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florbexter · 4 years

Note

Hi, I was wondering if you could write Tharafrong fake dating.

Hey there, wonder no more, here is your TharaFrong Fake Dating story :D Thank you so much for your prompt ^^

it’s real if you close your eyes and pretend | [AO3 Link]

“I really don’t understand why it has to be now of all times.”

Frong turned around slowly, the key to his office already in the lock, and tried to smile his politest smile. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy because Dr Thara was his self-appointed nemesis and he wanted to strangle him on the best of days.

“It has to be now because up until now you have successfully avoided me.”

He saw out of the corner of his eyes how Thara made a “Who? Me?” gesture while having that damn kind smile on his face that drove Frong wild. Sometimes he wished Thara would frown at him angrily or snap some impatient words just to have the feeling he was more than just a colleague for Thara. That he evoked more in Thara than just mild annoyance.

The noise from the party flowed through the corridors of the administration building and as much as Frong liked to mingle he already planned to make up an excuse to go home after he had made Thara sign those damn papers. His team had been responsible for planning the opening ceremony of the new hospital wing, but he hadn’t been involved much despite nodding while his colleagues had presented their plans in their weekly meetings.

“Here and here,” he said and pushed the clip board against Thara’s chest. Thara’s eyes strayed from his bookshelves over the amount of paperwork on his desk towards the huge bouquet his mum had brought him just yesterday and Frong took the liberty and poked him with the pen.

“Oh yes, here?”

“And here,” Frong added because it would be in typical Thara’s fashion to just sign once and then Frong had to run after him again. After the last stroke he quickly took the documents and put them in a folder on his desk.

“Thank you!”, he said, the smile etched painfully on his face and he ushered Thara out of his office because maybe it was just an office but Thara took up too much space, not only in Frong’s head, and Frong didn’t need to come back on the next day and imagine to smell Thara’s aftershave because he had lingered too long.

Nemesis. He had to concentrate on Thara making his life harder, determined to be the most obnoxious doctor Frong had to work with in his career in hospital management.

Nemesis. As much as he wanted to kiss Thara he wanted to punch him just as much. So. He straightened up his tie and wanted to tell Thara that he would go to the toilet to avoid having to go back to the party with him but got pushed back against the wall as they heard a group of people laughing and talking coming their way.

“No! I tell you they disappeared down this corridor.”

Frong looked at the arm across his chest and then frowned at Thara who, with no explanation whatsoever, shuffled closer to the end of the hallway to peek around the corner.

“How old are the rumours of them dating anyway? No one ever caught them. They don’t have the same address. I checked with Khun Chaow in HR.”

“You don’t need to live together to date!”

“But they bicker all the time.”

“Yes, because they’re in love. Dr Preeda already thought about giving Dr Thara the rooms in the new wing so they would be closer together. Maybe then someone will finally get the proof of them dating.”

Before Frong could fully comprehend the horror of the hospital thinking him and Thara dating for what seemed like a long time a hand fisted in his white button-down and he had to swat at Thara’s arm to get it away from his clothes.

“What are you doing?”, he hissed and finally Thara looked at him but the shine in his eyes was disconcerting.

“The new wing has the view towards the park,” he said and Frong got a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“I know,” he answered because the new wing was an addition to the administration building and their look over the park had been overshadowed by the construction noise for the last year.

“A stress-free atmosphere for my patients, with the park and0 the parking lot nearby so they don’t need to walk that far.”

Frong rolled his eyes. Why was Thara always showing that he was a compassionate doctor at the worst possible moment? The new wing was perfect for Thara’s patients who had to process that they needed brain surgery or who came back for check-up’s nervous about their results.

“You really think they will give the new wing to Dr Thara just because he might be dating P’Frong?”

The voices were close now, they had to stand in the next hallway and Thara’s hand was fisting the fabric of Frong’s jacket and why would that crazy idea forming in Frong’s head hurt any less than his first day at the hospital and Thara smiling at him, congratulating him and telling him that he’s happy to have his ‘Nong’ working with him?

“We’re bro’s, right?”, he had said and had dared to pat Frong on the back as if he was some kind of father figure for him. Thara would never see more in him than a friend of his younger cousin Frong had realized that day.

“Fine,” Frong said and he said it more to himself than anyone else and he ignored Thara’s “What?” and just said “Watch out,” before he pushed Thara slightly forward so that they stumbled slightly into the other hallway directly in front of the group of hospital staff gossiping about them.

Frong knew how appearance mattered. The truth was irrelevant when Frong’s shirt was crumpled up as if someone had pulled him against them for a deep kiss, when Thara’s hand was still on his jacket and he had a dazed look on his face because the thought about the new wing being his had overwhelmed him.

Frong cleared his throat, as if embarrassed and pushed his hands through his hair.

“Sawasdee khrap,” Frong said and did a Wai while he deliberately made a step away from Thara and everyone’s eyes latched onto Thara’s hand slowly parting from Frong’s jacket. Some did a Wai back while some just continued to stare at them.

“We should go back to the party,” Frong said with an apologizing glance to the group and put his hand on the small of Thara’s back to move him forward. There was an audible gasp from their audience and maybe they would have questioned their charade with Thara mumbling “What?” a couple of times but their attention was not on Thara’s face. It was actually a nice change of paths because more often than not it was Frong who was left speechless by Thara. Frong pushed Thara along until a few more hallways were between them and their colleagues.

“What happened?”, Thara asked.

“I just got you the new wing. They will tell Dr Preeda, who will want to see for themself but since we won’t confirm anything, they’re going to give you the rooms.”

“Confirm what?”

Frong rolled his eyes and buttoned his jacket up. The party was only one door away and he needed to say his goodbyes and go home to lay in bed and bemoan his poor life choices.

“Fake Dating, Phi, it’s a thing.”

+++

“It’s a food delivery. Love food delivery. Food, delivered with love.”

Frong had told himself that he wouldn’t look up. He had stuff to do and no time to play Thara’s daily game of ‘embarrassing Frong as much as possible’. As he heard the giggle outside, who could be anyone from his assistant to his supervisor – because Thara had that effect on people -, he couldn’t suppress his annoyance anymore and threw Thara a look who quickly closed the door behind him. Maybe he thought it would ruin their fake dating ruse when people saw that Frong glared daggers at him.

“I really brought you food,” he said after Frong just looked at him for a while and put a container on Frong’s desk atop some important documents.

“Thank you,” Frong said because his mum didn’t raise an unpolite man and he really was hungry.

“How is the move going?” Thara interpreted his question as a request to make himself comfortable in Frong’s office and he immediately flopped down on a chair and unpacked the sandwiches he brought.

“At this moment they are drilling big screws into the floor to secure the MRI and then no one can take the rooms away from me anymore,” Thara said and the faraway look of utter bliss on his face made Frong sigh.

“Congratulations.”

Thara stretched out his legs and took a huge bite from his sandwich.

“Thank you. What are you doing there?”

“Making it appear as if we have the money to buy a new autoclave for the lab.”

“We don’t have the money for that?”

Frong looked up and maybe he was now the one with a weird shine in his eyes because Thara raised an eyebrow at him.

“We will have the money for it,” Frong said because he refused to let the years studying boring business administration lectures be for nothing.

“Shouldn’t the lab chef make the proposal for new equipment?”

“I’m better at it,” Frong said and it wasn’t even bragging. He wasn’t going to let something like wording get in the way of the hospital getting the best machines possible. But he knew, that at this very moment, he was writing utter garbage in the proposal because Thara distracted him. The whole fake dating thing distracted him more than he thought it would. Which was just another proof that he needed to run his ideas by his brothers before he made decisions. They were really good at frowning at him and shaking their heads pitifully.

He leaned back with a sigh and took one of the sandwiches. Thara even thought about getting him some without tomatoes and he needed to stop this madness as soon as possible. It was disconcerting that he was getting warm feelings because of tomatoes.

“Do you want to fake a messy break-up or a quiet one?”, he asked and for whatever reason, his heart decided to pound quicker and he hated himself for that. It wasn’t like they had gone the full yard with this whole fake relationship. They never had met outside of the hospital for fake dates or had told their families about this. All Thara did was bringing him food while smiling brightly at everyone he encountered before he made a huge announcement to enter Frong’s office. Like the nuisance he was.

Thara stared at him now, a bit of lettuce hanging out of his mouth and Frong refused to be charmed.

“What do you mean?”, Thara asked.

“You said they aren’t able to take the new wing away from you now. We got what we wanted. We can stop this.”

“But I just bought the new terrarium.”

“The… what?”

Thara made a hand gesture that must mean something but Frong had no idea what.

“The new terrarium, for Cupcake. I thought it would live up my office to have him there.”

Frong squinted at Thara and refused to succumb to the desire to swear at him but the ‘what the fuck is Cupcake!’ already burned on his tongue.

“Cupcake?”, he asked instead, and he really shouldn’t have because the rest of his lunch break was spent looking at pictures of a lizard.

He later realized that Thara had successfully deflected the topic and that he had no idea if they were going to ‘break up’ or not in the foreseeable future.

+++

“Please close your eyes for a moment.”

“It’s just a bump,” Frong grumbled but did as he was told. Thara in doctor-mode was strangely compelling, and it didn’t even hurt much when Thara carefully palpated the swelling on his forehead.

“It was quite a sight seeing Nurse Fiat carrying you here.”

Frong snorted. “He didn’t carry me.”

“He had you flung over his shoulders.”

Frong opened his eyes to glare at Thara but got hushed and closed his eyes again.

“Do you feel dizzy or disorientated?”

“I’m disorientated, yes.”

“Really?”

Frong snorted again. “I’m disorientated because I thought they would bring me to the emergency room and not to you.”

“I guess they think my loving care will be more efficient than what they’re doing in the ER.”

Did Thara sound smug? Frong hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks because he had gone back to his old habit of disappearing the moment Frong saw him. Frong had the feeling it was about the whole ‘lets-break-up-our-fake-relationship’ thing and he wondered why? Was there more Thara wanted out of their fake dating? Was there another wing he wanted for himself? Did he want to transform the whole hospital in a centrum for treating brain diseases?

“Just give me painkillers should I get a headache later,” he suggested and then frowned. Was Thara massaging his temples? What kind of medical examination was this?

“Let me get you something cold for your bump. As long as you’re not dizzy or feel like you need to throw up everything should be fine.”

Frong finally opened his eyes and tried not to be too obvious about his curiosity about Thara’s new office. It was significantly closer to Frong’s own office than his old one, which should make it easier to track him down for signatures, it was also a lot bigger than his old one, fresh jasmines in a colourful vase, and a huge terrarium stood at one wall. The home of Cupcake the lizard.

“Don’t startle, this is going to be cold.”

“I can hold it,” Frong said but his hand hovered uselessly in the air while Thara put is chair closer to Frong’s and gently pressed a cold pack on his forehead.

Thara’s gentleness was, as always, the thing that undid Frong. He had witnessed it from their first encounter - years ago - while Frong had still been in university and since then on frequent occasions in the hospital. The way he talked to his patients, how he brought them flowers just to cheer them up for a couple of minutes, the way he endured the cold of the ice pack himself to take the strain from Frong. You felt like you were important around Thara and it could get in the way of convincing yourself Dr Thara was the enemy.

Frong knew that Thara thought of him as a spoiled cat which just needed to be scratched behind the ears to make it purr, which fine, was mostly true, but it was better for Frong’s state of mind to push the frenemies agenda than giving in and let himself be petted. Because he had no idea, or rather knew, that Thara didn’t want him as his favourite house cat and now he needed to stop thinking in cat metaphors; maybe the door had hit his head a lot harder than he thought.

+++

“This is on so many levels unprofessional and childish,” Frong hissed and involuntarily made a step backwards and almost crashed into the shelves behind him. Thara surged forward to grab him by the shoulders and they stared at the package full of something on the highest shelf, hovering, quivering dangerously close at the edge of the shelf. Frong had phantom pain about the package hitting his head.

“Why are we hiding from my mum in a supply closet? What madness is this? Why are they even so many supply closets in this hospital?”

“You campaigned for more supply closets between the stations to shorten the ways and to have them individualized so supplies don’t go to waste.”

Frong stared at Thara in utter bafflement. That had been a rhetorical question for god’s sake!

“What are you talking about?”

“I read the protocols of the management meetings.”

“What?”

“I’m in the mailing list.”

Frong wasn’t sure if they had stumbled into an alternate universe when Thara had grabbed him after he had found him to tell him that his mum had been in his office to talk about their relationship. It felt like it.

His mum had been about to round the corner and for whatever reason Frong had decided to comply with Thara’s childish plan to hide from her. Now he had no idea where she was and if she would see them when they would come out of the closet – ha! – and he really didn’t need that kind of conversation.

He knew where the jasmines on Thara’s desk came from and he knew that his mum always visited Thara when she came by to bring him his own bouquet but they never talked about it and he feared that his mum knew why, because he hadn’t been able to shut up about Thara when he had been in university. Oh, the horror of mothers who knew too much about their kids.

“I just… I didn’t want to lie to her, so I escaped,” Thara admitted and the closet didn’t have much space for two grown men to do much in terms of movement, but he was able to convey his embarrassment with a little shrug of his shoulders.

“My mum has three sons, we lied to her plenty of times, she would have forgiven you,” Frong mumbled. He edged closer to the door. Would he hear something? What if she knew they were in there and stood in front of the door?

“This is a mess,” he sighed and stumbled again, stumbled forward as something soft fell against his back and then sighed against Thara’s shoulder because of course, of course, this was going to happen. Thara’s hand hovered over his hips and he nevertheless felt the warmth of them and wasn’t it telling that Thara didn’t even want to touch him?

“You okay?”, Thara asked against his ear, soft and careful and Frong just nodded.

