. But it’s been cold out for weeks. And you’ve been into the Imagination like… every few days, and that’s just with me! I have no clue how many times Remus has dragged you out there!” Roman was back beside Janus again, and holy shit was he angry, he’s angry, hurt, he might hurt you-

Patton.

“Hey, Roman, kiddo, can you come help me over here?” Janus mimicked Patton’s voice, and placed in just right so it would bounce off the walls correctly.

Roman got up, his eyes still filled with fire.

“We are not done talking about this. As soon as I’m done helping him, I’m coming right back here.”

Janus took the chance to sink into his room and lock the door. Now that he’d slowed down, thought it through a bit, he regretted it. But… he was self-preservation. As good as Virgil was at keeping Thomas out of dangerous situations, Janus would always have a little bit of that fight or flight response built into him. He didn’t cause it, but, clearly, he responded to it, whether he liked it or not.

Knocking, now there was knocking at the door. He took a deep breath. Roman wouldn’t hurt him. He was safe around Roman.

He opened the door, and Roman pushed past him, sitting on his bed. Janus slowly moved to sit across from him.

“Okay, one, was there any particular reason you rushed out?” Roman looked concerned, now, but still so mad.

“You just… scared me.” Ugh, what was he doing?

It had been a rhetorical question, this was stupid. He was supposed to keep feelings like these ones hidden. It was what he’d decided on ages ago. What was he doing?

“I.. okay, one sec. No. I am not mad at you for being cold blooded. I am upset that you didn’t tell me before I brought you into situations that could’ve hurt you.” Roman set his hands on Janus’s arms, lightly rubbing them with his thumbs.

“It’s not life-threatening. Nor is it threatening at all. I just get a little… uncomfortable.”

Roman looked crestfallen.

“Jan, you of all sides should know that your safety and comfort is, and always will be more important than whatever adventure I go on, or whatever story I tell. I need you to tell me if something could put your health, physical or mental, at risk, okay?”

Janus felt like he was going to cry. Which was strange, as he hadn’t cried since they were little. He nodded softly, the lump in his throat stopping any words he might have said.

“C’mere,” Roman pulled him into a hug.

He squeezed tightly before pulling back, wiping a tear from Janus’ face.

“Roman, Janus! Dinner’s ready!” Patton called.

Roman lifted an eyebrow at Janus, to which he let out a small laugh and shook his head. Roman grinned, then stood up and offered Janus his hand.

“Thank you.” The words were thick and dripping with way more meaning than was required for a hand up, but, well…

It looked like Roman understood.

Next was Logan.

Logan had approached him and asked if it would be okay if he asked Janus a few questions. As much as Janus didn’t want the others dabbling in his business, Logan had seemed so excited, which was a rare occurrence as of lately. So he let himself be lead into Logan’s room, sitting on his bed as Logan took a seat at his desk.

“So, it has come to my attention that you are ectothermic?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I believe Roman used the term cold-blooded?” Logan grabbed a lemon yellow notebook from a drawer, along with a pen.

“Mm. Yes, that I am.”

Logan flipped the book open and began writing.

“Fascinating! It had not occurred to me that this was even possible, what with us being projections of light while being on the physical realm. Does it affect you while in the physical realm and the mental realm?” Logan’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes, and it carries over between the realms.” Janus supposed he should feel like Logan was invading but… something about Logan’s analytic speech patterns made it seem less invasive.

“Mm… and I believe Roman also mentioned the Imagination affecting you more than our rooms and commons?”

“No, it’s not that the Imagination affects me more, it’s that right now the twins have made a point of keeping the Imagination cold for fall.” Janus couldn’t help it if his voice turned a little bit exasperated.

“Ah, yes, that would make much more sense. Have you any idea why you’re ectothermic?” Logan continued carefully writing in his notebook.

“Remus said at one point it might be due to my animal being a snake, but I don’t think that’s it. The scales and tongue are simply my appearance.” Janus fidgeted with his gloves.

“So you cannot shapeshift it away?”

“Mm, no. I must say it is incredibly irritating impersonating you, or Patton for that matter. Your short sleeves are horribly uncomfortable.” He smirked, moving so he was sitting criss cross on the bed.

“Well, it is incredibly irritating being impersonated, so perhaps it makes up for itself.” Logan glared at Janus for a moment, and he returned it.

Janus started softly laughing.

“Don’t laugh over my intimidating glare, it makes it seem insincere.” Logan’s voice kept an edge, but his eyes were smiling.

“Of course, Oppy, I would never even think of it.” Janus purred.

“Oppy? As in, the Opportunity rover?” Logan raised an eyebrow at Janus.

“Yes, I heard you had quite an attachment to her.” Janus smiled.

“I- um, yes, I suppose I did enjoy gathering information on the rover. The team that worked on her-it- had some interesting experiences during its mission. It supposedly lasted 50 times longer than they expected it to, and-“ Logan paused.

“I apologize, that was not your reason for being here. I will refrain from… rambling.”

Janus frowned a little.

“I wouldn’t mind veering off topic. Besides, it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.”

Logan paused, his face blank, as if he was rebooting.

“I… okay. May I ask another question?” Logan tapped his pen against his notebook.

Janus gestured for him to continue.

“While I do enjoy the topic of the Mars rovers, I am a little confused as to what resemblance you see between them and myself.”

Janus smiled.

“Well, for one thing, robots are your thing. I may not have been present during Thomas’ puppet fiasco, but I did catch wind that you changed your appearance to match a robot rather than a puppet.”

“Oh, it was a puppet. I had not had enough time to plan and create a robotic body for myself, so it was merely a puppet shaped like a robot.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But besides that, you do remind me of those excitable lab robots who are simultaneously amazingly intelligent, kind, and assholes.”

That startled a laugh out of Logan, to which Janus held back a grin.

“Ah, thank you, I’ll make sure to write that down.” Logan bit back a smile, closing his notebook and placing his pen in its holder.

“If you… wanted to, I would not object to learning more about the Mars rovers.” Janus coaxed Logan a little, smiling when he saw his eyes light up.

“Oh! Yes, of course! The Mars rovers, affectionately nicknamed the “Adventure twins,” Spirit and Opportunity, landed on Mars on January 3rd and 24th, 2004 on a 90-day long mission, but they both lived well beyond that time. Opportunity, specifically, spent 15 years on Mars, collecting data that has proved that Mars could have sustained microbial life.” Logan tapped his hands on his legs as he spoke.

Janus asked questions every now and again, and Logan answered with a small smile and a light in his eyes. It was great to see Logan ramble without caution, much like when they were kids.

When Logan had finished, he seemed to be in an even better mood than before. His hands continued tapping, and Janus could see him fighting back a smile.

“While I have you here, Janus,” Logan glanced to the side for a moment, then nodded his head and continued, “Patton and Roman wanted me to ask you if you would accompany us at “family movie night” this Friday. Do not feel inclined to participate, I understand if it would be too much, as you are not one for social events, but if you would like to come, the invitation is there.” He bit his lip gently as he ended, glancing up at Janus.

“While I would love to, I’m not sure everyone would be as comfortable as they would prefer to be if I were there.” Janus’ tone held a pinch of remorse.

“If you are referring to Virgil, we talked to him beforehand and he stated that he would not be opposed to you joining us.” Logan seemed to be bargaining in some small way.

Janus nearly laughed.

“I’ll consider it, then.” He stood up and smiled at Logan and watched as the teacher startled, turning away a bit.

“Yes, that is… satisfactory.”

“And Logan, do-“ Janus’ voice abruptly cut out.

“Janus? Are you alright?” Logan leapt to his feet, placing a hand on Janus’ arm.

“Ye-“ It didn’t hurt, oddly enough.

He just couldn’t speak? Realization flooded Logan’s eyes, and he led Janus out of his room and into the commons, sitting them down on the couch.

“Are you alright now? It seems my room began to cut off your… backwards speaking. As well as lying.” Logan kept his hands on Janus’ elbows.

“I’m fine.” Janus smirked as Logan’s eyes narrowed.

“Communicate a falsehood, please.”

“My my Logan, whatever has drawn you to the dark side?” Logan rolled his eyes affectionately at Janus’ teasing.

“Janus.”