“These closets are health hazards,” Frong said and straightened up. This was stupid. He was almost thirty years old; he wasn’t going to hide from his mother just because he made a dumb decision.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said, “We just go with the truth and if she doesn’t believe the fake dating thing we say something along the lines of ‘our relationship was short but sweet and we are better off as bros’.”

“Bros?”

Thara’s hands were still almost around his waist and Frong would have liked to have some distance between them because he felt like he could feel Thara breath, but whatever had fallen off the shelf blocked his way back.

“I didn’t know you think of us as bros,” Thara said and whatever discomfort Frong was feeling got washed away when his irritation took over and he had to look at Thara’s face.

“I’m sorry? You were the one who declared us bros. My first workday, 15 September, I remember it clearly.”

Which was maybe not the best thing to do, Frong thought; to acknowledge that something like that was still a clear memory in his mind. He couldn’t suppress the grimace taking over his face and why where they still in this dumb closet? He needed to be able to hide his face from Thara, this was far too close for his comfort.

And then he felt Thara’s hands on his hips, warm and so unmistakable there and hands really shouldn’t feel like they were able to leave a brand mark on his skin. He warily glanced at Thara who just smiled at him and if he was going to do something in his life it was wiping that damn kind smile off Thara’s face but…

The warmth spread through him, from his skin to his bones and he felt the gentle pressure of Thara’s hand, like coaxing and knew that if he broke out of Thara’s hold, Thara would let him.

“Frong,” Thara said, his words on his ear, like a spell and Frong swallowed. Thara’s mouth almost touched his skin, and if Frong ever had to choose to remember one touch for eternity it was that of Thara’s lips grazing his cheek, from his ear over his jawline to the edge of his lips.

“Frong… We aren’t bros,” Thara murmured and the tiny little sound escaping Frong’s lips was a bit embarrassing but mostly the truest he has ever been around Thara.

And yes, maybe they really weren’t bros, maybe their relationship had evolved and the little forth and back they did all the time was more, more of running away from each other, but still orbiting around each other, and always coming back, more flirting than Frong would have ever admitted.

He tilted his head a bit, bringing their lips closer together and said: “We may not be bros but whatever happens next doesn’t happen in a supply closet in the hospital.”

Thara’s delighted smile was worth the possibility of stumbling out and running into his mother.

end.

#florbexter writes #my engineer the series #tharafrong #fake dating #canon divergence #romance #humour #pining #ao3 link

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beyondconfessor · 4 years

Text

Principle Decisions [16/24]

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Zelda Spellman/Lilith

Summary: They were in the middle of an interrogation suddenly, and propriety dictated that Lilith should be the one to decline to comment, but Zelda could see that she was, for the first time since she’d known her, uncertain in how to do that.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. This is pure fantasy, please suspend your disbelief.

Zelda shuffled the newspaper, looking around it to peak at Sabrina. Her niece was sitting at the table, eating at the pancakes Hilda had made.

She knew she should say something. Advise Sabrina that she was friends with her principal, and yet all Zelda had managed to say was that she was having a few people over for dinner. The family was welcome to be there, but it was for a small gathering of friends as she hadn’t hosted anything in some time.

It had involved her scrambling to invite Constance over, and then she had found herself inviting Shirley as well, because, well, she was technically Constance’s friend as well and Constance had asked and Zelda didn’t want to refuse her despite how much of a cow the woman was. And technically, Shirley had been nothing but polite to her since returning from her mother’s funeral.

Which meant that she had three guests and four family members, and would be sitting seven people––except Ambrose asked if he could bring Luke, which meant eight, and then Sabrina asked if she could bring Harvey, nine, and then Hilda, not wanting to feel left out, requested to bring Doctor Cee. Ten.

Ten people were to be sitting at an impromptu dinner and Zelda had to buy groceries, and wine and decide on what to cook––and then try to get her sister and Sabrina to help her, because god forbid she do all the cooking herself.

Ten people. It was certainly to be a dinner party at the very least, and all because she wanted people to see that her and Lilith were friends. Though she supposed she should refer to her as Mary during the party, to prevent anyone from getting confused.

Zelda had the family cleaning the house from top to bottom, ensuring cobwebs were removed, the floors were mopped, and rugs had had the dust and dirt beaten from them, giving them new life.

She also made sure that the upstairs was just as clean, though it was unlikely anyone would be heading upstairs. She didn’t have to worry about Sabrina, who, like herself, tended to keep a tidy space. But Hilda and Ambrose both ended up having a lecture from her for the state of their rooms, both bowing their heads and grumbling under their breaths as they spent their Thursday and Friday evenings cleaning them.

Heaven only knew why it took them so long, but so be it.

Saturday morning, she began prepping the food with Hilda. During that time, she received two text messages from Lilith (one of which was just a photo that Zelda quickly responded to), five from Constance fretting over what to bring, and one from Shirley (who was only asking for confirmation of the address).

By four, the house carried the scent of a cooked roast, with entrees already set, leaving her enough time to shower and dress, preparing herself to look good.

She fiddled between jewellery, a nervousness filling her before she finally managed to decide on a complimentary emerald set to the dress she wore. And then by the time she was downstairs, ensuring the white wine was in the fridge and the red wine was set out, to decant, the first guest had arrived.

Sabrina answered the door, tugging Harvey inside who looked wide-eyed at the adults. “I…” he said, holding out a bouquet. “Um, didn’t know what to bring.”

Zelda softened at the flowers, noting that they were not an inexpensive set. “Thank you, Harvey,” she said, taking the flowers in hand and making her way into the kitchen. It was an odd choice of gift to bring, but given that the boy couldn’t bring a bottle of wine, and likely felt embarrassed at the idea of bringing dessert (something Zelda would have taken offence to, anyway) she settled that the flowers were a polite choice.

In the kitchen, she unwrapped them, setting them in a vase with water, before taking them to the dining room table as the centrepiece. This way, the boy would likely feel welcomed into the home, and Sabrina would feel that she was making some effort to be respectful towards their relationship.

As she was fixing one of the flowers, the doorbell rang again. Zelda turned around, moving to greet the new guest only to hear Sabrina’s blanched voice, “Ms. Wardwell?”

“Sabrina,” Lilith greeted, smiling tightly as she entered, holding a bottle of wine. “Hilda, lovely to see you.”

“Oh, Mary, Zelds didn’t tell us that you were her mystery friend.”

Lilith’s eyes turned to Zelda’s, a strange look filling them. “Didn’t she?”

Zelda flushed. “Well you’re here now, and there’s no need for introductions.”

“When did you and Ms Wardwell become friends?”

Zelda drew in a breath. She’d prepared an answer and yet, faced with her niece, it felt flimsy at best.

“Your Aunt and I happened to keep running into each other, quite accidentally. I believe she thought I was a parent at the school until that nasty fight occurred.”

Zelda’s shoulders relaxed with those woods. There was truth enough in them that she didn’t need to worry about Sabrina poking holes into it.

“Oh,” was all Sabrina said. There was a furrow to her brow, as if she wasn’t entirely pleased with the situation, but in fairness, Zelda couldn’t blame her. It was one thing for your Aunt to prolifically know quite a fair amount of people in the town due to having taught them, it was another thing entirely for her to be good enough friends with your Principal that she invited her over for dinner.

“I brought a bottle of wine,” Lilith said, holding up the bottle in grip before she handed it over. Zelda took it, glancing to the label and noted that was it was a midrange bottle. Not so expensive to draw eyes, but not cheap by any means.

“Thank you, this will go lovely with dinner.”

Lilith’s lips twisted into a smirk, and then before she could even think of saying something, the door was ringing again.

Within forty-five minutes, everyone had arrived, with Constance been the last person––profusely apologising, advising that Faustus had been home late and the au pair was off sick, so she’d been unable to leave any sooner.

“It’s not an issue,” Zelda assured, leading her to sit down. “It’s good to see you.”

“Honestly, these days, he’s home later and later, and I––“ Constance seemed to catch herself, realising the setting. “I’m tired of looking after the twins,” she finished. “One child is a full-time job, but two!”

Zelda nodded, “A glass of wine, perhaps.”

“Please.”

The table was set, and Zelda noted that Lilith took her left-hand side, across from Constance, who sat next to Shirley. The table filled with people sitting side-by-side with their respected guests, leaving Sabrina to sit at the other end of the table, Ambrose to one side and Harvey to the other.

Which meant that Hilda and Doctor Cee were sitting across from one another in the middle, but so be it.

Food was served, the wine passed down the table, with Sabrina and Harvey permitted to have a single glass with dinner (though Harvey politely refused).

Ever the hostess, Zelda led the conversation with Constance and Shirley, discussing their end of terms, before their plans for the winter break.

“Oh, Faustus and I were planning to travel, but I think with the twins it’d just be too difficult, so we might stay for the winter.”

“I had plans with my mother,” Shirley said. “But, that’s all gone now, so I suppose I’ll just spend Christmas alone.”

Zelda felt a flare of annoyance rise in her at Shirley’s unsubtle attempt to shaft her mother’s death into the conversation, but relaxed when she felt Lilith’s hand slide covertly under the table and settle on her thigh. The fingers squeezed over her knee and with it, Zelda felt her emotions soften.

She turned, looking out the corner of her eye and noticed her inquisitive expression towards Shirley. “Do you have any siblings?” Lilith asked

“No, only child.”

Lilith nodded. “It must be hard.”

Shirley gave a wave of her hands and a tight smile. “You do the best you can,” she said. “It’s just my first Christmas without my mum, and pfft, Dad left long ago.”

“You’ll have the memories of all your Christmases before with your mother. It won’t make it easier, but it definitely…easies the ache to know that you had that time together.”

“Did you lose your mother, too?” Constance asked.

“Oh,” Lilith pulled away, and Zelda felt her hand drop away as she gave an awkward laugh. “I suppose so, but I…never knew my parents,” she said, finishing tightly with a soft shrug of her shoulders. “But in the end, you make your own family.”

A silence pulled then, and Zelda turned and looked at Lilith, asking her softly. “What about your foster parents, or adopted–?“

“I never had a steady home,” Lilith said, and then her eyes pulled away. “I was on my own at the age of sixteen, but that’s neither here nor there.”

“I didn’t mean to pry,” Constance said, “It’s just that you spoke of loss.”

“Have you lost someone recently?” Shirley asked. “A sister, perhaps or…brother?”

Lilith looked awkward then, and Zelda realised there was a deep, pained expression. Lilith didn’t want to discuss whatever pain-point that was, and yet no one else on the table seemed to notice. All of their attention was focused on her, eager to see what story would unfold.

Zelda felt nauseous by it. They were in the middle of an interrogation suddenly, and propriety dictated that Lilith should be the one to decline to comment, but Zelda could see that she was, for the first time since she’d known her, uncertain in how to do that.

“I think it can be said that we’ve all lost someone close to us,” Zelda spoke. “I know that losing Edward and Diana still brings a painful reminder when the holiday comes around. Mary’s right, the time we spent, and the memories we carry of them remind us of how precious the time we have together is. And the pain of knowing what we lost reminds us that we’re still capable of carrying on that love of them in our hearts.”

It was a sappy speech, but effective nonetheless as Hilda gave a misty-eyed look to her, tilting her glass in agreement, as soft murmurs broke over the table.

And then, the conversation drifted––Hilda began speaking of Edward and Diana fondly to the keen attention of Doctor Cee and Sabrina, as Constance and Shirley began discussing the dullness of wills and funeral affairs.

To her side she noticed Lilith stiffen, her expression far away on something else.

Leaning towards her, she asked loud enough that others would hear, “could you help me get dessert ready? I need to let it sit.”

And then they were pulling away, glasses in hand as they went into the kitchen as the conversation began to return to lighter topics behind them.

Lilith held her glass of wine, and before she could say anything, Zelda filled the glass and then her own.

In the kitchen, the dinner party seemed far away and Zelda was able to sip at her wine as she watched Lilith take a mouthful before setting it down on the counter. There was still a distant stare in the woman, and Zelda ached as she looked at her.

She knew better than to ask. If and when Lilith was ready, she would reach out on her own terms.

The Lilith took a breath, standing up straight as she masked her expression to say, “I apologise. I didn’t mean–-“

“There’s no reason for you to apologise, you did nothing wrong. Everyone else forgot social decorum and decided to dive straight into your history like you were some bleeding heart poet.” Not that Zelda was surprised. Lilith was a new a face, with a mysterious background, of course, everyone would be curiously picking at whatever they could find.

Turning away, she went into the fridge and pulled out the dinner, setting it down on the table. There wasn’t anything she needed to do with it, but if she was being honest, she didn’t want to drift back to the party and listen to Shirley whine about being motherless.

Zelda barely cried when her mother passed, and she certainly didn’t drag it into every conversation possible to tug at the heartstrings. She simply moved on, as was expected, and continued her research.

Hilda had been a bit more sentimental and had cried in her room for days. But by then, they’d already lost their father, and the only reason their mother remained alive had been out of sheer spite, it seemed.

Lilith stood awkwardly in the kitchen, as if she didn’t know quite what to do with herself, and Zelda could sympathise. “I did warn you,” Zelda said, trying to lighten the mood. “My family are gossips.”

“Well, I suppose it’s to be expected.”

Zelda peaked out of the room, looking at the dining table before returning to smile at Lilith. “You know, it will probably take them a few moments to know we’re missing. If you wanted a distraction. I could show you around my home.”

“Show me around?”

“Mm. I’ve seen your office, it’s only fair that I show you mine.”

Lilith’s eyes lit-up, a half-smile tugging at her lips. It was an interest, and a chance of topic, at the very least. “And just what does the great Zelda Spellman’s office look like?”