“Fine. Mmm… You enjoy nearly all jelly brands, other than Crofter’s.” Logan levelled him with a glare, causing Janus to cackle.

“Why must you hurt me like this?” Logan asked, his face completely devoid of emotion.

Janus' laugh rang loud and clear, and Logan grinned, for just a moment. He let his hands move to Janus’, squeezing them gently.

“You must be more careful in the future; spending too long in my room could permanently alter your function.”

Janus lifted Logan’s hands to his mouth, kissing them gently.

“Don’t worry your pretty head about it, sweet Logic. I’m fine.”

Logan went pink, breaking eye contact with Janus.

“Well, caution will do no harm to anyone. Please tell me if you begin feeling different while in my room, okay? You would do the same in Patton or Virgil’s, would you not?”

“Of course. I’ll tell you in the future, promise.” Janus rubbed his thumbs over Logan’s hands.

Logan threw him one last glance, then sighed and nodded. He pulled his hands away, adjusting his glasses.

“I should return to my work. Thomas has a brainstorming session with Joan soon that I must prepare for.” Logan stood up, adjusting his tie.

“Have you bored of my company?” Janus smirked.

“Oh, shush,” Logan smiled back, pressing a soft kiss to Janus’ cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

Janus let out some sort of squeak which Logan seemed to take as affirmation, as he returned to his room.

He should probably have felt a little irritated that Logan would do that and then run off but… when he blushed pretty like that? Janus couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Virgil had already known. Janus had told him long before the Melding, way back when Virgil had still ID’d as a “Dark Side.” He’d actually been the first person Janus had told.

They’d been about twelve, when Virgil had only been around for a short while. He’d walked into Janus’ room during one of Janus’ cold spells, when he’d had several blankets piled on him, and was shaking like a jackhammer.

Virgil had run in, asking what was wrong. Janus had, begrudgingly, explained what had happened, and Virgil had gone quiet. He’d lifted the blankets, sitting beside Janus and cuddling him as he warmed up. He’d been the one to suggest the heat lamp, and Janus would forever be in his debt for it.

Now, Janus sat on the floor with a heavy blanket draped over him as they watched Hercules. The four lovebirds were cuddling on the couch, Roman loudly belting out I Will Go the Distance. Patton was giggling, singing along to the parts he knew as Logan and Virgil watched on with endearment.

Janus couldn’t help but feel like a fifth wheel. Remus had decided not to join them that night, so Janus felt a bit invasive. Virgil continuously glanced over at him, as if ensuring that Janus wouldn’t ruin anything. The others also kept looking over to Janus, though it was decidedly for different reasons.

Patton seemed nervous, and Roman was trying to convince Janus to sing with him. Logan just seemed fond.

Janus tried his best to keep his attention on the movie, but it was hard when he continuously caught them looking at him out of the corner of his eye. At one point, Patton had gotten up to refill their popcorn, and had run a hand through Janus’ hair as he passed. Janus tried not to lean into it too obviously, but he’d practically purred at the gesture.

Virgil had glanced over to him, and Janus had caught his eye. He… he didn’t seem mad, or even upset. Just… nervous. It was the same way he looked before Thomas performed, or asked a cute boy out.

Janus and Virgil had at least been on talking terms for a while, so… what was that about?

The movie finished, and they voted on the next movie. Roman tried to rig the vote for Moana, but Janus immediately caught it and reversed the rig so it would favour Big Hero 6, Logan’s requested movie. Roman picked the paper from Janus’ hat and gawked as Janus snickered to himself on the floor. Virgil and Logan helped Roman move on from his mourning as Patton giggled and raised an eyebrow at Janus.

Janus shrugged, his signature gesture for “Yeah, I fucked with it, what can ya do?”

About halfway through the movie, Janus began to grow cold. As he noticed his shivering, he placed a gentle mirage over himself so the others wouldn’t notice. It wasn’t to the point where he was in any danger, barely any discomfort, and the movie would be over soon, so he could just leave his heat lamp on as he slept. Virgil frowned at him, and Janus froze.

There was no way he could see through the mirage. Janus had been very careful while placing it. Virgil, especially, shouldn’t have noticed it. As anxiety, mirages worked quite well on him.

“Hey. You’re cold. Come here.” Virgil spoke softly, but sternly.

Janus huffed.

“I’m fine. I simply forgot to bask earlier. I’ll survive until the movie’s done, I assure you.” Janus hugged his blanket a little closer.

“Don’t care. C’mere.”

Janus warily eyed Virgil, who moved over on the couch to make room for Janus between himself and Patton. He carefully made his way over, sitting down between the two of them and doing his best not to touch either of them too much. His efforts were immediately negated, as Patton cuddled up next to him as soon as he sat down.

He had to admit, it was very nice to be cuddling someone again. Especially Patton, who ran the warmest out of all of them.

Virgil also leaned into him, resting his head on Janus’ shoulder and turning his attention back to the movie. Janus slowly felt himself warming up as he grew more comfortable in the cuddle pile. Roman leaned over and took one of his hands, rubbing it with his thumb.

Janus felt like he was about to melt. Not literally, of course. He was quite comfortable in his position. No, he was going to melt as in there were so many warm, fuzzy feelings welled up inside him that he was sure they would start oozing out of him if he weren’t careful.

Virgil’s hands slipped around Janus’ waist, pulling him somehow even closer. Roman sighed happily as Virgil began softly purring, his eyes closed. The movie was nearly forgotten by all except Logan, who was completely fixated on it, muttering to himself quietly.

“What’re you thinking, Specs?”

Logan blinked, turning to Roman as he processed the question.

“My apologies, I didn't mean to interrupt the movie.”

“Mm, nope. No apologizing. What’s up?” Virgil blinked open an eye, glancing at Logan.

“I was merely wondering the logistics of the microbots in this movie. We have already achieved a high level of synchronization with drones, so creating a smaller version of said drones would not be incredibly difficult.

“The only problem I could see with them is the almost telepathic connection to them, though we have nearly created a program that can process and recreate images from the brain. So these bots are almost achievable right now.”

Roman whistled.

“Damn, wouldn’t that be cool? I mean there’s obviously the whole construction use, but imagine the special effects!” Roman grinned at Logan.

“I suppose that would be an adequate use for them. I imagine waves and particle effects would be much more easy to create with the bots.”

The two began bouncing ideas off of each other, debating the uses of microbots as Janus, Virgil and Patton watched on with fondness.

Virgil sighed happily. Janus fought the urge to kiss his forehead, and, wow, that’s back, that’s not good.

He must have looked sad, because Patton hugged him tighter and nuzzled his arm. Janus gave him a small, reassuring smile. Patton’s face turned stern, in a “we’re talking about this later” way. Janus wasn’t sure whether or not he should be worried.

Virgil’s breathing began to slow beside Janus, his face relaxing as he began softly purring again. Janus ran a hand through Virgil’s hair, laughing softly as he smiled in his sleep. Patton sighed happily, kissing Janus’ cheek before resting his head on Janus’ shoulder.

Roman caught Janus’ eye, and grinned.

“Aw, looks like you’ve hypnotized our dearest Emo and Pops.”

Janus smiled.

“Can’t say I’m upset.” He purred, continuing to play with Virgil’s hair.

Roman’s teasing smirk turned soft, and Logan wrapped his arms around Roman’s waist, sinking into him. Logan glanced up, and tiredly smiled up at Janus. Roman kissed Logan’s forehead, then reached for Janus’ hand and kissed it.

Janus felt a soft blush warming his face, and turned away slightly as Roman adjusted his hold on Janus’ hand, entwining their fingers.

“You wanna help me get them to bed?”

Logan frowned.

“I could’ve helped.”

Roman chuckled.

“I know, love, but you’re already half asleep yourself.”

“I am not. I’m completely awake.”

“Mhm, tell that to your eyelids.”

Logan huffed, then gently punched Roman’s shoulder and stood up.

“Asshat.”

Roman laughed.

“I’m serious. No kisses for you tonight.” Logan walked past Roman, over to Janus, and kissed his head.

“Babeee.” Roman reached out to Logan as he whined.

“Nope. Goodnight.” Logan smiled and went upstairs.