Zelda smiled before nodding her head to exit out of the kitchen, towards the hallway. There, she led her to the large oak door. She turned back to glance at Lilith before twisting the handle, opening the door up to her office like it was a secret place, reserved only for the elite.

In a sense it was. She didn’t permit guests into her office and her family certainly knew better than to step foot in it when she wasn’t present.

Lilith entered the room behind her, her eyes drawing over its contents as she circled the office space. Her eyes wandered across the shelves, to the desk, touching over the variety of knick-knacks as Zelda closed and locked the door behind them.

At the sound of the lock, Lilith turned. “Presumptuous.”

“I didn’t want any interruptions,” she said. “But if you are after something, we’ll need to be quick, before they notice our absence.”

Lilith smirked. “I’m sure there’ll be time yet. You’re giving me a tour of your house, after all.”

“Am I?”

Lilith picked up a framed picture of the family before setting it down, and then her eyes were flicking over the shelves, glancing over their titles. Without looking away, she said. “Take off your underwear.”

“Is that how we’re going to play it?”

“I won’t ask twice.” Lilith glance at her then, and despite the severity of her expression, warning her to obey, Zelda could see the sparkle in her eyes, before the woman returned to perusing the shelves.

They both needed a distraction, so be it.

Zelda smirked, and then slid her hands up her dress, sliding the lace down before she stepped out of them and picked them up in her hand. She intended to set them aside, except, as she walked to her desk, Lilith turned around and snatched them from her grip, smirking.

“You’ll need to be quiet,” she said. “Can you be quiet for me?”

Zelda grinned. “I can be quiet.”

“I thought I’d ask because you were rather vocal in my office, and I doubt a mouse problem would be so easily believed,” Lilith said as she stepped forward until she was in Zelda’s space.

Zelda’s face tilted towards her. “I can be quiet,” she assured.

“Let’s see, otherwise I might have just the use for these,” she said, holding up the lace, and then leant forward and kissed her.

It was a needy kiss, demanding with biting and sucking and Zelda revelled in it, sliding her hands over Lilith’s shoulders and through her hair before she felt the woman’s hands settle on her hips, as she pressed Zelda backwards until her back hit the wall.

Zelda gasped as Lilith pulled back, her face inches away before she tugged Zelda’s dress up, high on her hips and began purposefully sliding her fingers over her sex.

At the very first stroke, Zelda’s head rolled back, eyes squeezing shut.

“Uh-uh, eyes on me,” Lilith said, and tugged Zelda’s face towards her. “Look at me, Zelda.”

Zelda nodded, watching Lilith’s face shifted with pleasure as she continued to stroke, drawing it out in a slow tease. “There we go. Aren’t you just delicious,” she said.

Zelda whimpered as she felt the woman slide inside of her and then Lilith was pressing against her, one hand stroking inside of her as the other splayed across her sternum, holding her firmly against the wall

“Be quiet. We wouldn’t want anyone to hear.”

“I am––“ and then Zelda stopped, feeling a hand wrap around her throat, pinning her there. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.

“Open up,” Lilith said.

Zelda obeyed, opening her mouth only to watch as Lilith grinned and lifted the black lace in grip, before pressing them into her mouth. Zelda’s mouth closed over the underwear, tasting her arousal as she watched as the pleased expression wash over Lilith’s face as she continued to fuck her.

The hand on her throat was firm, but not restrictive, in that when she swallowed her saliva, she could feel the muscles press against Lilith’s palm.

But as she whimpered, the hand grew tighter in warning, reminding her.

It was painfully erotic, to the point Zelda could feel her response pulsating between her legs.

Zelda had engaged in light choking in the past and hadn’t mind how it felt with her other lovers, but when Lilith was fucking her like that, holding her throat like that, Zelda struggled to recall that there was a world outside of this room, outside of sex, outside of Lilith.

She wanted to go home with her, or take her upstairs and revel in a night of fucking. But she couldn’t. There were other people to think of, consequences for actions.

But Lilith was holding her firm and Zelda felt like she might break if she let go.

Her heart ached and she watched the woman’s face staring at hers as she bit back her whimpers and hushed moans, feeling the woman draw her close and closer to climax, until she was finally squeezing around the fingers, feeling her pulse thump against the woman’s hand.

And when the climax ceased and Zelda was drawing away, feeling it wash away from her as Lilith drew out the make-shift gag from her mouth, she watched a strange expression pass on Lilith’s face—not unlike it had all those weeks ago when she’d made her climax against the knot on the rope.

“Lilith,” she said, watching as the woman stepped back, her hands falling away. “Lilith, whatever it is you, you can speak to me.”

The woman’s eyes looked up at her. “I like you a lot, Zelda,” she admitted. “It’s…been a while since I’ve had such a vested interest in another person.”

Zelda nodded, swallowing. “It’s been a while for me too.”

Lilith smiled at her, but there was a sadness to it, and for a horrible, sinking moment Zelda thought the woman might cry. But then Lilith was blinking and the emotion sunk away from her face, leaving only an echo of what had been there. “I’m sorry for––“

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Zelda assured. She reached out then with her empty hand and took Lilith’s hand in her own, squeezing her fingers. “We don’t have to go back out there.”

“It’s your dinner party,” Lilith reminded. “Whatever would people think if the hostess disappeared?”

“I don’t care what any of them think, I didn’t do this for them.” She felt her words die away, knowing she’d revealed too much of herself in those words. Letting go of Lilith’s hand, she looked away. “What I meant to say was that the whole point of this damned party was for us to show that we were friends.”

“And yet you hid that revelation from your family,” Lilith pointed out.

Zelda looked away. “I––didn’t know how to tell Sabrina. But I’d hardly say that I hid the fact, merely…delayed it.”

Lilith blinked, leaving silence to press between them before she asked, “Are you so worried about if she approves?”

Zelda squirmed uncomfortably at the words and looked away. She didn’t know how to put it into words, but the answer was yes, she did care. She cared about Sabrina’s thoughts. Deep in her heart, she knew why, but to admit it to herself, let alone Lilith, was too vulnerable of a position to put herself in.

“You’re not…ashamed of––“

“No,” Zelda assured. “I’m not ashamed. I…wanted more time of it just being about you and me.”

“It still is,” Lilith assured. “Why do you think that’s going to disappear if people know?”

Because things were good, she wanted to say. And if her family got involved, they would ruin it unintentionally. They wouldn’t mean to, but they would. They always did. “Is it so wrong to want you all to myself?”

Lilith’s head tilted and a strange expression crossed her face, as if she was tasting the words, poking at the deeper meaning of them.

Zelda flushed and looked away. “I just mean––“

“I know what you mean,” Lilith said, as she stepped back. Her hands crossed underneath her chest as she seemed to pull away, looking as upset as she had been before, at the dinner table, which was the opposite of what Zelda wanted.

“No, I don’t think you do––Lilith, I’m a private person. All my life, my family think of me as some emotionally repressed, ambitious…hussy,” she added as an afterthought, remembering Hilda’s words from the other week. “I want one thing untainted from them, because inevitable they’ll show you how…broken I am, and you won’t want anything to do with me.”

“Do you think you’re broken?”

“Certainly not,” she said. “But…” she didn’t know how to explain it to her. “They have a way of bringing out the worst in me.” She paused then, looking away. “When I was younger, I had a very active sex life, and that reputation has followed me my entire life. Even when I began at the University rumours followed me. Students still whisper about me sleeping with graduates to pass the time and that, on top of how difficult my family can be. How nosy they are and how selfish I am as a person…” she trailed off and drew in a breath, trying to centre herself and remember what she was trying to say. “This is good. Whatever this is, it works and I don’t feel ashamed of it. But I don’t want other people’s perceptions to take away from this.”

“You’re worried people will find out and think you’re some kind of deviant?” Maybe, Zelda realised, exhaling. She didn’t feel shame, just a need to keep that side of herself separate. “I’m not going to air your dirty panties, Zelda,” Lilith teased. “But I do want to be your friend.”

“We are friends.”

“Are we?”

Zelda frowned. “What makes you think we’re not?”

Lilith shook her head and smiled. “You’re right. Of course we are.” She smiled and then drifted her eyes around the room. “I should make my way home soon,” she advised. “Before it gets too late.”

Zelda opened her mouth to argue that she could stay the night, if she so wished, but the words didn’t come out. “Stay for dessert at least?” she asked.

“For dessert,” Lilith agreed.

And then Zelda found herself walking towards the door, unlocking it before she pointed out to where the downstairs water closet was.

Lilith drifted down towards that bathroom and Zelda made her way into the kitchen, where she washed her hands and caught her reflection in the mirror. Thankfully, there was no lipstick marks on her neck, just an ache over her body. A need to request Lilith to stay so she could take her to bed––and honestly, a part of her just wanted to get naked and fall asleep in the woman’s arm.

When they both returned to the dining room, Lilith’s expression had shifted easily to a masked expression, her smile bright, but Zelda could see where it didn’t quite meet her eyes as she spoke with table about art and philosophy, diving into the conversation easily.

It left Zelda pondering the incident. Lilith had lost someone, and it was evident by the way she’d withdrawn that it was still recent, or deeply painful and somehow, whatever Zelda had said was wrong.

A strange, hollow feeling settled in her chest and Zelda set it aside, not wanting to deal with it. It wasn’t a feeling she wanted to dwell on, and the selfishness of it made her tear her eyes away from the dinner party, feeling an ache settle in her chest.

She was better than that.

The rest of dinner passed without issue. Dessert was served. Shirley remained a bitch, and slowly Lilith’s expression turned with genuine interest.

And then Zelda was serving coffee as Harvey and Sabrina disappeared with Luke and Ambrose. And the remainder of the party moved to the parlour. There, she found herself sitting between Constance and Lilith, aware of Lilith’s body heat as her thigh pressed against her own. And then, very casually, she felt Lilith lean forward to the coffee table, her fingers drifting briefly against her thigh as the woman’s eyes caught hers.

The other guests were caught in a rapturous discussion over books, but for the life of her, Zelda couldn’t follow what they were saying when she felt the brush of fingers against hers.

But as Zelda went to subtly enquire as to what the woman was implying, Lilith was thanking her for food and company and advised that she needed to leave to get through some administration.

Oh.

At that, Shirley and Constance agreed that they, too, needed to leave. Which prompted Doctor Cee to make a vague excuse and resulted in Zelda walking everyone out of the house, her eyes lingering on Lilith as she fought the urge to kiss her goodbye.

And then, they were gone and the house was empty.

There was still the children upstairs, but if Zelda was being honest, she didn’t care. They’d sort themselves out.

“So you and Mary?” Hilda inclined.

“Pardon?”

“You and Mary are friends?”

“Oh,” Zelda nodded. “New friends.”

Hilda gave a strange look, before shrugging to herself. “Well, she’s all alone here. I’m sure she needs a friend just as much as you.”

Zelda hummed to herself and drew away from her sister. Exhaustion filled her and there was still a twisting feeling in her stomach as she thought of Lilith’s expression as the woman had pulled away. Zelda was familiar enough with that deep, aching pain to know that if Lilith wanted to speak of it, she would. As it were, they weren’t dating each other and Lilith had no requirements to share what she was feeling.

It still didn’t stop her thoughts running wild.

She showered, thinking of it, changed into her pyjamas and then climbed into bed, still thinking of Lilith. She was just closing her eyes to sleep when she noticed her phone flash in the dark.

Reaching to the bedside table, she pulled it off its charge and looked it over.

Thank you for tonight. I enjoyed the evening.

And then before Zelda could think of an adequate reply, another message was sent through.

That Shirley woman’s a bitch though. How did you two end up as friends?

Zelda felt a wave of indignant annoyance at the mention of being friends with Shirley Jackson. She wrote back a furious response, ensuring Lilith was aware that she was absolutely not friends with the woman, and only invited her because Constance had half-invited her to begin with.

There was a back and forth banter for a few minutes and then the phone was ringing and Zelda answered, feeling an anxiety pull at her as she sat up, pressing against the pillows on the bed head. “Lilith?”

“I owe you an explanation about my behaviour tonight.”

Zelda’s chest tightened at the words. The last thing she wanted was for the woman to feel guilted into revealing her past. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I do,” Lilith said. “Not that long ago, before Greendale, there was someone. We were planning for the rest of our lives when, very suddenly, he was in a car accident. Adam––“ she paused and Zelda heard the heaviness in her breath Lilith tried to find the words. “He was good. For a long while, I’d forgotten to ask myself what I wanted and he reminded me. And then he was gone, and I moved to Greendale to get away from the life we were building together. And it seemed like such a long, hard thing to do, so I went back to what used to bring me joy and began my Dominatrix service again…and then I saw you.”

Zelda wanted to say something, but she wasn’t sure what an appropriate response was.

“I lied to you about a few things when we were starting. I have a few regular clients that I’ve always had, but there’s no one like you, Zelda. There’s no other client that I see that comes close to what I…permitted with you. Before Adam, I had a much more extensive business across the city, but not here.”

Zelda’s brow pressed, and then an old question rose. “Did you slip the business card into the book?”

“I did. You don’t recall but I was in the bookshop as well, and I noticed you pursuing the erotica and the self-help section before you set the books aside. When your sister had pointed to the book, I slid the card in, hoping you’d take an interest.”

“How did you know I would call?”

“I didn’t. I had no idea if you would or wouldn’t. I knew nothing about you except what book took your curiosity. But, I will admit, you were quite beautiful and I hoped. And then you rang.”

Zelda tried to recall the day in the bookshop, but she remembered nothing of any other occupants, her anger solely focused on Hilda.

“I understand if you feel misled.”

“I don’t,” Zelda advised. “You didn’t force my hand in calling you. I did it myself, almost eagerly so.”

“And then you came back for a second session,” Lilith said with a laugh and then she heard the sound of what sounded like metal on glass, tinkering in the background.

“I hadn’t cried since my brother’s passing,” Zelda admitted. “For a while, I thought I’d forgotten how. I certainly felt vexed and frustrated to the point that only alcohol or cigarettes seemed to ease it, but I hadn’t…really allowed myself to feel anything for some time until that first session.”

“Well, if you ever want to be spanked until you’re a sobbing mess, I can always provide that.”

“I…will take you up on that offer,” Zelda admitted. It wasn’t the same as the ache she felt before, but there was a weight off her chest, as if something had shifted between them in the quiet of the room.

“You should come over,” Lilith asked.

“I’m not driving thirty minutes in the dead of the night,” Zelda scoffed. “I’m already dressed for bed.”

“And what does Zelda Spellman wear to bed?”

“Pyjamas,” she responded dryly. “What else would I wear?”

“Nothing,” Lilith replied. “In fact, I think you should take off your ‘pyjamas’ right now.” The tone had shifted again and Zelda felt herself sit up straighter as a result. She thought to disagree with her and advise that she was going to go to sleep, but all at once, she was wide-awake.

“Fine,” she sighed, before pulling the dressing gown over her head and setting it at the end of the bed before sitting back, bringing the phone to her ear. “I’ve taken it off.”

“And your underwear?”

“Who said I was wearing any?”

Lilith laughed, and then it slowly faded and there was a pause between them as Zelda waited for the next instruction. “Tell me what you would want me to do to you if I was there.”

That was a change, and Zelda felt it hum down her. She swallowed, settling back on the bed. “We would have to be quiet,” she said, before biting her lip, that probably wasn’t a very sexy thing to say. “You would sneak into my bedroom, and get into bed with me.”

“Mmhmm?” She heard an exhaled breath and then Zelda realised what Lilith was doing.

Invigorated by it, Zelda sat up straight and then parted her own legs, following in the same stead. “Lilith all I want is to fuck you. I want to undress you and feel how wet you are. I want to slide inside of you and feel your hips rock and listen as you gasp and moan. I want to taste you and slide my tongue inside of you.”

“Is that all?” Lilith purred, and there was decorum before Zelda heard a gasp through the phone. “And if you had me, is that all you would do?”

“I would fuck you,” Zelda assured. “I want to see your face when I make you climax, and feel it around my fingers, and then, when you think I’m done, I’m going to turn you over and fuck you again, harder until your hands are clutching at my sheets and you’re left gasping.”

“Zelda.”

“I’m going to fuck you, even if I have to tie you down myself and find that cock you love so much and bury it deep inside of you.”

She could hear Lilith panting now, there was no disguise to what she was doing. Zelda stroked between her legs, naked on her bed as slid inside of her self, her other hand stroking at her clit as her shoulder pressed the phone to her ear.

“If you come for me, you will say my name,” Zelda commanded it, and she heard a gasp from Lilith, unmistakable as the woman edged closer and closer. “I hope you know that I’m fucking myself just think about it. Of binding you up with your hands behind your back and bending you over my bed until I’m satisfied.”

“Yes,” Lilith panted, and there was a hushed moan.

Zelda bit her lip, holding back her pleasure. She could feel how close she was too. It was building inside of her as she dug her heels into the bed and then it was all she could focus on as she listened to Lilith keen closer and closer.

Zelda’s breath hitched as she felt the orgasm tug low, pulling at her. “Lilith,” she said. “I want to hear you."

And then, obediently, Lilith cried out and it was Zelda’s name on her lips. An earnest noise, void of performance. It was enough to topple Zelda as she found herself squeezing around her fingers before the orgasm pulled through her.

Her back arched, head pressing against the pillows as her heels dug into the mattress, and then it was over and she was sliding her fingers out, dropping them wetly against herself as she listened to Lilith catch her breath through the receiver.

Lilith gave a short laugh. “If you ever want to switch it up, I would be most pleased,” she said. “But I won’t be anywhere near as obedient as you unless you beg me sweetly.”

“I can handle a brat,” Zelda said, and Lilith laughed.

“I’m sure you can.”

There was a silence that pulled between them as they settled and Zelda felt her eyes close, a tiredness washing over her. “I’m glad you came.”

“Oh, as am I,” Lilith teased.

Zelda scoffed, but the sound barely had an impact on how tired she felt. “I’m glad you came to dinner,” she corrected. “It would have been intolerable without you.”

“Zelda Spellman, are you getting sentimental on me?”

She hummed a response, pulling the blankets up over her body. It was getting cold, and as her body cooled down, she was all the more aware of how empty her bed was. “I enjoy your company, outside of sex.”

“As do I.”

“We should…” and then she wasn’t sure what she was going to say, because the world drifted away as she slipped into a dream.

_________________

#zelda spellman #lilith #madam spellman #zelith #caos fanfic

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kiruuuuu · 4 years

Text

Siegemas Day 24

Happy holidays everyone, it’s me again! I stepped in for this day :) Once again, thank you @dualrainbow, this event is a delight 💝💝

Today, my prompt is the very first line of the fic you find below. I hope you all enjoy it, and have a wonderful time no matter what or whether you’re celebrating! ✨ (Twitch/IQ, Rating T, fluff + emotional comfort, ~2.8k words)

“We made… too many cookies.”

The comedic timing is impeccable, the line delivered with perfect hesitance as to imply awareness of the understatement while hiding its undoubtedly practised nature. She’s a born people person with a knack for being charmingly endearing, and IQ is absolutely and horrifically powerless.

“This is ridiculous”, she states, deadpan, not giving away how amused she is in reality – it’s not often that she opens the door to a stunning young woman with pretty cheekbones tinted pink from the cold outside, clad in a flattering deep purple coat and holding several tin boxes in gloved hands. Patterned gloves, a row of snowflakes adorning the fabric. A very familiar row of snowflakes.

“I know, and I’m really sorry, but I don’t know anyone else who’d appreciate these.” Her hair is laid in neat waves framing her pale freckled face, light make-up completing the elegant look. She could be a film star, certainly possesses the same unselfconscious attitude one would expect, even though she’s displaying embarrassment right now. Her slim figure hugged tightly by her form-fitting clothes is visible clearly despite the frankly laughable amount of cookie tins and IQ can’t help herself.

She invites her in.

Twitch is a waterfall, bubbling excitedly about how or why she came across certain recipes, casually throwing in a French or German word amidst the usual English, and it’s impossible for IQ to follow her but she smiles and nods anyway while relieving her visitor of her cargo and placing it gingerly on the kitchen table. So far, this last Sunday before Christmas – the fourth Advent, as it’s called in her mother tongue – had been almost serene, began with chores and continued with a quiet cup of coffee and a good book before slowly tilting over into planning and researching for her next chapter. A regular occurrence. As a result, IQ is mentally somewhere else still and needs a few minutes before she can concentrate on her unexpected guest.

“Good to see you”, she chimes in during a small pause (wouldn’t you know it, even Twitch needs to breathe), and the two of them hug as a greeting. Twitch always gives her a good squeeze, really presses the two of them together, which is one of the reasons IQ looks forward to meeting her every day: it makes her feel appreciated. No one else comes close to these embraces, not Blitz, her decade-old friend, or even her own siblings. In Twitch’s arms, she closes her eyes and finds peace for a brief second.

It might be the absence of her family which has left her this sentimental – normally, she’s too busy to analyse her friends, to scrutinise them to this amount, but today an odd sort of nostalgia and possible bout of loneliness has overtaken her. She did light four candles on her wreath, the first one almost burnt out completely from being lit on all the previous Sundays, yet instead of providing warm illumination, it caused subtle brooding. Their house was always lively around Christmas, bustling with fights, pretend fights, singing, louder singing, future plans yelled through the staircase, raucous laughter, and various songs on repeat trying to drown each other out.

Here, in her small apartment in England, the silence felt foreboding.

“I tried my hand at spéculoos, which Marius called a German staple, and let me tell you – the dough I had was a nightmare to work with, much too sticky. I wanted to roll it out and use Julien’s cookie cutters but it wouldn’t cooperate, so you now have small poop piles of what I think you call Spekulatius. It’s in the blue tin, right on top there. I also made vanilla… uh, vanilla croissants? Shaped like moons? They’re Dom’s favourites, apparently, and Gilles begged me to help him, but he got the recipe wrong and we got so many that he just gave me half. Elias really wanted pain d’épices, um, spicy bread? No, gingerbread, that was it. You guys have the best name for it, by the way, Lebkuchen, it makes it sound like you’re Frankenstein: live, cake!”

Twitch somehow manages to wander through the flat while babbling on, accepting a cup of lukewarm coffee IQ puts in her hands and instinctively helping to pick a few cookies from each box to create an inviting-looking decorative paper plate which IQ carries into the living room where they settle down, fingers curled around warmed ceramic and eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

“You need to try these, it’s actually one of James’ mum’s recipes. Poppyseed and chocolate, they turned out better than expected, but after Liza told that story about her acquaintance failing a drug test because of poppyseed bagels, people refused to eat more than one and I definitely can’t stomach all of these alone.”

She watches, expectantly, as IQ dutifully picks out one of the spotted cookies shaped like a flower and bites into the crumbly bakeware. Surprising no one, it’s delicious – if there’s anything Twitch can’t do, IQ hasn’t found it yet.

“Really good”, she agrees, allowing for Twitch’s instant beaming smile to tug the corners of her own mouth upwards while she chews. “Manu, these all look lovely. You know I’d die for good Christmas cookies, so thank you. Even though this is way too much for me.”

Her laugh is melodic and as contagious as her constant sunny mood. “You should see how many I still have at home. Elias claimed he needs to watch his figure, Julien should be watching his figure, Doc doesn’t really like sweets, and Gilles eats maybe one cookie a day. Which you know is illegal at Christmastime.”

“Still, this is a wonderful present and I’m afraid I have nothing to give in return.” IQ isn’t being entirely honest. Still testing the waters; maybe Twitch will manage to read between the lines and they can finally address it. The moment the Frenchwoman stepped over the threshold was the moment IQ decided they’d talk it through today. It’s been going on long enough.

“Not true, you gave me the gloves!” Twitch’s triumphant gotcha! expression is self-satisfied and smug and sweet. Sweeter than the cookies calling to IQ – they really do look fantastic, a variety of shapes, sizes and colours, all together smelling of spices and memories and Christmas.

“Someone had to, you kept complaining about your icy fingers.”

“And you were probably sick of warming them up.” Twitch hasn’t caught on yet, her tone is still breezy and carefree. “Have you written some more? Any new scenes for me to read? I need to know whether the captain really is dead or not.”

IQ laughs, half embarrassed and half delighted – when the news broke in Rainbow that she writes stories in her spare time, she expected an outcome way worse than what she ended up facing: Castle immediately expressed interest in reading them, no matter the topic, and once word got out that it was usually science-fiction-centric, even more people approached her out of curiosity. None of them as enthusiastic as Twitch, however, who dove into the narratives like an age old fan into new material, sparking an unknown productivity in IQ which has yet to subside. Knowing there’s at least one person who devours anything she dreams up has been fantastically motivating, and they’ve begun spinning yarn together now and then. Twitch is the only one whom she trusts enough to proofread for scientific errors or inconsistencies, and she’s helped develop a character into a much more compelling version of themselves several times.

The next hour is spent on discussing IQ’s research, involving frantic googling and article hopping on Wikipedia to help with finding the correct jargon – Twitch knows most of the technical terms in French, which doesn’t mesh well with IQ’s rusty school French, whereas her German accent makes it difficult for the other woman to understand her, so they try to meet in the middle somewhere by using English, despite the laborious process involved.

They’re on one wavelength. Always have been, from the moment they came across each other in Rainbow’s workshop, when Twitch still dyed her hair auburn and IQ barely spoke a word with the other operators: a friendly smile, an engineering-related question, a brief introduction, and they were a house on fire. Inseparable at work.

Twitch made sure it bled into their private lives as well, even if it took considerable effort. IQ never asked, but she’s sure her friend secretly celebrated that one day when she finally said yes to one of her suggestions of meeting up.

And it’s exactly why it hurts so fucking much to think -

“Manu.”

Twitch stops talking mid-sentence, probably caught off guard by her serious tone of voice. “Yes? Is everything alright?”

It might be. She hopes it will be. Her fingers stray to a loose thread peeking out of the seam of her trousers, picking at it. “We’ve been friends for a while now.”

Several years, in fact, an unimaginably long time. Not that IQ hasn’t been able to keep friendships alive for this long, but never one this close. The level of intimacy usually kept declining after a certain point, usually prompted by nothing, sometimes spatial distance, sometimes emotional. There aren’t many people who keep up with her over a long time, and even fewer she keeps up with – Blitz is a great friend, but he just doesn’t share her passions.

“And you’re one of the most generous people I know. Your first instinct when you have too many cookies is to give them away. I’ve always admired this about you.”

Twitch is listening intently. She knows something is up, yet can’t put her finger on it. Her brows are furrowed. IQ knows this from a brief glance before her gazed drops back down to her restless fingers.

“Julien and I had a conversation about you, not too long ago. And some of what he said was… unexpected.” Rustling; Twitch is beginning to fidget as well. “Unrelated to that, Dom overheard you voicing your frustration about your being single and mentioned it to me. I didn’t know you were that unhappy. You never said anything.”

She really likes you. Yeah, don’t wave me off. I’ve never seen her fawn over someone like this. You get special treatment all the time.

And then, more poignant: At this point, I’m basically ready to fuck anything that moves.

The second quote echoes in her mind as if she’d heard it herself instead of it being delivered second-hand. Both of them made her look back at the past months and re-evaluate some events. Showed them in a very different light.