Janus chuckled as Roman pouted after him. Roman sighed.

“I’ll take Patton if you take Vee?”

Janus bit the inside of his cheek. If Virgil woke up, he’d probably be upset, but… he looked completely knocked out. And it would only take a minute, so…

“Sure.”

Roman stood, then lifted Patton off of Janus and into his arms.

“Night, Jan.”

“Night.”

Roman carried Patton upstairs. Janus sighed, then shifted Virgil off him gently so he could stand up. He picked up Virgil and began making his way to Virgil’s room. He was still surprised by how light Virgil was- Vee had always joked about it being because of his correlation with spiders, saying he didn’t have an endoskeleton. Well, he was pretty sure Virgil had been joking. Maybe he could ask Logan about it.

Janus arrived at Virgil’s door, which had luckily been left open, and slipped into the room, laying Virgil on his bed gently. He found Virgil’s make-up wipes and wiped off the eyeshadow that remained beneath his eyes, then stood to leave. Again, the urge to kiss Virgil’s forehead arose, and he indulged it this time, before turning to leave.

“Jan?”

Janus froze, and turned around to find Virgil staring up at him, his eyes alert and very awake. A chorus of ‘fuck’s ran through his head.

“Yeah?”

Virgil stayed silent for a moment, then spoke up, “Can you stay?”

Well, that wasn’t the response he’d been expecting. Maybe a “what the fuck,” or a “get out,” or perhaps even a “why.” But definitely not this.

Janus choked out a “yeah,” and walked back over to the bed. Virgil held the covers up for him, and he crawled under. Virgil cuddled up to his chest as Janus hesitantly laid his arm over Virgil’s waist.

“Why-“

“Shhhhh… in the morning, okay?” Virgil cut him off.

Janus swallowed nervously, but nodded. Virgil sighed and pulled Janus closer, his breathing steadying more with second. Eventually, soft snores came from his sleeping form. Janus rested his cheek against Virgil’s hair, and let out a breath.

He and Virgil hadn’t cuddled this much since… well before the Melding. It felt a little strange but… mostly it just felt safe. Like a warm cup of cocoa after a long day in the snow, or curling up in your favourite blanket after a hard day at work.

Janus let himself savour the moment, and silently prayed for whatever god was up there to let him fall asleep.

…

Well that’s a no.

Janus rolled his eyes. Of all nights, it had to be this one, huh?

Virgil twitched in his sleep, and Janus bit his lip. He knew Virgil was prone to nightmares, being Anxiety and all, but it didn’t mean he had to like it. He wondered if he would still…?

Janus moved his hand up to softly pet Virgil’s hair, and he seemed to calm down. Janus laughed quietly as Virgil resumed his purring.

Janus eventually noticed the gloves that still covered his hands, and groaned. That’s why he couldn’t sleep. Awful. He removed them, careful not to disturb Virgil, and placed them behind him on the nightstand. He continued playing with Virgil’s hair, until his eyelids grew heavy and his hands stopped moving. As the safety of sleep washed over him, he couldn’t remember being this happy in a long time.

“Virg- oh my goodness. Oh my goodness, Roman, you have to see this!”

“What’s wrong, Pa- oh my god. That’s adorable.”

“I know, right?! Do you think they’d be upset if I took a picture?”

“They might. Virgil doesn’t like photos without his eyeshadow on.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Aww Logan woulda loved seeing this though!”

“Heh, Specs would’ve gone so soft seeing this.”

Janus’ eyes slowly blinked open, the soft sunlight coming from the window flooding his vision.

“Oh shit they’re awake-“

“Language!”

“Go go go abort mission!”

The door slammed shut as Janus turned around, giggles ringing out from behind it. Even in his morning bleariness, Janus couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“Wha…?” Janus turned back around to see Virgil sitting up halfway, leaning on his elbow.

A knot twisted itself in Janus’ stomach, and his hands began shaking.

“Oh. Mornin.” Virgil mumbled, falling back onto the bed.

“Good morning.” Janus replied, sitting up.

He slipped his gloves back on, and began getting out of bed. Virgil reached over and grabbed his wrist before he was able to.

“Jan, what’s-“ He looked up at Janus, his eyes widening. “Fuck, you gotta get out of here.” Virgil suddenly sunk out, dragging Janus with him.

When he opened his eyes again, Janus was sitting on the couch in the commons. The scenario felt scarily familiar.

“Oh, I just love doing that immediately after waking up. It doesn’t feel weird at all.” Janus hissed.

“Dude, you had eyeshadow down to your nose. You’re welcome.” Virgil threw his hood up, then sank into the couch cushions.

Janus bit his lip.

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Janus played with the hem of his gloves. They really should talk. Didn’t mean Janus had to initiate it. Even though he did. Because Virgil would be nervous about it, and they’d just continue skirting around everything.  

“We should talk.” The words felt alien in Janus’ mouth.

Virgil groaned.

“Do we have to? I, like, just woke up, man.”

“You asked to talk about it in the morning.”

“It was like 2AM dude, you can't hold me at that.”

“I absolutely can and will.”

Patton and Roman appeared at the top of the stairs, giggling to themselves. They glanced down and saw Janus and Virgil on the couch, and got quiet. Patton met Janus’ eye and gave him a reassuring smile, before gently pulling Roman back upstairs.

“Let’s...o...ake...gan.” Was all Janus could make out.

Virgil groaned.

“What, did you get my boyfriends in on this too?”

Janus scoffed.

“Like I would use your boyfriends against you.”

“Oh, you absolutely would. Though you’ve been starting to use yourself against me too.”

“Oh, Virgil, who knew you could be so forward?” Janus smirked as Virgil shoved him.

“Like you haven’t been flirting with my boyfriends for the past three months.”

Janus bit his lip.

“Is that alright?”

Virgil finally looked over to him, his eyes wide.

“Uh, yeah, of course.”

Janus frowned.

“You sound like that should be obvious.”

Virgil stared at him, then started laughing. Janus fought down a smile.

“What?”

“Dude, seriously? Oh my god, I don’t know how to tell you this, but if I’m inviting you to cuddle with me and my boyfriends, I’m obviously fine with you flirting with us.” Virgil grinned.

Janus lifted an eyebrow.

“Oh? Us?”

Virgil turned red, and pulled on his hoodie strings a little.

“Nope. I’ll talk about whatever you want, but I am not dealing with that this early.” Virgil mumbled.

“Fine. But you do want to talk?”

Virgil bit his lip, and pulled his hoodie sleeves up.

“I mean, whatever. I don’t really care. But Patton wants me to talk to you and you said you wanted to talk so… whatever. You have to go first though.”

Janus nodded, and brought his legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch.

“Okay. We both know that we both suck at this, so laugh if you please, but know that I then will not hesitate to do the same.” Janus figured that was a good way to start.

It had gotten a small laugh out of Virgil, so it should be fine.

“I… acknowledge that the way I behaved, both prior to the Melding and for a short while after was unacceptable. I know I hurt you a lot, especially when we were young, and I apologize for that.” He paused for a moment.

This all felt so staged. Like he’d stolen it from some story and recited it. Saying it out loud made him feel the same way Patton felt when lying. Like a hurricane had replaced his stomach and the rest of his organs had to deal with the consequences.

“I know I may not be able to remedy it, but I would like to try. I’m working on being more honest and vulnerable, and I would really appreciate it if I had you helping me out with it.” Everything he’d ever known about speaking to people had apparently left his brain.

He wasn’t making eye contact, why the fuck wasn’t he making eye contact? His words were blunt and inelegant.

He finally brought himself to look up at Virgil again.

“Yeah, I mean… thanks, I guess. And uh… I’m… sorry, for kinda being a dick to you after you introduced yourself to Thomas. I know how weird and scary that is so… yeah.”

Janus huffed.

“It was well within your rights to, I wasn’t exactly the nicest either.” His hands gestured as he spoke.

“Yeah, but I did kinda egg the others on too.”

“Ehh, we’re all petty bitches sometimes. I get it.” That startled a sharp laugh out of Virgil, and Janus smiled.

“I’m glad to finally have another petty bitch around to help me out when Roman steals my eyeshadow.”