Twitch is radiating anxiousness. It’s easy to pick up.

“I realise now that I’ve received a lot of special attention from you, and… I just have to wonder.” It’s harder and harder to push the words out, her throat closing up. “Wonder whether your present today is cookies and friendship, or cookies and a confession, or cookies and an expectation. Whether there’s some kind of motive attached.”

Her entire life, there’s never been anyone outside her family who understood her better. Being a woman in a male dominated field is difficult enough, especially as a competitive one, and her experiences aren’t easily conveyed to her guy colleagues – Twitch understands, of course, has faced the same obstacles and prejudices. Seeking patterns everywhere, striving for excellence, despising complacency, the overwhelming need to reverse engineer anything new or remarkable, exploring new places, wanting to always keep moving and improving – Twitch understands, has had a similar upbringing and equivalent goals.

They share almost everything at this point, have been on holidays together, mastered several projects with each other’s help, stayed up till sunrise because sleep was the inadequate alternative to exchanging ideas and pushing each other further than they’d go by themselves. Others have always tried to slow IQ down, force her to relax, take her mind off something she enjoyed chewing on, and it was infuriating.

All Twitch does is encourage her. Which paradoxically calms IQ more than any massage or empty-brained film ever could.

She doesn’t want to lose all this. Her chest hurts with the pressure of potentially losing someone this dear to her. But at the same time, she doesn’t want Twitch to get the wrong idea.

When silence is all she receives, she looks up to find Twitch fighting for composure – wide eyes filled with moisture and lip quivering. It’s a stab in the guts. IQ has never seen her cry.

“I don’t -”, Twitch chokes out, adding more quietly: “This isn’t -”

IQ sits next to her, reaching out but retreating when Twitch shakes her head, so all she does is take her hand. As always, her fingers are cold, so IQ closes her own around them. This isn’t at all what she intended, but she needs to know.

“Your friendship means the world”, comes a much more composed statement after a minute. “You should know this.”

She nods. She does know.

“And – and yes, if there was more, I’d be happy. Even happier than I am now. But there doesn’t need to be.” Twitch is speaking faster now, rushing the words, her melodic French accent thickening. “I’m fine with everything staying the way it is. I love being around you, no matter how, so if you’re not okay with – with anything else, it’s fine. I’m fine. I’ll get over it, no worries.”

“Manu. Breathe.” Seeing the other woman in a panic is a rare sight and IQ doesn’t enjoy knowing she’s the cause. “I love being around you, too. You’re my best friend, by far. But… I don’t want anything casual.”

Twitch needs a moment to digest this and IQ readies her responses: she’s had bad experiences with it in the past, and as far as she knows, arrangements like friends with benefits tend to make everything messy and awkward. Staying friends is the better option.

“Yes. Me neither.” A beat. Their eyes meet, Twitch’s still glistening.

There is an even better option, as far as IQ is concerned. And it seems to slowly dawn on the nearly perfect woman next to her.

“And… what about something not casual? But still more?”

Oh. The pressure begins to lift off her chest with every passing second, with every second that Twitch stares at her, hopeful, unsure. Slowly, she clarifies: “You mean – cookies and a confession?”

The nod is nearly imperceptible, and IQ probably almost breaks her fingers by squeezing so hard. The next thing she knows is she’s leaning forward and pressing their lips together, tasting the saltiness of perceived rejection as well as the disbelieving smile of actual acceptance, and then Twitch is laughing as well, crying in between relieved giggling, almost hysterical, and IQ joins in, and before they know it, they’re a mess on the sofa, hugging, seeking physical contact, pressing kisses to temples and hair and cheeks and lips again, wrapping arms around warm bodies.

Her heart is singing because while she so fiercely hoped, she barely dared to, was used to disappointments and therefore expected the worst, even ascribed traits to her best friend in the whole world who’d never stoop so low as to demand something from her she wasn’t ready to give. No, Twitch understands her and vice versa. Even so, it took them an embarrassingly long time to get to this point. In their shared joyousness, they barely manage to finish their sentences:

“What Dom heard me say wasn’t, I mean, I was just -”

“Yes, I figured, but it still got me thinking -”

“I was having a bad day, I’m not that frustrated -”

“Oh? That’s a shame, you know, I was actually looking forward to -”

“Monika!”, Twitch exclaims, scandalised even though they’re both aware IQ is joking, and by now they’re laughing like mad, especially because Twitch only uses her full name when she’s done something, so IQ resorts to tickling her in retaliation or maybe to distract her, and they both yelp when Twitch’s foot shoots up, gets caught on the rim of the cookie plate peeking over the coffee table’s edge, and catapults its contents everywhere. One manages to hit IQ in the face, the rest is scattered all over the floor, which sets them off again after a second of total silence.

“It’s fine, it’s fine”, Twitch gets out in between breaths, “I really do have tons more at home.” Which IQ believes her in a heartbeat.

Even though she’s pretty sure she got the lion’s share of the leftovers.

And just a second before they notice that the napkin on which the cookies were presented has caught fire, IQ thinks about how she dreaded spending Christmas at Hereford without her family – and she realises now she’ll be in great company regardless.

#rainbow six siege #twitch #iq #twitch/iq #fanfic #oneshot #siegemas #this is the last couple perfecting my quartet of german/french ships #check out their new bios btw #in my head they fit so so so well together #I'm looking forward to reading all the entries I've missed!!#I hope I'll have more time after Christmas

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atopearth · 4 years

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The Men of Yoshiwara: Ohgiya Part 1 - Takigawa Route

Now for the supposedly better sequel! I think it’s nice that the heroine Kiyoha is actually in Yoshiwara because she’s of age now, and this is kinda the thing women do to experience love and men. It’s kinda funny that the heroine this time around is really rich and even has a bodyguard (Musashi) with her! Hmm Ageha seems like a soft and nice guy that is actually really cheeky. He looks quite westernised though. Takigawa looks pretty cool, I think he might be my favourite looks wise, but he seems like the stern and strict type haha. Gakuto looks like a pirate with that eye patch haha! Utsusemi looks like a flirt maybe? Asagiri is definitely my least favourite, he looks like the haughty kind of guy that would bully the girl lol. Honestly though, I quite enjoy how Musashi helps Kiyoha on the side by explaining to her the manners and protocol of being in places like Ohgiya. Which is something I wish Kikuya explored, but I guess to be fair, Kikuya was more casual, whereas Ohgiya is the finest establishment in Yoshiwara, so the geisha must be pretty high class and they probably expect their customers to be high class too. I feel like Takigawa is quite similar to Takao though haha! Noooo! You can’t choose Musashi??? Why make him look so nice and cool too then?! I’m kinda sad now LOL. Anyway~ going in order (on the Nintendo Switch), so Takigawa it is.

Ooh if you look at the character introductions, Takigawa’s popularity is apparently equal to Takao! That’s interesting! I should have known that if Takigawa is the most popular geisha, then he’s definitely very prideful and confident that he can make Kiyoha fall for him and make her look at him and not anyone else. But it seems like Takigawa knows how Kiyoha feels though. It seems like he can tell that Kiyoha is only here to fulfill her duties as a woman, and does not intend to give her heart to him because she thinks everything about this is “fake”. Musashi is a great attendant/bodyguard! Not only does he protect her but he’s also her confidant! She shares her problems and worries with him and he advises her as well as encourages her to follow what she thinks is right to do. I really like him🥺🥺 I liked his advice that instead of letting Takigawa do what he wants, she should be the one to make Takigawa fall for her instead. I think that would be much more fun and interesting than just being on guard against him for thinking that winning over the pretty rich girls is just like a fun game.

It’s actually pretty refreshing to see that Kiyoha is physically attracted to Takigawa, but she refuses to give her heart to him even after they’ve had sex. It was so anticlimactic in a sense, because she easily fulfilled her family’s wishes of her, but at the same time, she really didn’t. All she did was physically do it as if she finished a chore lol. On the other hand, seeing other women insult Takigawa belittling him as just a geisha blah blah was quite saddening. It just goes to show that even though Takigawa is a top geisha, is super popular and loved, but in the end, he’ll still be treated as trash by customers because they just think of geisha as lowly people there to entertain them. When Takao said Takigawa was a boring person who has never fallen in love before, it kinda made sense why it felt like Kiyoha and Takigawa’s interactions always felt so “empty”. They’re both literally just carrying out their duties as men and women on this island and they both refuse to give their hearts to the fake marriages and love relationships in Yoshiwara. Takigawa’s words of “love” when they shared their night together rang hollow as just “words”, whereas the thing with Takao is that even though his words are always flirty and it doesn’t seem like he’s serious, he’s actually very sincere with his flirting, and I think that’s the difference between a guy who can shake your heart and one that can’t. Takao’s few lines really made me remember why I was honestly ensnared by him in Kikuya haha.

Lmao at Takigawa insulting but complimenting Kiyoha at the same time haha. Kinda exciting for Kiyoha to be in the charge of the outfits for his procession for her though, it’s kinda nice that she’s actually motivated about something lol. Wow, to think that Takigawa actually knew about Kiyoha from long ago because she was like a girl with a magical pouch who gave him candy and an origami crane when he was a kid. It’s kinda cute how he remembers that. It’s nice that they describe the procession as like a marriage ceremony, since they literally do something like a parade and then the geisha comes together with the woman as if they’re now officially tied together as partners forever. It’s kinda sweet when you think about it. Although I felt that Takigawa was cold and hollow with his words before, when he said that he wants Kiyoha to believe in his love for her and how he wants her to think that choosing him brought her happiness, I was rather touched. Despite what things he may be hiding and how “loveless” their relationship felt before, right now it really feels like they have become much more honest with each other. It was obvious that the procession was going to end badly with how much they wanted the procession to succeed lol. But to think that they would split open Takigawa’s kimono and show the world his tattoo that his mum branded on him before he was sent to Yoshiwara... It’s saddening to think that Takigawa was treated horribly by his mother too, just like that little boy Kiyoha encountered before. I guess it’s stressful to be a mother to boys though, since they basically get stolen from you no matter what, you’re basically raising them to be sent to Yoshiwara eventually… It was very sweet but saddening of Takigawa to apologise to Kiyoha about the possible impact of this on her family business and how it ruined all the effort she put into the procession, I mean I’m sure he’s embarrassed and hurt by having his tattoo shown to the world too but he’s thinking about her first. It hurt to see Takigawa so down about his tattoo surfacing as a kind of nightmare of the past for him. Well, as expected, Takigawa is the big brother of that little boy~

Wow, I can’t believe that in order to attract customers at the window interested in his tattoo, they used to lash his back (to keep the tattoo visible and prominent since his skin needs to be flushed to see it) constantly! I can see why Takigawa would want to hide all that and just want to keep his perfect image as the top geisha.. he really suffered blood and tears to get to this position. I think it’s really sweet that Kiyoha finally remembered him, and it’s not like she completely forgot about him, she just thought he was a girl when they were young haha. I can see why a first love would be so important to geisha though, because in the end, everything here in Yoshiwara is fake, yet it takes up most of their lives, so it’s unlikely for them to find any kind of true love during their teenage to adult years. It seems like the story wants to redeem the mother’s “tattoo” as a form of love to remember her children, and I don’t deny that she probably had a bit of those intentions with the wings and everything, but it doesn’t change the fact that she abused Takigawa enough as a child that he himself chose to go to Yoshiwara before he was even forced to, and it doesn’t change that to this day she is still abusing her next kid. Sure, it’s definitely a terrible thing to give birth to boys, let alone having two, the amount of stress and sadness etc must be unbearable, but that doesn’t mean she can be excused for her actions of traumatising children imo.

Honestly, I don’t know why but I never really thought about the repercussions of buying out a popular geisha to the point that it could affect business. But I guess that’s true, if Kiyoha bought Takigawa, she would be depriving all the other women of him, and since the whole island is mainly women, their business could take a hit because of her selfishness of wanting to monopolise him. It doesn’t help that he’s recently become even more popular due to what happened at the procession. But I assume that with Kiyoha’s family’s wealth and influence, it should be fine imo. Um, that was easy. I feel like the law on this island is really….whatever. So, on one hand, they arrest Takigawa’s mother ready to execute her, but then after Takigawa and his brother say it was all a prank and that she didn’t abuse them, they just let her go??? Did they not check for bruises and marks from long term abuse? Honestly, I’m baffled at how loose the law is, it’s so ready to kill people but at the same time so ready to let people go, it’s pretty ridiculous. So glad Takigawa didn’t forgive her and took his brother away from her. It’s nice that he’s giving her the chance to change because he doesn’t want to regret leaving her to die even though he hates her I guess. It was really quite touching to see Takigawa arrive at the Somei family house and be welcomed so nicely by Kiyoha’s mother, they bought/took in both him and his brother and that’s so sweet. I love how Takigawa’s contribution to the family business is by showcasing their clothes to courtesans, modelling is a great job for him since he’s so beautiful! I like the other ending as well though! Seeing Takigawa make sales on clothes at Yoshiwara utilising his information network was pretty cool. I also really enjoyed their little trip to the mainland, it’s always cute to see their fascination and interest in different cultures and products.

Overall, Takigawa was all right. I thought I’d like him just as much as Takao in Kikuya, but honestly, even though it was pretty nice to see the usual transition of cold guy to wholesome guy kinda story, I think the transition was lacking. In the beginning, I could really feel how both Kiyoha and Takigawa were interested in each other but didn’t want to involve their hearts in this relationship because it’s “fake”. However, I couldn’t feel it when they both “loved each other” and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with the other. I don’t really feel their romance. But I did feel for Takigawa’s childhood, it was pretty terrible, and I’m glad Kiyoha supported him and everything, but yeah honestly, I expected more charisma from Takigawa? He’s supposedly the top geisha so I honestly expected to be really drawn to him etc, but I think he was pretty normal lol, the best thing about him was his looks, and even then, Asagiri is pretty beautiful, so yeah, beauty can’t carry you that high! Haha, oh well. He’s not bad, just not great🙃

#the men of yoshiwara #the men of yoshiwara ohgiya

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wizard-worm · 6 years

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Yo, for my English Lit A Level coursework, I wrote about Radio Silence & the canon. This is the essay, if anyone’s interested:

Radio Silence and other young adult novels ought to be included in the canon.