“Who says I won’t be helping him steal your eyeshadow? Honestly, sounds like fun.” Janus grinned as Virgil punched his arm.

“Asshat.”

“Your asshat.”

Virgil’s smile turned a little softer.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

He stood, then reached to help Janus up.

“Come help me give my boyfriend shit for eavesdropping.” Virgil grinned.

Janus heard a quiet “fUCK-“ come from the top of the staircase, followed by pounding footsteps. He smirked, grabbing Virgil’s arm.

“Gladly.”

They hadn’t spoken about everything, they hadn’t spoken much at all, but they didn’t need to, not right now. It was a healing process. The fact that there was now a reaching branch, a bridge built over their last one, was enough for now. They’d work through it bit by bit, and eventually they’d get there. Until then, Janus was happy to accept this new, but familiar friendship. And as he listened to Virgil and Roman teasing each other, he knew he’d be more than happy with it.

This had to be a dream, of some sorts. This couldn’t be real. Maybe Remus was playing a trick on him, or maybe he’d tricked himself, or something. But he definitely wasn’t in reality.

In the morning, after breakfast, Roman had asked him to come into the Imagination with him for a little while. There had been this beautiful little green clearing among the fall-covered trees, and when he stepped into it, it was as warm as a spring day. They’d sat on one of the rocks, and talked about Thomas’ most recent musical obsession. Roman had, at some point, turned on the soundtrack and convinced Janus to perform some of the duets with him.

Then Patton had requested his help with decorations for their upcoming Christmas celebration (upcoming, as in, in about a month), and Janus had helped with that for a while. Patton put on his favourite Christmas music, and they’d started doing some weird kind of swing dance in the empty family room. Patton had asked for his assistance in hanging mistletoe over the couch, and given him a peck on the cheek before dancing away.

Logan had popped in, and asked if Janus could help him with a schedule. They’d gone to Logan’s room, and Logan had run the schedule by Janus, thanking him when he pointed out any errors or impractical time usage. They’d ended up talking about the new year, how illogical and silly their traditions were. Logan had grumbled something about New Year’s resolutions, then begrudgingly showed Janus a memory of Thomas, him, Roman, Virgil, and Patton singing a silly song regarding them. Janus helped him plan some reasonable, yet still exciting resolutions in advance.

Virgil had knocked on the door, and asked to borrow him. He’d been planning presents for the other sides but wasn’t sure about them yet. Janus helped him sift through ideas, and gave him the little push needed to actually make the gifts. Virgil sat on his lap as he started making the most elaborate one (Roman’s), and Janus hooked his arms around Virgil’s torso so he could see to help Virgil with the details.

So, all in all, a wonderful day.

Now, Janus sat on the family room floor, with Virgil’s head in his lap and Roman leaning against his shoulder, with the coffee table moved up against the wall. Patton was sitting on the couch behind him, putting little braids in his hair, and Logan was curled up against Patton. Something was on the TV, but Janus wasn’t really paying attention. He, honestly, couldn’t remember being this happy his entire life.

And then Patton asked if it was okay if they talked about something.

Janus felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Surely, they weren’t upset with him, right? He couldn’t think of anything he could have done, at least recently, to upset them. Did they just… not want him around anymore? He’d been expecting it, at first, but he’d thought things had been going pretty well…

“What about?”

Patton gently nudged Logan, and the two moved to sit on the floor in front of Janus.

“So, Jan, we all know that the temperature has really fallen recently, and Christmas is coming up soon too…” Patton seemed to be fighting down a smile, like he’d heard the best joke and wanted to tell it to them.

Okay, so not anything to do with right now, but with Christmas. Maybe they needed his help with something? That seemed reasonable.

Virgil sat up, then walked over to the coffee table, grabbing a wrapped box from the shelf on the underside.

“We, uh, made a gift for you, but, we figured you’d like it before it got too cold out.” He sat down next to Janus, cross-legged, and passed him the gift.

Janus frowned, but began unwrapping it. Patton looked like he was about to burst with joy, and even Logan seemed cautiously excited.

He unwrapped it, setting the wrapping paper to the side, and found… A blanket?

“It’s a heated blanket,” Logan spoke up, “You can charge its battery, and it has a built-in heating pad. We figured you’d find it useful.”

Janus blinked, staring at the box.

“It also has lavender pouches in it, because Vee said you sometimes have trouble sleeping, and I figured it might help.” Roman looked up from his shoulder, smiling.

“So… do you like it?” Patton asked.

Janus remained quiet for another moment, as Patton’s grin slowly fell.

“I… this is… amazing.” Janus muttered.

“Are you sure? If you don’t like it, we can always get you something else, and-“

“Patton,” Janus interrupted, “I love it. Seriously. Thank you all, so much.”

Patton’s grin returned, and Virgil let out a sigh of relief from beside him.

“Hey, hey Jam, now, if you wanna, it’ll be easier for you to come into the Imagination!” Roman grinned, and Janus let out a happy laugh.

“Of course, I’d love to.” He placed a soft kiss on Roman’s forehead.

“In that case, would you like to join us there tonight? We were planning on star gazing, and we would enjoy your company.” Logan seemed somewhat flustered, like he’d rehearsed this.

“I do believe my schedule’s open tonight.” Janus smiled.

Patton squealed, and moved to hug Janus. Janus held him tightly, and waited for him to let go first. This all felt so amazingly weird. They’d planned out and worried about getting him a gift he’d like and use, and had absolutely nailed it.

“If you’ll excuse me, I must get to work on making sure the constellations will line up right.” Roman winked, and stood up, “Logan, I’m gonna steal your star charts, yeah?” Roman said, already halfway up the stairs.

“Oh, no you will not, I have them perfectly organized and you will not be messing them up!” Logan chased Roman upstairs, and Janus could hear Roman cackling evilly as he did.

Virgil smirked, and leaned back against Janus.

“Open the box, I think you’ll like it even more.” He muttered.

Janus gave him a quizzical look, but opened the box, and- wow.

It was a red, velvety blanket with yellow flowers embroidered around the edge. It had clearly been stitched together by Virgil, as his signature stitching style was along the edges. When he ran his hand along it, Janus could feel the heating pad in the middle, as well as the lavender pouches. It was like a little part of all of them had been sewn into the very cloth of the blanket.  Janus felt his eyes tear up.

“Thank you guys, so much.” He choked out.

Patton kissed his cheek, and cuddled him close.

“Merry early Christmas, Janus!”

Then, Janus did something that was probably really stupid, and was probably going to get him yelled at by at least three people.

He let his hand find Patton’s chin, and tilted his head up to look at Janus.

“I really want to kiss you right now, but I won’t if you don’t want to.” He mumbled.

He heard Virgil gasp softly. Patton blinked up at him for a moment, silent, and Janus worried that he’d horribly miscalculated, before Patton grabbed the collar of Janus’ shirt and kissed him sweetly. When he pulled back, Patton had a huge grin on his face.

Patton began giggling to himself.

“What?” Janus asked breathlessly.

“Roman and Logan are gonna be so pissed I kissed you first!”

Virgil gasped.

“Language! Jeez, Pat, one kiss with a snake and you’re swearing all over the place.” Virgil teased.

Janus glanced between the two nervously.

“I feel like I’ve missed something.”

Virgil cackled.

“Well, you see, Patton, Roman, and Logan have all been trying to kiss you before the other two could. A sort of bet, if you will.”

Janus stared at him blankly for a moment, then began snickering.

“Oh, please tell me who you bet for, Virgil.”

“Are you kidding me? Obviously Patton. If you hadn’t initiated it, his puppy eyes woulda caught you off guard eventually.”

“Fair enough,” Janus grinned, “What was bet?”

“Well, Patton gets to do Logan’s nails, which I’m like 80% certain he’ll love, because of the clicking, and I get to dress Roman for a day.”

“Oh, I cannot wait to see that.” Janus purred.

“Despite what he says, Ro loves hoodies, so I’m sure it won’t bother him too much.” Patton shrugged, leaning against Janus again.

“It was more of a joke than anything.”

Janus nodded. Virgil wasn’t completely merciless- The most he’d make Roman do is wear some really emo makeup.

The three sat there peacefully for a little while, Virgil scrolling through his phone as Patton and Janus talked about the winter garden they’d been planning to put somewhere in the Imagination.

“Hey, Pat, what’re we doing for dinner?” Virgil asked.

Patton gasped.

“Oh! Lo sent me this recipe a few days ago for us to make our own pizzas instead of ordering them! I’ve really wanted to try it out!” Patton said as he scrolled through his phone.

He showed his phone to Janus, then Virgil.

“Sounds good, want some help with it?” Virgil glanced across Janus to Patton.

“Sure, kiddo! C’mon!” The two got up, and Patton offered Janus a hand up.

“You wanna help too?”

“Of course.” Janus smiled, accepting the hand up.

Roman led the way as they trampled through the undergrowth of the Imagination. Janus was already bundled up in his new blanket, which- as he’d predicted- was the perfect temperature. It seemed to have some sort of spell on it that kept it to whatever temperature he wanted at any given moment.

Eventually, the forest broke, and they found themselves standing in a field covered in little white flowers, with patches of asters sprinkled about. The moon shone brightly above them, covering the field in a soft glow as they found the large blanket Roman had laid out for them. They sat down, Patton running his fingers over the flowers that poked out over the edge of the blanket.

Logan sat down in Janus’ lap, taking Janus’ hands and fiddling with them.

“Roman, this is… beautiful. The flowers are even season-accurate.” Logan mumbled.

“Well, of course they are! I know my flowers very well, dearest nerd.” Roman stuck out his tongue at Logan.

“Oh Roman, when will you learn not to lie around me? You stole Logan’s book about North American flowers a week ago.” Janus purred.

Roman let out an offended gasp.

“Betrayed! Betrayed by my beloved! How will I go on?” He collapsed into Patton’s lap, sending Patton into a fit of giggles.

“Roman, for the last time, you need only ask to borrow my books, it’s not like I’m going to say no.” Logan softly berated him.

“Mmm… no thanks. It’s much more fun to steal them while Jan distracts you.”

Janus levelled Roman with a betrayed look as Logan gently slapped him in the chest.

“Two can play at that game, Snakespeare.” Roman winked.

“You two will be the death of me.” Logan mumbled amusedly.

Virgil grinned, falling onto his back.

“Lo, did you look at the stars yet?”

Logan looked up, and it was if a switch had been flipped. His eyes lit up, and his mouth laid slightly agape as his eyes flitted from constellation to constellation.

Janus watched with adoration as Logan stared at the sky. He could see now why Roman was so excited about this. Patton sighed happily, playing with Roman’s hair.

“Hey, Lo, what planet is that?”

“Oh, that would be Mercury. It is lucky we were delayed by several hours due to Roman passing out on the couch at midnight, or else we may not have seen it.”

“Wow, Logan, shady much?”

“Of course not. Anyways,” As Logan began info-dumping about Mercury, Janus paid as much attention as his sleep-deprived brain would let him.

They asked Logan questions about constellations, and stars, and he rattled off the answers excitedly while gesturing with his hands. Eventually, they ended up in a cuddle pile, with Logan in the middle, being cuddled by Janus on one side and Roman on the other. Virgil reached over Roman and Logan to hold Janus’ hand, and Patton was cuddling him from behind. It was, basically, perfect.

Logan had started interrupting his own sentences with yawns, and his eyes started drooping.

“M’kay, I think it’s about time we turned in.” Patton mumbled, sitting up.

Virgil yawned.

“What gave that away, the sun?”

Janus frowned, and looked up and, oh. Yep. The sun was rising. He got up, stretching, then helped Logan up. Both Logan and Patton were practically walking in their sleep. The only one who seemed energetic was Roman, who sighed disappointedly.

“I suppose we should get going.” He said.

He snapped, and the blanket they had been laying on folded itself into a square. He picked it up, and carried it in his arm as he took Virgil’s hand and began leading them back through the forest. Logan hung off of Janus’ arm, and Patton walked beside Janus sleepily, holding his hand loosely.

When they arrived home, Janus was practically carrying Logan. Patton had sleepily kissed everyone goodnight, including Janus, which had thrown Roman for a loop, then drifted off to his room. Janus dropped Logan off at his room, confident that he could get himself to bed, and went back into the family room to sit with Roman and Virgil.

Roman sat on the smaller section of the couch, and Virgil sat in the corner, with his legs stretched out to rest on Roman’s lap. Roman glanced up, and patted the spot beside him. Janus sat down next to him and leaned against him.

“So… you kissed Patton before me? That’s illegal.” Roman grinned.

“Oh, shush.” Janus smirked, and gently tilted Roman’s head, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Roman held his face gently, like he was scared Janus might crack if he was too rough. They pulled back, and Roman rested his forehead against Janus’ and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

“Ew, get a room.” Virgil joked, poking Roman with his foot.

Roman just continued laughing. Janus tried to hold in his own laugh, but failed miserably.

“I have been desperately looking forward to this for literal months, oh my god, I’m so happy.” Roman grinned, and really, how was Janus expected to not kiss him again?

“I could get used to this.” Roman said breathlessly.

“Yeah?” Janus whispered.

“Definitely.”

Virgil snickered.

“Boo, get off the stage!”

Roman laughed, and launched himself at Virgil, covering his face in kisses.

“Stawwwppp, I’m tryna scroll through tumblr.”

Roman peppered more kisses on Virgil’s cheek.

“Nope. You are now forever trapped in Kisses Jail for your crimes.”

“What crimes?”

“Being a hypocrite.” Janus smirked.

“Wha- no, never have I ever gone all PDA-ish.” Virgil fought back a smile as he tried to push Roman off of him.

“Oh, please do pretend like you’ve never started making out with Patton in the kitchen, or Roman in the hallways, or Logan in the family room-“

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Virgil finally surrendered himself to Roman, who pressed a few victory kisses to Virgil’s face, then cuddled him.

Virgil gestured for Janus to sit with them, and Janus moved to rest his head on Virgil’s shoulder.

“So… I know we’ve never really had an actual real conversation about this, and we should probably talk about it with Lo and Pat too, but…” Roman paused, “I would really, really like to take you on a date. And later become your boyfriend, if you so wished.”

Janus stared at him for a probably worrying amount of time, but…

“Yes. Please. I’d- I would love that.” Janus stuttered out.

Roman reached across Virgil and took Janus’ hand, kissing it before adjusting his grip to hold in. Virgil leaned his cheek against Janus’ head, and smiled.

“And me. And almost definitely Patton and Logan. If you’ll have us.”

“Of course.” Janus grinned.

And if, in the morning, Patton found them cuddling on the couch and swooned, and if Janus spent the majority of his days cuddling his new boyfriends, and if they would sometimes use his need for heat to coerce him into affection, and if Janus occasionally spent the night sleeping in a cuddle pile on the couch, could you blame any of them?

After all, it is a well-known fact that Janus is cold-blooded.

———————————————————————————————————

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! :)

Taglist:

@girl-with-many-fandoms ~ @arodynamic-enby ~ @imma-potatoo ~ @canvas-the-florist

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas20 Day 11: Hybrid, once again

It’s so late and I’ve had a day of... futility, so I’m pulling out some Hybrid, which is just the biggest fic I’ve ever attempted and makes me feel slightly woozy. This is a selection of scenes I’ve worked on, with the first one following on from last year’s snippet, for context

A lot of this is set-up to how Alice actually becomes friends with the Cullens and the lead up to her relationship with Jasper. I also love Alice and Cynthia and their gay dads. A lot of this will be changed or rewritten for the Official Version, so I figure it deserves to be immortalised before I start my tear-down. 

Have a great day, I’m off to bed <3 

NSFW NSFW NSFW. (The most graphic section is marked, but there are implications dotted throughout. Use your best judgement.)

Trigger warnings for body dysphoria (minor)

(AU in which Alice is the daughter of a vampire-human hybrid, who was raised in an abusive home, and ends up in the care of her father and his husband in Forks. Hybrid biology is a little different - or rather, expanded - from canon. This was basically my attempt at expanding the Twilight universe beyond vampires and werewolves and examine the idea that humans are really the worst. At this point in the story, Alice has arrived in Forks, had a less than welcoming experience with the Cullen kids and met Dr Cullen in a professional capacity.)