Young adult novels are often seen as less worthy of study than books for adults, even though many demonstrate the qualities seen in canonised literature. Radio Silence is an example of a novel which accurately represents the parts of society it is trying to reflect, contains valuable moral lessons, and is emotionally, thematically and narratively complex, all of which contribute to making a text valuable according to aesthetic theories, and yet the novel is overlooked perhaps merely because of its audience.

Young adult is a broad genre because it is simply an indication of the age of most readers, and within it exists the genres seen in adult literature: fantasy, thriller, science fiction etc. which makes the exclusion of young adult books nonsensical. It could even be more interesting to study because it is largely unexplored, so study wouldn’t involve repetition of interpretations that have been proposed before, as with books that have already been discussed for years. Perhaps because young adult books are intended for young people, those who have the authority to decide what is study-worthy assume that they must be simplified, when in fact there are a mix of more and less intellectual novels, just like in adult literature. The existence of “easy” novels in adult fiction doesn’t make people discount the others. Another assumption people seem to make is that young adult novels are thematically shallow, when in fact teenagers deal with many of the same existential questions adults do. Framing these themes from the perspective of teenagers shouldn’t make them any less significant.

While Radio Silence arguably shows a narrow perspective of the world since it is focused on a small part of the education system, so do many canonised texts, which are often more exclusive since they fail to represent groups which Radio Silence does, such as ethnic minorities and LGBT+ people. Austen’s novels are an example of this, with her focus on upper-class families, however even with her sharp focus on few characters, readers can still recognise and relate to the character archetypes.

Some canonised novels could be considered part of the young adult category, such as The Catcher in the Rye, but since they were written before the genre was widely recognised they were received in much the same way as adult books, meaning there was no bias against them. The fact books like this are seen as “academic” shows that adults are sometimes willing to see teenage perspectives as worthy of study, so perhaps the main barrier for modern young adult literature is the false belief that there aren’t intellectual books in the genre just because they have been put under a new publishing umbrella. In the future, critics may begin to take YA fiction into consideration for the canon, as has happened with other genres previously seen as unliterary. Crime fiction is an example of a genre which at first was thought of as commercial and purely “readerly”, but in recent years has been studied in English Literature courses, demonstrating the subjectivity of literary value.

Oseman was 21 when Radio Silence was published, which some might use as reason to exclude her novel from the canon. This mirrors the way female writers were excluded, resulting in authors such as the Bronte sisters using male pseudonyms. In the field of sociology, some theorise that modern society is an “age patriarchy,” meaning children are oppressed by adults to maintain the adult/child hierarchy. Both women and children have been seen as unintellectual, and this has been the basis for inequality. The fact that women have managed to challenge patriarchy to be included in the canon suggests that the same could happen for young people if the hierarchy is questioned.

Radio Silence deals with themes of mental health, sexuality, platonic and romantic love, family, and trying to find happiness. These themes are seen throughout literature, but when examined from a teenage perspective are often dismissed as self-indulgent. The themes are interwoven with discussion of the education system, which is the main subject. Frances, the protagonist, is successful academically but starting to realise she feels no enthusiasm towards school. Her friendship with Aled Last demonstrates the conflict between “school life” and “real life”. While they are just acquaintances, Frances expresses fear over “messing it up,” to which her mum responds “You’ve got lots of other friends,” and Frances says “They only like School Frances though. Not Real Frances.” The capitalisation emphasises the divide Frances feels between her “study machine” identity and her creative side. Her mum’s reply mirrors the way that adults oversimplify teenagers' problems, as also seen in the beginning. The headteacher is giving a speech on parents’ evening, and Aled has been chosen to give a talk about university. The teacher tells the audience Aled is going to Durham, “if his A levels go to plan, anyway!” Frances narrates that “All the parents laughed… Aled and I did not.” The short sentences create a curt tone which communicates Frances’ annoyance at the trivialisation of something which their futures rest on.

The effects of this invalidation are shown in how they see their own problems. Frances makes it clear that she doesn’t get any enjoyment from school, yet all of the decisions she makes centre around getting into university. She says “whenever I wasn’t doing school work I felt like I was wasting my time” reflecting the amount of pressure that is put on students. This tends to have a negative impact on their mental health, seen in the case of Aled isolating himself at university. Adults not taking teenagers seriously worsens this problem because they don’t feel able to seek help, since whenever they voice their feelings, they are brushed off.

When Frances is panicking about one of her exams she feels embarrassed texting Aled: “This sounds really dumb I know I really shouldn’t be so upset about it haha.” Through this Oseman subverts the stereotype of teenagers as uncaring as Aled sympathises with Frances rather than dismissing her and this support means, towards the end, when Frances is beginning to question the expectations she’s always put on herself, she stands up for her own feelings when she doesn’t get into Cambridge. She narrates “You probably think I’m a whiny teenager. And yeah, it was all in my head, probably. That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.”

This is also an example of one of the ways in which Radio Silence is narratively interesting. The entire book is told in first person, but the “fourth wall” is often broken with Frances addressing the reader. This creates the effect of a story being told to you by a friend, which encourages empathy. It also exposes her as a somewhat unreliable narrator when it comes to the subplot of Carys’ disappearance. Frances speaks with conviction about why Carys disappeared, making statements like “It was my fault she ran away,” but later on it’s revealed that Frances’ perception of Carys has been distorted. This adds realism by reflecting the way people tend to think, believing ourselves to be more significant than we are. When Carys is introduced, it becomes clear Frances was fairly insignificant in Carys’ life, though the reader is previously convinced by Frances’ perspective.

The narrative also switches from past to present tense during the moments of direct address to the reader as well as during a pivotal chapter in which the characters are drunk. There are analepses to something that happened two years ago with Carys, but told in present tense. Oseman uses repetition such as “Aled was saying, Aled is saying,” to communicate Frances’ confused perception of time which realistically reproduces the experience of intoxication as well as highlighting Frances’ unreliability as even she is aware of the contradictions of her perception.

The subtlety of the portrayal of a toxic parent is also perhaps more well-crafted than many adult-oriented books, which often jump straight to the most extreme cases of abuse. These are important, but aren’t as engagingly ambiguous as Carol Last, who walks a fine line between strict parenting and psychological torment. The complexity of the situation creates a moral debate and would provide an engaging topic of discussion, since she is a more subversive villain than typical flat “evil” characters because it’s not clear what her true intentions are, as well as being a character one might encounter in real life.

Her actions are almost justifiable; she has Aled’s dog put down while he was away but she could rationalise it because of the dog’s old age. Frances aptly describes the disconcerting coldness Carol possesses without really doing anything wrong: “She looked terrifying… a smile that said “Can I get you a cup of tea?” and eyes that said “I will burn everything you love.”” Aled struggles to talk about her, and after a lengthy conversation Aled finally manages to simply say “I just really don’t like my mum.” and Frances realises he was struggling because “It sounds like such a juvenile thing.” This anti-climax creates mimesis since this conclusion lacks emotional closure.

The inclusion of modern technology also adds interest. Realistically, a significant amount of these character’s communication is done through text. Some might argue that focusing on technology, which develops so quickly, can date a text, but it is an important part of modern culture that can’t be ignored. Including text messages is useful because the author doesn’t have to obey grammatical rules, making it more expressive: “HOPE YOU’RE FEELING PARTY AF” and “it’s honestly fine!!!!” In the past when technological developments have been made, they were incorporated into literature, such as with the emergence of epistolary novels after the postal system was set up.

Oseman also uses a story within a story that incorporates technology. Universe City is a fantasy podcast which tells the story of Radio Silence, a character trapped in a dystopian monster-infested university. Occasionally between chapters there are transcripts of an episode, and through this, Oseman explores how the internet allows new kinds of creativity while providing insight into Aled’s character as the podcast creator. It is revealed that Universe City has been Aled’s way of reaching out to his sister after she disappeared. The transcripts are littered with metaphors and analogies for Aled’s mental health and life events, such as the motif of fire: “I see you in every fire that lights,” “The fire that touched you must have come from a star,” which refers to his mum burning Carys’ clothes just before she disappeared. It’s a clever way of including a more literary style without interfering with the realistic first-person voice. The issue of prioritising literary technique over realism is shown in young adult novel The Fault In Our Stars where the teenage characters say things like “My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations,” which some might see as more “literary” but which also seem pretentious and false.

Ultimately, Radio Silence incorporates many aspects of canonised literature that critics believe to be valuable: universal themes, complex characters, interweaving plots, interesting narrative techniques, and it is innovative through incorporating technology. Negative stereotyping of teenagers leads to dismissal of young adult literature, but as the internet allows young people to become more vocal, perhaps young adult literature will become more accepted.

@chronicintrovert (u dont have to read this if u dont want to but idk i’d be interested if someone wrote about my book so tagging u just in case)

#alice oseman #radio silence #obviously don't plagiarise because you could get in trouble #i was with AQA and got like an A/B for this essay #not exactly sure #but I got an A overall for the whole A Level :)#english lit #english lit essay #a levels #i had so much more to say but the word limit was 1500 and I wrote 3k and had to cut so much

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peinde · 6 years

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Yet Another Munday Meme

ѩ - Are there any characters that you love, but simply cannot role play? any Zahhak ;u;

Җ - What’s your greatest source of inspiration when it comes to role playing? well for Fef i get inspired as soon as i see any dumb rich girl in media LOOOL or if Ariana Grande does like anything

ℛ - Are you religious? i guess? i consider myself a Christian, but i really only pray. i guess spiritual is a better word

♬ - Do you listen to music when you write? If yes, what kind of music? nah, it distracts me

ᚡ - Random fact about the mun? i can move my eyes one at a time

✒ - Do you have a preference when it comes to gender regarding your muses? i mean i guess girls? i’ve RPed my fantroll like once and she was a lady, and every other time has just been Fef

ಹ - Share a story from your childhood! i once snuck out to a birthday party at age 8 and my mum had to call the police

෴ - Tell us about your day. pretty meh. a little busy, but it mostly just involved me being nitpicky at work

㉘ - How do you usually spend your birthdays? i usually got to dinner with friends

⨌ - If you ever had the opportunity to clone yourself, would you? nah. i like being the only me

ᚖ - Do you wear makeup? yes! i own a good amount of it, but i really only wear eyebrow products, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick everyday.

༺ - Do you have any siblings? What’s your relationship with them like? i have a brother. we’re okay

๛ - Share an embarrassing story about yourself! i once fell down a flight of stairs while trying to do a cool stunt in Horuss cosplay

❤ - Are you and/or your muse currently in love with someone? i’m not, but my muse is in love with several people!

ℳ - Do you think you have a good handwriting? LOOOL nah. i’ve got chickenscratch

☢ - When was the last time you went to the cinema? What movie did you watch? i went just this past week! i saw Incredibles 2 :D

⨕ - Are you a jealous role player? nope! people can do whatever they want. most of the time, i’m really content chilling and scrolling on the dash

#not glubbing 38(#munday

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crazyclouds5281 · 3 years

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Beast 1

The Killing Curse does not leave a mark. Ever. It forces the soul out of the body without touching it at all. What happens, then, when something takes possession of the empty husk?

Thomas Dorian Potter could barely contain his excitement. He was finally going to Hogwarts! His parents had told him so many stories of their years there- most of his father’s involving pranks, much to Lily’s fond exasperation- that Thomas didn’t even want to wait for the Hogwarts Express. He had begged his parents to just let him Floo straight over, or Apparate him there, but his mother put her foot down.

“It’s tradition, Thomas. You’re getting on that train.” And that was the end of that. So, here he was, at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, staring in awe at the steel beast in front of him. The Express was much more impressive than he expected, shining red and spewing steam.

Thomas was excitedly chatting with Ronald Weasely and Neville Longbottom, his two yearmates and best friends. Molly Weasely was giving the twins, Fred and George, a stern talking-to, while Arthur just chuckled about their latest prank. Percy looked about ready to join his mother in scolding his younger brothers, but she didn’t pause long enough for him to slip in his own comments. So, he simply glared at them, arms crossed, Prefect badge glinting on the breast of his robes. Ginevra hid behind her mother’s leg, staring at Thomas longingly, not that he noticed. James, Sirius, and Remus were joking around, with occasional input from Ted Tonks, who was also here with his wife, Andromeda. Their daughter, and Thomas’ cousin, Nymphadora, had already gotten on the Express, along with Cedric Diggory, the Weasley’ neighbor.

Suddenly, Thomas was dragged into a crushing hug by Lily, who sighed sadly. “Oh, my baby’s growing up so fast!” she cried, much to Thomas’ embarrassment.

“Mum!” he hissed, “Not in front of my friends!”

She swatted him on the back of the head, not releasing him. “Hush, you! I’ll hug my son if I want to! It’s going to be so quiet without you running around the house,” she said, already overcome with nostalgia.

“Mum!” Thomas whined, squirming in her grip. The snickers of his friends made him turn bright red.

“Fine,” Lily drawled, letting him go, but not before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “You three get on the Express now- don’t wanna miss it, do you?”

“Bye, Mrs. Potter,” Ron and Neville chirped, dragging Thomas on board, then proceeding to take the mickey out of him.