--

It took me the best part of an hour to walk home from the Cullens. My head was still soupy, the Cullens’ home was outside of town, and I had no idea where I was going.

Oh, and it was dark.

And then I had to lie, and tell Dad and Simon some guy had mugged me, since they were freaking out. I had been gone two hours in an unfamiliar town, and had come home with blood on my clothes. Thank god, my hoodie managed to cover up most of the bandage on my neck.

They had promptly freaked out even more, and called the Chief of Police to report the incident I completely faked, whilst I went upstairs for a shower, peeling off the bandages to get a load of the wound. Angry black sutures ran from an inch or so below my ear, to where my neck joined my shoulder in an uneven line. It made me feel a little woozy, in all honesty. And it would be almost impossible to hide from everyone.  Maybe I could wear a scarf, and claim I wasn’t used to the cold?

And the bruise on my back was impressive, even for me. It was already darkening, and I had no doubt that it would only get worse overnight. An experimental jab to my ribs made the room spin, which made me want to cry. If there was one thing I hated more than anything on the planet, it was broken ribs.

I somehow managed to shower and change into a pair of loose pyjamas that covered all evidence of my injuries without blacking out. My head wouldn’t clear, and when Simon brought up something for me to eat, I could hear the slur in my voice. Dr Cullen must have drugged me.

It took forever for me to find a tolerable position in bed, and I ended up sleeping on my stomach, my arm cradling my ribs. My dreams – thankfully, just dreams – were soupy horror replays of Jasper’s attack; the scrape of his teeth, the tearing, the warmth of my own blood…

… how good it had felt.

When my alarm finally went off after what felt like an hour, I was sleep deprived, grumpy, and in complete agony. I could barely clamber out of bed. I wriggled out of my pajamas, and stared at myself in the mirror. The bruising covered my side was varying shades of black and blue, spread over my shoulder, ribs and back, down to the base of my spine and hip. There was a little swelling, but nothing really worth mentioning.

I ended up finding a button-up dress that I could get into with minimal discomfort, that covered up the bruises, and some of the stitches. Adding a sweater covered the rest up, and I spent nearly half an hour layering concealer and foundation over my pinched and pale face. I swallowed a handful of Advil to help the pain, before I limped downstairs.

Other than a quick reassurance that I was fine, Dad and Simon didn’t bring up last night’s ‘mugging’, and within an hour, I was limping awkward across the Forks High car park, in what felt like a new adventure in pain.

My ribs were probably fractured. God, I was kidding myself. They were definitely fractured. I just needed some decent pain-killer and medical tape, and I’d feel better. This wasn’t exactly a new experience, but it didn’t mean that they were any less uncomfortable, or I was any less miserable.

Luckily, everyone seemed to have lost interest in me as ‘the new girl’, so I limped through the halls without being stared at, or interrupted. Swinging open my locker, I gratefully shoved my bag inside – even carrying it by hand put too much weight on my back and ribs. I’d have to swap books after each class so I could carry them comfortably. Another cherry on top of my awful, hideous day.

Suddenly, there was another person beside me, staring intently. If my nerves weren’t already made of adamantium, I probably would have jumped or shrieked in surprised.

“Good morning,” Edward said.

“Morning,” I said, turning from digging through my books, trying to disguise the stiffness of my movements.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked politely, and I wanted to laugh at his slightly-creepy attempts at small talk. That isn’t a question you normally ask someone you just met, out of nowhere. Did they just not socialize with anyone who didn’t consider A Positive a main course?

“Sure.”

“You should sit with us at lunch,” Edward said in a flat tone, watching me with the sort of look my doctors had always used. It had unnerved me then, and it irritated me now; made me feel like an experiment all over again. If I hadn’t been wounded, I would have accepted the inevitable dislocated fingers and slapped him.

Dislocated fingers are easy to pop back into place.

“Can’t wait,” I said dismissively, mentally praising myself for taking the higher ground, and turned back to my locker, hoping Edward hadn’t noticed how awkwardly I was moving.

Edward watched me rifle through my locker before sighing and walking away, looking pained. I had to resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him, instead slamming my locker and shuffling to my first class.

--

Lunch was bad. I got a sandwich, and limped to the Cullens’ table, where they all stared as I sat. Quite frankly, every time I took a seat, the world around me swam before my eyes.

I took a seat at the end of the table, ignoring the glances that the Cullens were shooting me as I opened my soda, and unwrapped the sandwich.

“Is that for our benefit?” Rosalie asked boredly, nodding towards the sandwich, with a vague sneer of disgust on her face.

I shook my head. “Only for mine,” I said dully, studying my food. It hadn’t occurred to me that my lunch would smell terrible to them, only that I needed to eat so I could take some more painkiller. I hadn’t even really paid attention to their trays – I could see now that they were dotted with cans of soda, fruit, and packaged snacks. Nothing that would smell especially offensive to them – Mom had once told me that it was the preservatives and ingredients mixed together that were the worst to vampire sense; that, and that they could smell decay much faster than humans.

Lunch passed slowly – Edward and Bella chatted quietly, and every so often one of the other Cullens would make a comment, but mostly we sat in silence. I picked at my lunch, and felt my back throb in pain, before the bell finally rung, and they all moved to collect their trays and bags.

I was irritated – why invite me to eat at their table for lunch, when it had been awkward, uncomfortable, and no one had talked?

Whatever. I struggled to my feet and silently left, pausing only to dump my tray, and headed to the library to hide out until the end of the day.

//

Bella was staring at me as I changed out of my gym clothes, the two of us the last ones in the locker room.

“Is that where Jasper…?” she asked as I tugged my shirt on, my jacket following. My back was a rainbow of black, purple and green; so bad that I’d been forced to wear dark colours – you could see the marks through lighter-coloured fabric.

“Uh huh,” I said. “Brick wall, meet spine.”

“They’re pretty worried about you,” Bella said as I carefully shouldered my bag. “Carlisle and Esme want to see you again.”

“They don’t have to worry about me,” I shrugged and winced, regretting the movement. So, I didn’t quite have my full-range of movement back just yet. “I’m fine.”

Bella watched as I gathered my stuff. “They still need an explanation.”

“They’ll be waiting awhile – they clearly told you everything,” I said flatly. It was unspoken, but they clearly expected me not to say anything about them and their secrets, yet they were blabbing my secrets around.  

“You owe it to them, you know everything,” she informed me snootily.

I whipped around, enough for the pain in my back to flare hotly, which just made me madder. “I owe them nothing,” I snapped at her. “They clearly can’t keep their mouths shut when they don’t know anything, so why would I tell them more? And don’t sit there, all high-and-mighty, Bella Swan. You know nothing.”

And I stormed off.

--

Bella clearly ran and tattled on me to Edward, because after school, I saw the Cullens glaring at me as I walked towards the bus. Well, Edward was giving me Death Glares

//

Dr Cullen finally cornered me for a physical, telling Simon to bring me over on Saturday morning. I nearly threw a fit, even though my dreams the night before had made it clear that I wouldn’t be getting out of it easily.

My dreams about Jasper were getting more and more vivid, and the idea of physical contact was so unbearable, I was jumping and flinching when Simon and Dad were getting too close to me. Which was a problem, since Simon was a hugger.

I was sick to my stomach when Simon took me over, clutching the smoothie he’d made me for breakfast. I was wearing loose yoga pants and a t shirt under a sweatshirt to keep everything covered.

Dr Cullen hissed as he saw me in my underwear – the webbing over my chest, the bites on my throat and arms, the angry scar at the back of my left leg, the angry marks on my rib cages.

“What on earth happened to you, Alice?” he asked.

“Hard life,” I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can we get this over with?”

“Of course,” Dr Cullen nodded.

—

More than one morning, I’d woken up from my dreams about Jasper with my hand between my legs, sweaty and panting and absolutely ashamed – even sick to my stomach.

All of the Cullen children had made it clear I was their friend out of necessity, rather than interest, and that Rose and Edward barely tolerated me. The idea of a genuine friendship with Jasper was a pipe-dream, let alone an opportunity to recreate my dreams.

Even as my inner-voice pointed out that they weren’t dreams.