“Oh, shut up!” Thomas snapped. “Don’t act like I didn’t see your mum wipe the dirt off your nose, Ron!” He grinned victoriously when the youngest Weasley son went as red as his hair. The three boys broke down into chuckles, lightheartedly shoving each other as they went to find a compartment, dragging their trunks along with them. They found an empty one towards the back of the train, loading their trunks up on the racks and plopping down on the comfortable seats, stretching out a bit.

“So, which class are you blokes most excited for?” Neville asked.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts!” Thomas said instantly. “I’ve already defeated a Dark Lord, so it’s obviously gonna be my best class!” he boasted, making his friends smile.

“I dunno, I’m kinda looking forward to Flying,” Ron said, a wide grin on his face. “Have I told you guys about that time I-”

“Hit a Muggle hang glider with Charlie’s old broom? Only about a million times,” Neville teased, making Ron cross his arms with a faux-pout. “I’m gonna enjoy Herbology. Mum doesn’t have much time to work in the greenhouses with me, what with being an Auror and all.”

“Speaking of being an Auror,” Thomas said, rising to his feet and pulling out his wand- ten inches, dogwood, dragon heartstring core- “Dad finally showed me a spell that he said is essential for all Aurors.” He spun his wand in a circular movement, and cried “Prot-!”

The compartment door slammed open, startling the three boys. Thomas dropped his wand from the shock.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” a bushy-haired girl with large front teeth introduced herself. “Would it be alright if I sat with you three? The people in the other compartments are horribly rude,” she rattled off. Hermione’s eye caught sight of Thomas’ wand as he picked it up, and placed her hands on her hips. “Were you about to do magic? Well, let’s see it. I’ve already cast a few of the spells in the Charms textbook, and they worked perfectly.”

The boys shared confused glances, before Ron shrugged, not seeing the harm in letting her sit with them. Thomas repeated his wand movement, shouting “Protego!”

“Er, mate… Was something supposed to happen?” Ron asked, barely holding in his chortles. Thomas frowned.

“Yeah. Dad said it was a Shield Charm.”

“Looks more like a prank,” Neville said, making Ron lose control and begin howling with laughter. Thomas stomped his foot in frustration.

“It worked when Dad did it, I swear!”

“Protego?” Hermione piped up. “That’s not in the First Year curriculum. I would know- I’ve already read all the books. It probably didn’t work because it’s too advanced for you.”

Thomas bristled at the slight to his abilities, but Ron came to his defense, stopping his cackling. “Hey, he’s the Boy-Who-Lived! He defeated the Dark Lord when he was a year old- nothing’s too advanced for him!”

“You’re Thomas Potter?” Hermione asked, latching on to the new piece of information. “I’ve read all about you! Is it true that you rode a dragon to Russia to help the Kremlin against a goblin invasion?”

“Uh… What?”

“Oh! Did you broker a peace treaty with the Canadian Prime Minister after you saved his daughter’s life?”

“Who?”

“Ooh! What about that time-!”

“Wait!” Thomas yelled, holding his hands. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all your adventures in the books, of course!”

“Books?” Thomas asked, looking at his two friends. “What books?”

Realization dawned in Ron’s eyes. “Oh, I know what she’s talking about! A buncha people have written all these crazy things about you- Ginny’s obsessed with ‘em, despite how absolutely barmy they are.”

“Books are not barmy!” Hermione cried, offended. “They wouldn’t have been published if they weren’t true!”

“I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but Thomas hasn’t done any of that stuff,” Neville said gently. The girl looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating.

“But, but, books don’t lie!” she shrieked, bushy hair fluffing out even more. The three boys were starting to panic; none of them knew how to deal with a crying girl! They were saved by the compartment door slamming open once more. A platinum-blond boy, with his hair slicked back by copious amounts of gel, stood there with a superior smirk on his face. Flanking him were two goons, one tall and one fat, neither very intelligent judging by how dull their eyes were.

“I heard Thomas Potter was starting Hogwarts this year.”

“Malfoy,” Thomas growled, right hand tightening around his wand.

“Looks like it’s true- I was wondering if you might be denied entry for being too stupid. Anyways, I’m here to extend a hand of friendship. Now that you aren’t being led around by the nose by your blood-traitor father, maybe you’ll have the good sense to accept it. After all, the Malfoys are one of the most prominent Pureblood families in all of Britain. You would be wise to fall in line, Potter.”

“Are you even listening to the crap coming out of your mouth, Malfoy?” Neville snarled, as he and Ron stood, pulling out their wands- nevermind the fact that none of them knew any spells that would do anything worthwhile.

“Bugger off, ya slimy little git! Nobody’s joining your stupid Junior Death Eater club!” Ron snapped.

“Longbottom,” Malfoy greeted imperiously. “And look at that, another Weasel. How many does that make now, fifty? Hogwarts really needs to do something about this infestation in its halls. I suppose Potter would count amongst you idiots, what with his hair. What’s up with that, anyway, Potter? Did you dye it to look like a cheap knock-off? Or did your whore mudblood mother get a little too frisky with Weasley Senior?”

Thomas hauled off and made to slug Malfoy in his fat mouth, when a hand came out of nowhere and latched onto the boy’s wrist with an iron grip. The First Years all made various noises of surprise when a tall boy with disheveled black hair stepped into view, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a forest green hoodie. He dropped Thomas’ arm, then stooped down so he was face-to-face with Malfoy, emerald eyes glowing fiercely.

“Leave.”

Surprisingly, the three Death Eater wannabes obeyed, scurrying back up the train.

“Harry!” Thomas cried excitedly. His next cry was one filled with pain, however, as the young man slapped him upside the head. “Ow! What-?”

“Sit down. Shut up.” A livid glare stifled any protests, and all four First Years did as he said, despite three of them not being the target. “You idiots woke me up with all your yelling.” The dark bags under his eyes, which looked more like bruises, attested to how much he actually needed his sleep.

“S-Sorry,” Thomas stuttered. The older boy stared at him for a long moment, that seemed to stretch infinitely, before turning away, allowing the redheaded boy to finally breathe.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he rumbled, sliding the compartment door closed behind him. For a long while, silence reigned between the four eleven-year-olds, the rumbling of the train a dull roar in the background.

“Who… Who was that?” Hermione asked Thomas weakly.

“My older brother, Harry.”

---

Thomas was positively shaking with nerves. They were about to be Sorted, and his parents had refused to tell him how. Ron was convinced they had to fight a troll, though it was the twins who told him that, so all four agreed it was probably just a joke. Neville said it might depend on their heritage, but that didn’t quite sit right with Thomas. After all, despite the Potters traditionally being Gryffindors, Harry wasn’t (then again, Harry wasn’t exactly normal by Potter standards). Hermione theorized they might have to take some sort of test that determined their personality, which was apparently a Muggle thing. Thomas didn’t really get it.

Finally, however, Professor McGonagall ushered them into the Great Hall. The starry ceiling was absolutely gorgeous, and the archaic architecture of the Hall was a lot different than the Potter home in Godric’s Hollow. In the middle of the Hall was a hat, sitting on a stool. One of the wrinkled flaps opened up, and then-

“Oh, you may not think I’m pretty…”

It started singing! Thomas didn’t particularly pay attention to the song, too amazed by the fact that a hat was singing. Even in the Wizarding World, that wasn’t something one saw often. Eventually, McGonagall started calling people up in alphabetical order. Each student sat on the stool and wore the Sorting Hat, which screamed out a house name after a few moments. Hermione and Neville both ended up in Gryffindor, making Thomas cheer loudly, though moreso for the latter. Then, it was his turn. Thomas sat down on the stool, and the brim of the Sorting Hat dropped over his eyes, blocking out the Great Hall.

“Let’s see, let’s see…” a voice echoed in his head. Despite being somewhat prepared for it, he still jolted a bit. “Headstrong, you are. You don’t think much before jumping into things, and you have no problems with confrontation. A bit of an aversion to reading, so Ravenclaw’s out, and you tend to not do things you don’t like, so Hufflepuff is as well.”

“Don’t put me in Slytherin!” Thomas thought loudly, hoping the Hat could somehow hear him.

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, lad. Better be GRYFFINDOR!” The House name was shouted out loud, and the Great Hall erupted into cheers. The loudest were the Weasely twins, who stood up on the table and yelled, “We got Potter! We got Potter!” With a wide grin, Thomas did a few deep bows, shooting a smug smirk at Draco Malfoy, and going to join his housemates. There were many congratulatory pats on the back, and people introduced themselves to the Boy-Who-Lived in droves, which made it a little hard to keep track of all the new faces.

Thomas had a feeling Hogwarts was going to be fun.

---

Hogwarts was not fun. Classes were boring. The teachers lectured for the majority of the period, leaving hardly any time for the practical lesson, and they always assigned feet of homework to people who didn’t do the spell correctly in class, such as Thomas. His hand ended up aching by the time he went to bed, every day, without fail. And then came Friday, when Gryffindor had double Potions.

The Boy-Who-Lived sat down next to Ron in the classroom in the dungeon. The youngest Weasley son was shooting suspicious glares at the Slytherins on the other half of the room.

“I don’t like sharing classes with all these slimy snakes,” Ron whispered, looking at Malfoy pointedly.

“Yeah? Well, my Dad said Snape’s the worst of them,” Thomas muttered back. It was at that moment that the classroom door slammed open, and in strode a tall man, with greasy hair, a hooked nose, and dressed in billowing black robes.

“You are here,” Severus Snape began, soft voice echoing through the room, “To learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” The man began roll call afterwards, not even glancing up when a student answered to their name. At least, until he called on Thomas.

“Potter.”

“Here.”

Snape paused, staring at Thomas for a long moment. “Ah, yes… Our resident celebrity,” he drawled. The Professor finished roll, and then turned back to Thomas. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would be the result of adding powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Thomas gaped, too shocked at being singled out to make a sound. Meanwhile, at the next table over, Hermione’s hand shot into the air like a rocket. However, Snape stayed focused on the Boy-Who-Lived.

“No answer? Well, let us try again. Where, Mr. Potter, would you look if I asked you to locate a bezoar?”

“I… I don’t know, Sir,” Thomas answered reluctantly. Once again, Hermione’s hand was waving in the air, and once again, Snape ignored her.

“Then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Thomas remained silent, red rising to his face as he fumed.

“Pity,” Snape muttered. “Clearly, fame isn’t everything, is it, Mr. Potter?”

“Dad was right- you really are just a big git,” Thomas whispered under his breath. Unfortunately for him, the entire classroom was silent, so Snape heard him easily enough if the thunderous expression on his face was any clue.

“Out, Potter.”

“Wh-What?”

“I want you out of my classroom. I will not tolerate such insolence, such disrespect! Go to the Headmaster’s office, and you can expect at least a month of detention.”

“You can’t-!”

“Two months.”

“But!”

“Would you like to make it the rest of the year?” Thomas fell quiet, and Snape smirked smugly. “I thought not. Pack your belongings, and get out- now.”

Filled with anger, Thomas did as he was ordered, shoving his quills and papers into his bag haphazardly. He was a bit more careful with his inkwell, making sure to cap it, but that was all. He kicked his stool back under the table, and shot Snape the filthiest glare he could as he passed by the greasy bastard.

“Oh, and… Fifty points from Gryffindor.”

---

Everything pretty much went downhill from there. Much to Snape’s chagrin, he’d only been able to assign two weeks of detention, but that was far more than Thomas deserved, in his own opinion; two hours of scrubbing cauldrons by hand, or writing lines until his wrist cramped (and then continuing to write while his muscles spasmed painfully) every evening after dinner cut into much of his freetime. Thomas had to choose between hanging out with his friends or doing his homework, since he didn’t have time to do both, and the choice was obvious. After all, homework didn’t talk about Quidditch.

Snape continued being a snide arse in Potions, so whenever the Boy-Who-Lived talked back, the bat of the dungeon gleefully tacked on yet another few days of punishment. It eventually totalled up to the two months Snape had promised, and Thomas became more and more agitated as the weeks went by.

Hermione did her best to coerce them into finishing assignments, but eleven-year-old boys had a notorious lack of common sense, so it was an exercise in futility for the bushy-haired girl. More often than not, she ended up storming off with a huff, while the boys laughed at her indignance, then went back to whatever they were doing.

It all came to a head on Halloween. The First Year Gryffindors were in Charms, with Professor Flitwick standing on his stack of books to lecture them on the Levitation Charm.

“One of a wizard’s most rudimentary skills is levitation. Or, the ability to make objects float. Now, don’t forget the nice wrist movement we’ve been practicing. A swish and flick! Everyone?” The class repeated the movements together. “Good. And, don’t forget to enunciate! The incantation for the Levitation Charm is Wingardium Leviosa. Give it a try, all of you.”

A chorus of prepubescent voices filled the room as each student practiced the charm. One of the more notable attempts was by Ronald Weasely, who chanted the incantation, then flailed his wand up and down like a mace.

“Stop, stop, stop,” Hermione said, holding a hand up. “You’re going to take somebody’s eye out, Ronald. Besides, you’re saying it wrong. It��s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saaa.”

The redhead rolled his eyes. “You do it then, if you’re so bloody smart,” he said, grinning smugly as he got ready to watch her fail. “Go on! Go on!” Hermione shrugged.

“Wingardium Levi-o-sa!” With a swish and a flick, the feather floated into the air, guided halfway towards the ceiling by Hermione’s wand. Ron stared at it in shock, and the rest of the room grew silent.

“Well done, Ms. Granger! Truly spectacular! Five points to Gryffindor, for being the first one to learn today’s spell!”

Ron fell into a sulk, not even noticing when Seamus Finnegan somehow managed to blow up his feather. After class, the youngest Weasley male jammed his supplies into his bag and stormed out of the room, followed by Thomas and Neville.