And besides, sex was something that was not a good idea. At all. I wasn’t a virgin and I hadn’t been in years. I still had terrors and flashbacks to those terrible, monstrous experiences, I couldn’t imagine it being good, let alone as pleasurable as my brain claimed it would be. In the harsh light of day, I didn’t want anybody touching me.

And who would even want to, with my skinny, scarred body. The curves I had were easily hidden by my clothing.  Short hair. Sour disposition. I’d be alone forever.

It was raining, which suited my mood perfectly when I arrived at school. With the Cullens’ tentative acceptance of me, at least at lunch, I had isolated myself even more from the rest of the student body.

There had been entire days when answering roll call and greeting the Cullens at lunch where the only words I spoke. My personal best was eight words.

I drifted from class to class, finally getting to the cafeteria and claiming my lunch. A soda, an apple and a brownie – there was no way I was going to even pretend to eat the runny tuna salad or the luminous orange mac and cheese.

I hadn’t said anything to Dr Cullen, but I knew my physiology was not coping with my current diet. I was tired and sluggish, eating just two meals a day. In the hospital, I’d had free access to as much milk and as many snacks as I needed. Now, I had to pretend I was normal, and was failing kind of badly, since Simon found the amount of food I packed away at meal times ridiculous.

“Hey,” Emmett nodded at me as I arrived at the table.

“Hey,” I said, taking a seat next to Bella, and opened my soda, and pulled my homework out.

It was the most painless way to fill in the lunch hour – reading was rude, and no one wanted to talk. So, schoolwork.

“You going to eat that?” Rosalie interrupted me.

I looked up. I’d drunk half the soda – revolting diet raspberry had been the only flavor left – and picked at the brownie over the half an hour, but none of it held any interest.

“Probably not,” I said, turning back to my math homework.

“You should.”

Why was Rosalie still talking to me?

“It’s pretty gross,” I said, not looking up. “I’ll eat at home.”

“Bella eats it,” Rosalie said, gesturing at Bella’s empty tray.

“Rosalie,” Edward scowled, as Bella blushed prettily at being the center of attention.

“Bella clearly has a less discerning palate,” I said, closing my books and standing up. “If it’s so important to you, you can eat it, Rosalie.”

And I flounced off.

//

For some unholy reason, Simon and Dad had decided to have a pre-Thanksgiving cocktail party for their co-workers and friends. I stayed out of the planning and decorating, spending my time buried in my homework and ignoring everything around me.

Why Simon decided to invite the entire Cullen clan and Bella and her father, I have no idea. Maybe some misguided attempt to help me socialize. God, I hoped not.

But that meant, the afternoon before Thanksgiving I put on one of the dresses Simon had bought me – with tights – and went downstairs to help set up.

The Cullen kids seemed less than enthused to see me, though Edward was clearly pleased to see Bella.

“I’d apologise, but it wasn’t my idea,” I said as I walked past Emmett and Rosalie with a tray of glasses.

“This will be fun,” Emmett said cheerfully. “We never get to see humans in their natural habitat.”

—

Jasper found me sitting in the kitchen, staring out at the backyard.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, standing up. “Do you need something?”

“No. It just gets a bit much, so many people in one place, with alcohol. Overwhelming,” he shrugged.

“I get it,” I said. “I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like for your gift. But I get being overwhelmed.”

He offered me a crooked smile. I smiled shyly back, and began stacking dirty glasses. What to say?

“Carlisle is worried about you.”

Apparently, the topic at hand was me.

“He shouldn’t,” I said, as I began to pack the dishwasher. “I’m okay.”

“Esme too – she’s desperate for you to come over to our place so she can attempt to mother you to death,” he continued.

I thought of Mrs Cullen almost longingly for a moment – how sweet and kind she was. Nothing like Mom – Mom had never been warm and fuzzy. Mrs Cullen seemed like she’d be a good mom.

“She’s sweet, but I’m okay, really.”

“Don’t lie to an empath, Alice. I know exactly how you feel.” The ghost of a smirk played at his mouth and I turned to finish gathering up dirty cutlery.

“So how do I feel?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

Jasper met my gaze. “Like starlight – bright and beautiful, but distant. There’s sadness and longing, ferocity and loyalty, all hidden behind a very tall wall.”

//

Within fifteen minutes, I was being pressed into the couch, with the delicious weight of Jasper on top of me. Somehow, I was down to my tank top, and I was nearly positive the first few buttons of my jeans had been undone. Jasper’s mouth moved down my jaw, to my throat, and I sighed in delight. My hands slipped down, fumbling to get underneath. As my fingers grazed the hard flesh of his stomach, I heard him moan against my throat and I smiled.

“We should stop,” he murmured in my ear.

“Why?” I asked, choosing that moment to shift, aligning our hips, and hitching my knees up. He groaned, pressing me even harder into the couch, one hand tangling in my hair as he pulled me into a scorching kiss.

The sound of the back door opening was very distant, and it didn’t register properly until Simon’s cheerful voice broke the moment.

“Having some good, wholesome fun, kids?” he said.

Jasper only just barely managed to climb off me at human speed, and I half fell off the couch.

Simon was standing there, clutching a bag of groceries, looking amused. Cynthia was standing beside him, her jaw on the floor. Mostly likely because one of the famous Cullens was in her house, making out with her sister.

--

When Dad roped me into helping with the washing up, I knew he and Simon were going to corner me. And they did.

“Alice,” Dad said carefully, as I started wrapping up the leftovers. “Simon told me about how he found you and Jasper Hale this afternoon, and we wanted to chat with you.”

“It won’t happen again,” I said, my eyes firmly on the bowl of leftover couscous.

“That’s not what we’re worried about, sweetheart,” Simon said. “Though, yes, we might need to make some rules about boys in the house. But Alice… how long have you known this boy?”

I frowned, and looked over my shoulder. How did I explain that I knew Jasper, had known him for years? That with our gifts, the second we had met, this had been inevitable.

“Since I met him at school,” I said carefully. “It kind of happened.”

“You’re smart, Alice, and … we’re only saying this because we love you and we don’t want you to get hurt. But it’s only be a couple of weeks, and what I saw this afternoon looked very serious,” Simon continued, giving my father a Look.

“Honey, with the horrible things that happened to you, we just don’t want you to rush into sex and a physical relationship,” Dad finished. “Sometimes it can seem like it might make the hurt and the fear go away, but it doesn’t if you rush into it.”

Oh god. This was horrifying. “Jasper and I weren’t… we aren’t…” I managed, before taking a deep breath. “We aren’t having sex. We aren’t planning on sex yet. He knows I have issues.”

Simon and Dad exchanged looks. “Okay,” Dad said finally

//

NSFW

//

I was trembling slightly as Jasper settled between my thighs, kissing me softly. I was aware of everything – my nudity, Jasper’s nudity, the scent of flowers and fabric softener from my bedding. The coil of warmth in my lower stomach, the circles Jasper was gently tracing on my hip.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured. I could feel him, cool and impossibly hard against my thigh, and I let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m okay,” I managed. “Just nervous. It’s going to hurt.”

“Oh darlin’,” he pressed a kiss to my lips. “If it hurts, I’ll stop. If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

I nodded. “Can you help me a little?” I whispered. “Just a little.”

“If you’re sure?” he said and I nodded. He kissed me deeply, one hand sliding down my thigh to guide my leg around his waist. The warmth in my stomach spread, and the fear seemed to fade. I found myself rocking against him slightly, making indecent sounds.

It didn’t hurt too badly; not like the other times, but I didn’t want to think about those. Proportionately, it was always going to be slightly awkward and uncomfortable the first time around. I knew it would get better, I had seen how good at this we’d become.

That thought just made me press closer to him.

“You’re so warm,” he groaned in my ear, kissing a trail to my neck. I gripped his shoulders, smirking to myself as he began to lick and suck at the juncture of my neck; a vampire with a neck fetish.

//

As I came back down to earth, panting and loose-limbed, Jasper moved about me, carefully but more erratically than before, his eyes darkening to pitch black. And without warning, he flung himself away from me, standing halfway across the room in less than a second.

“I need a moment,” he rasped, panting, his gaze firmly on me. Fuck. He looked like a god, standing there, his blackened gaze firmly on me. I wasn’t sure if it was his gift, the way he looked, but the warmth was building in my stomach again.

//

My mother always talked about vampire mating practices, and made it sound monstrous. Brutal sex, a violent bite to mark each other, and the bond settling over you, like invisible manacles. Cold and vicious, it was meant to be the ultimate unbreakable claim.  

In reality, it was nothing like that; his fingers stroking me, his arm around my waist, and then his mouth on my breast, his teeth biting down as I came apart in his arms, and then the soft lap of his tongue as he closed the wound.

//

Jasper slipped out before dawn with a deep kiss that I felt in my toes, his gaze glued to the throw I had hastily wrapped around myself, so that the neighbours wouldn’t catch me hanging out of my window naked.

“Dad and Simon won’t be home for hours,” I murmured as I leant in for another kiss. “Stay.”

“Alice,” he groaned, nuzzling my cheek. “Don’t tempt me. You need some sleep – and if I stay, there won’t be any sleep. I’ll see you later.”

I scowled but nodded, kissing him one last time. “Go.”

He jumped from my window, and I turned around. I needed clean sheets, a shower, and some sleep.

I just couldn’t stop smiling.

Jasper’s bite stood out on the side of my left breast, raised and pink, though it was already healing. It would fade into my skin over the next day, little more than a shadow against my skin until I touched it and felt the ridges of his teeth-marks. Finally, a bite mark that didn’t make me feel disfigured, or one that would be awkward to cover up. The memory of his teeth in my skin made me shiver; how his teeth were so sharp that it didn’t hurt, and his soft growling purrs, as he licked the wound; the slight sting of the vemon, his lips and fingers grazing the closed wound with such gentle love…

I tumbled back into my bed, with clean sheets and wet hair. I did feel different. I felt peaceful, secure, and loved. I felt human for the first time in a long time.

And I slept without nightmares.

I dreamt, as well, of Jasper getting home and Emmett’s whoop of amusement, and subsequent teasing. Of Edward losing his shit over the idea of a vampire having sex with a human. Of Carlisle being vaguely concerned, Esme looking amused, and Rosalie pissed off that they’d acquired another human pet. She’d be even more of a delight after this, I knew it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” I jerked awake to Simon knocking on my door.

//

[fyeahbatcat]

BatCat has been unnecessarily broken up AGAIN, in the comics. After 80 years, most Batman writers are still hesitant to allow Catwoman fully into the Batfamily, alongside Batman. As if there has to be a protective shield for Batman, in order to keep Catwoman away. What do you think it'll take, for DC to remove the BatCat time limit? Allowing for Bruce & Selina to have a more sustained relationship. Is it all on Tom King? Do you think Matt Reeves can make an impact, with his iteration of BatCat?

I really struggled with whether or not I should answer this, because there’s no way for me to be completely honest and give you the answer you were probably looking for. In any case my answer is below the cut, but be warned if you’re looking for words of comfort and solace they will not be found there. I’m just going to be very frank in a way that some may not like. 

DC Comics and Tom King told us exactly who they are on July 1, 2018. At this point I’m really not sure what else you were expecting. Yes; I fell for it at the time. I drank the Kool-Aid. But if I didn’t know better back then I sure as hell know better now. Believe what the evidence is telling you; not what you want to be true. What is evidence says it that they’ve become so morally and creatively bankrupt that they’ve resorted to outright lying to their fans and screwing over small businesses to sell comic books. 

This is going to sound very harsh but now is the time to start developing a sense of self preservation. DC Comics is not going to change. It doesn’t matter how passionate, supportive, loyal, patient, or forgiving you are. Those things have no value to them beyond their sales margins. There’s no sense in hoping that something is going to come along and inspire them to have a change of heart. DC Comics is a greedy corporation: they have no heart. 

What do I think it’ll take for DC to make a long-term commitment to the relationship? Complete financial desperation. I’m talking Marvel-Going-Bankrupt-Couldn’t-Afford-to-Buy-Paper-in-the-90s desperate. That or, to a much, much lesser degree, a complete overhaul in leadership, editorial, and organizational structure. Neither or which I think are going to happen. Not soon anyway. 

You have two options here. Number One: 

When you stop expecting anything from them and then you’ll stop being disappointed. I know people who are some how able to just roll with the punches, and take the good with the bad. If you want to just be able to enjoy reading comics as much as you can you’re going to have to become one of those people. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. There are bigger, far worse things happening in the world and if comics are your sense of calm in the storm and you’re able to manage your expectations, it’s worth it to continue reading. Just acknowledge that at this point we know what to expect from them and there’s no point in making a shocked Pikachu face every time they do exactly what they’ve been doing for the last 40 years. 

Your other option is very simple: it’s time to divest from DC Comics completely. DC Comics is not going to change and they’re not going to eventually give you what you if you just hold out long enough. I had to learn this lesson the hard way, and I’m telling you this so you can make an informed decision on whether or not you want to spend the next ten years of your life being constantly let down like I did. They have no incentive to change. With that said, let me introduce you to what I call “DC Comics’ Cycle of Deception.” 

This isn’t a fine science or anything but it usually looks a little something like this: 

1. The Tease AKA “Fan-Baiting” 

DC Comics/affiliates “announce” something that sounds new and exciting  or game-changing by way of interviews, solicitations, events, social media posts, etc. 

 Examples: 

“Catwoman will be the co-lead of Batman”

Lois Lane is the new Superwoman

Major character *death* 

2. The Hype 

DC begins to hype “new and exciting” event usually through increased variant covers, planned collector’s editions, tie-ins, merchandise. Sales/ pre-orders and fan engagement begin to increase. Creators engage in interviews with mainstream media outlets such as Entertainment Weekly   

Examples: 

Approx. 152,069 exclusive variant covers of Batman #50

Damian Wayne Requiem series

3. The Catch 

When the time comes it is revealed that instead of delivering whatever new and exciting story was promised, DC Comics’ pulls the rug from underneath of fans. This is commonly in the form of a bait and switch or use of shock value. 

Examples 

Batman #50 

Lois Lane dies in first issue of Superwoman 

Character is revived from death after a few issues

Story is written off as AU or dream sequence and will have no impact on future stories

4. The Backlash 

Fan express intense anger online. The backlash is sometimes reported in comic/pop culture news media.

5. The Decline 

In the months following the backlash DC returns to the status quo. Readers lose interest in current books. DC Comics’ pre-order sales begin to decline. They increasingly lose market shares and are pushed out of top 10 pre-ordered titles by Marvel.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. 

The problem with fans is we keep getting caught up in steps one and two very easily. We (and this included me for a very long time) are constantly rewarding DC Comics by throwing our money at them every time they do the absolute bare minimum. All they have to do is trot out batcat every so often in the most non-committal way and we come running. Every. Single. Time. 

They have absolutely no incentive to change, because we as fans have made it exceedingly easy for them to leech off of us. We can’t keep doing the same thing over and over again and expect different results.

If you’re really tired of DC and their bullshit and you’re ready to divest you’re going to have to stop subsidizing their scams until they’re ready to make a commitment. Full stop. That means no rushing out to buy the latest issue of Batman and Catwoman kissing on a rooftop or beach or whatever. Stop buying variant covers completely (DC and Marvel [but DC in particular] uses variant covers to artificially inflate their sale numbers. Don’t play this game). Don’t buy their bullshit Wedding Album or 80 Years of Batman and Catwoman, or whatever else worthless “collectible” hardcover they publish. Put the onus on them to earn your money. If you really feel that you must keep up with what’s happening with the characters, pirate that shit. 

If and when a time ever comes that DC is ready to commit to change and commit to their stories (and actually commit; not just say they’re going to commit; make them prove it) then, and only then, should you consider giving them any more of your time, attention, or money. 

I don’t say this to be mean or harsh or judgey. I’m saying this because you asked me what I think and I’ve been where you are. I used to think that if I was loyal enough and patient enough that eventually I would be rewarded with this big emotional payout. It never happened. I don’t want you to end up where I am. Trust me; it’s not fun on this side of jaded. 

Maybe by sharing my brutal honesty about all that I’ve learned from my experiences it will save someone out there from years of constant frustration and heart-ache. At the very least you’ll know what you’re getting yourself into.