“It’s Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saa,” he mocked, pitching his voice higher to mimic a girl’s voice. “She’s a nightmare, honestly- it’s no wonder she hasn’t got any friends!”

A moment later, Hermione stormed past Ron, shoving him aside and scurrying down the hall. An awkward silence fell among the three boys.

“I think she heard you,” Thomas finally said.

---

That stench… It was unfamiliar. Not one he’d smelled in these halls before. There were many other strange ones, as there was at the start of every year, but this one was noxious, overpowering… Predatory instincts roused, his bones contorted and he dropped to four legs, ready to begin the search.

It was time to hunt.

---

“That stupid, rotten Ronald Weasley,” Hermione Granger whispered to herself, sobbing quietly. She didn’t know how long she’d been here, curled up in this stall in the second floor bathroom. It must’ve been a few hours, at least. However long it was, though, she still felt raw.

She’d come to Hogwarts hoping to find people like herself. People she could fit in with, people she could be friends with. That hadn’t been possible in the Muggle world, what with the bouts of Accidental Magic that became more frequent the more she was bullied. However, this school was supposed to have people like her; people who could bend the rules of reality. And, she’d hoped, people who had the same love for learning as her. After all, how could they not want to learn everything they could about magic? It was, by far, the most interesting subject she’d ever come across, and the fact that she could actually replicate the things she read in her books with nothing more than a few words and a wave of her wand made her feel powerful. Like she was more than the daughter of two dentists, more than a bushy-haired bookworm with too-big teeth and an even bigger attitude.

All she found in this castle was disappointment.

The Savior of the Wizarding World was just a typical eleven-year-old boy- not even a particularly pleasant one! The students were the same jealous cretins she’d grown up around, unable to handle that someone was smarter than them, able to do things they couldn’t, and they sought to tear her down to make themselves feel better. One of the most revered wizards in the country, her own headmaster, seemed like nothing but a barmy old man. It didn’t help that he hired rude people like Professor Snape, or incompetent people like Professor Quirrel.

It all added up to a very unhappy Hermione Granger, one who was starting to wish she’d never accepted her invitation to this stupid school. Then, the bathroom door exploded.

---

It was close. The second floor was where the scent was the strongest, and the monstrous bellows, like cannon blasts to his sensitive ears, let him know he was in the right place. The smell was almost unbearable, but he blocked it out, instead following the loud crashing, as whatever he hunted destroyed the room it was in.

He pushed himself faster.

---

A troll. A mountain troll, judging by its gray skin, incredible height, and the absolutely horrid smell, Hermione’s quick mind analyzed. However, while her thoughts were racing with panic, her body was frozen in terror. She’d exited the stall to see what all the noise was about, and immediately regretted it when the wall blew inwards. She was nearly brained with a piece of marble, only avoiding it because she fell on her rump with a shrill shriek. The troll roared once more, waving its club wildly, and Hermione answered with a scream of pure fear.

She scrambled backwards until she hit the far wall of the bathroom. Unable to stand, she simply curled up in the fetal position, covering her head with her arms, waiting for her demise. The troll advanced towards her slowly, swinging its cudgel around and demolishing each stall it passed, the steel crumpling under the thick wood like it was aluminum.

The only warning the mountain troll had was a low, bestial growl that reverberated off the tiles, before something slammed into its back, sending the massive monster flopping to the floor hard enough to crack the slick tiles. Razor-sharp teeth dug into the back of the troll’s neck, and it had just enough time to grunt in confusion, before its spinal cord was severed. Its ugly, misshapen head dropped to the ground, bouncing against the ceramic.

Silence reigned. Hermione, who had fully expected to be dead by now, cautiously peered past her arms, and came face-to-face with a large cat with insanely long fangs. A sabre-toothed tiger (Smilodon, her academically-inclined brain automatically corrected). It had to be over five feet tall, dwarfing Hermione’s modest height (modest for her age and gender, that is). It had thick, midnight-black fur that shone lusciously in the magical light. Its most noticeable feature, however, were the bright, emerald eyes that stared at her passively.

The smilodon hopped down off the troll’s back and stalked over to the trembling girl. There was intelligence in its eyes, though, and Hermione had a feeling the feline wasn’t going to kill her, despite the purposeful manner in which it moved, and the crimson blood dripping from its fangs. She pushed herself upright, standing on shaky legs, back pressed against the cold marble wall. Then, right in front of her, the smilodon began to change. Its long body became more compact, and it became a few inches taller. Its teeth shrunk, snout flattening, hair shortening, and before her stood Thomas’ older brother, Harry Potter. Even as a human, he cut an imposing figure, with his glowing eyes- amplified by the lenses of his glasses- apathetic stare, and the blood smeared across his lips. His tongue darted out, licking up the red liquid, only for him to turn his head and spit it out a moment later, a grimace on his face.

“Troll blood,” he murmured distastefully, turning his attention back on Hermione. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?” His rumbling voice shook her out of her daze.

“Um, I…” She was too embarrassed to admit that she’d been in here, bawling her eyes out. So, she did something she much preferred; she rushed forward and circled her arms around his waist, burying her face in his solid stomach. “Thankyousomuch!” she forced out. Tears were sliding down her cheeks once more, but this time, it was in relief that she was still alive.

Hermione chanced a glance up when she noticed that her saviour was rather silent, and was unnerved by his flat expression. “Move,” he grunted, plucking her off the ground by the back of her robes. The First Year made a noise in the back of her throat, choking when her collar pulled against her neck uncomfortably. Harry unceremoniously deposited her outside the bathroom, not even bothering to make sure her feet were steady. She stumbled back against the wall, nearly falling. When she straightened up, she went stock-still with terror, unable to force her body to move away from the grisly scene in front of her.

So much blood...

---

It was a few minutes before the Professors arrived. Minerva, Severus, and Filius all skidded around the corner, Quirrel following after a few seconds.

“Ms. Granger!” Minerva shouted, “What are you doing here!?” The girl didn’t respond, and it was only then that she noticed her staring, horrified, at a gaping hole in the wall. Minerva pulled out her wand, ready to hex to bits anything that popped out, while herding her Lion a few steps away. Severus and Filius slowly approached, peering into the shattered bathroom, and the half-goblin squeaked.

“Mr. Potter!?”

“Potter, what do you think you’re doing!?” Severus barked, pointing his wand at the boy. Quirrel looked about ready to faint again. Curious, Minerva crept closer, and gasped, unable to comprehend what she saw. Standing ankle-deep in the guts of a troll corpse was Fourth Year Ravenclaw, Harry Potter. He was positively drenched in crimson- it dripped from the bottom of his blue-trimmed robes, was smeared over the lenses of his glasses, and nearly covered the entirety of his face. The only reason he was recognizable was because of the trademark Potter hair, which looked like a localized tornado had swept across his scalp.

Potter swiped a sleeve across his glasses- the motion drawing Minerva’s attention to the wicked, curved silver knife in his right hand- in an attempt to see who was talking to him, not that it did much good.

“I’ll be done in a moment,” the boy grunted. His knife melted into a metal baton- a wand?- and he waved it, Conjuring multiple cylindrical glass tanks. Another wave, and the troll organs, lined up on a tarp on the bathroom floor, were each guided into one tank. The last three were filled completely with dark red blood. The glass jars were all wrapped up in one burlap sack, while another bag was Conjured and filled with solid body parts, such as teeth, bones, nails, and the skull. A few Charms cleaned all the grime off Harry, and he stepped down from the ripped-up corpse, gesturing with his wand for the two floating sacks to follow after him.

“Can I help you, Professors?” Potter asked, his tone indicating it was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment.

“You can start by explaining what this is, Potter,” Severus drawled, looking pointedly at the disastrous scene behind the Fourth Year.

“I believe it’s rather obvious, Sir,” Potter replied dryly. Severus rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment further.

“Why weren’t you at the Halloween Feast, Mr. Potter?” the Deputy Headmistress asked.

“Personal reasons,” he deflected quickly, and Minerva grimaced. Of course he wouldn’t care to celebrate on this night.

“Yes, my apologies,” she said. “Ms. Granger? What about you?” she asked the girl who was standing a few paces away. The girl flushed, seemingly embarrassed.

“I… Came her because… Some of the other students were teasing me. I swear, I didn’t mean to skip the feast! I just lost track of the time!” she cried, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. Minerva felt righteous rage burning in her breast.

“Who?” she asked, ready to slap every single one of them with detention for the rest of the year. Bullying the poor girl enough to make her cry in the bathroom for hours was horrible on its own, but for it to result in her nearly dying to a troll attack!? They were lucky Minerva wasn’t contemplating expulsion! It was only the fact that this sort of incident was nearly impossible to plan, especially for a student, that kept her anger in check. Granger looked panicked, as if she didn’t want to reveal their identity and let them be punished- a kind sentiment, but utterly misplaced, in Minerva’s opinion- when Potter opened his mouth.

“Weasley Number Six, hm?”

Granger’s jaw dropped. “H-How…?” she asked, unable to formulate full sentences. Potter snorted.

“That little fool has been putting his foot in his mouth for as long as I’ve had the displeasure of knowing him. I doubt the vaunted Boy-Who-Lived is completely innocent, either.”

Minerva’s nostrils flared. “Is that so?” She turned to Granger. “Is Mr. Potter correct, Ms. Granger?” Shame-faced, the girl nodded, and Minerva’s heart went out to her little Lion. She swept forward, engulfing her charge in a tight hug. That was all it took for Granger to break down into sobs.

“I just- wanted to h-help him perf-form the Levitation Charm!” Granger wailed. Minerva squeezed her tighter, glancing at Filius for confirmation. The Charms Professor nodded, scowling furiously.

“Mr. Weasley was sitting next to Ms. Granger during class, and he didn’t seem to be having much success. I remember deciding to leave him be and help a few other students, because I saw Ms. Granger explaining the spell to him, and figured he was in good hands.”

Minerva was positively quaking with fury. “Mr. Potter, would you be so kind as to escort Ms. Granger to the Hospital Wing? I believe a Calming Draught would not be remiss at the moment. I have students to discipline.”-

Potter sighed, and looked to Severus, who flicked his wand at the troll remains, taking control of them. “I will bring them down to my office. Collect them before breakfast.”

“The livers are off-limits; I actually need those for a project.” Minerva quirked an eyebrow at the interaction, but didn’t comment. Potter came forward and scooped Granger up in a princess-style carry, causing the girl to squeak.

“I hardly think that’s appropriate, Mr. Potter,” Minerva said, lips thin with disapproval.

“Have you seen how short her legs are? I’d like to get to the Infirmary today, thank you.” Minerva snorted quietly, noting how Granger buried her face in the crook of Potter’s neck, face flaming. She smiled slightly.

“Well, since Ms. Granger seems so comfortable, I’ll allow it this time.”

“Professor!” Granger cried, sounding scandalized, though she made no move to change her position. The old Scot chuckled.

“Off with you two. Filius, Severus, I suggest you two head down to your own Common Rooms and inform the students that the situation has been taken care of.”

The other Professors nodded, before Severus said, “Fifty points to Ravenclaw, Potter, for saving a fellow student’s life.” The Potions Master stalked off down the hallway, robes billowing dramatically behind him. Filius exclaimed his agreement, and scampered away to Ravenclaw Tower, while Minerva strode gracefully to the Lion’s Den, ready to raise hell.

Tonight’s verbal arse-whooping would be legendary.

---

“Sit there, Mr. Potter. I must check you over.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you fought a bloody troll, that’s why!” Madame Pomfrey shrieked.

Harry scowled. “I didn’t fight it, I killed it. There’s a difference.”

“Don’t get smart with me, lad! If you think I won’t put you over my knee-”

Hermione giggled, watching as the Mediwitch stood toe-to-toe with the raven-haired boy, attempting to glare him into submission despite him being nearly half a head taller. The elderly woman was standing in front of the door of the Hospital Wing, blocking Harry’s attempt to leave after dropping Hermione off. The First Year felt a bit hurt, but decided that, since he’d already saved her life, he wasn’t obligated to spend more time around her. She was, however, secretly pleased when he stepped back into the Infirmary, sitting on the bed next to hers with a huff.

“Fine. Just get this over with. I’ve things to do,” Harry said impatiently. Madame Pomfrey swatted him on the head.

“I will finish when I do, and not a second sooner!” Harry muttered something about crazy old hags, earning yet another thump. Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand and whispering incantations. Lights appeared in front of Harry, and Madame Pomfrey finally cut off the flow of diagnostic spells, nodding in satisfaction. “Well, it seems you were telling the truth, Mr. Potter.” The boy growled and made to leave, only for the nurse to stop him. “However, you’ll be staying here until Professor McGonagall arrives. She Floo-messaged me, and wishes you to keep Ms. Granger company.”

A rumbling noise echoed from his chest, and the Fourth Year looked enraged. However, Madame Pomfrey just whipped out a bar of chocolate from the pocket of her robes and shoved it into his hands. The boy reluctantly quieted down, tearing open the wrapper and nibbling on the corner. Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes.

“Like a toddler,” she muttered, a fond smirk on her lips. Harry stuck his tongue out, moving to sit in the chair next to Hermione’s bed. He tapped a finger to the inside of his right wrist, and a leather-covered book with no visible title appeared, startling Hermione something bad.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, eyes sparkling at the thought of more arcane knowledge. Harry just cracked open the book, leaned back in his chair, and began reading. Hermione considered pouting- it worked on her parents, sometimes, when she was younger- but decided against it. He wasn’t even looking at her in the first place. They sat quietly for a while, but the silence was starting to drive Hermione mad. She didn’t even have a book to occupy herself! “So, what year are you in?”

“Fourth.”

“And you’re in Ravenclaw, judging by your robes.”

“Mm.”

“Fifth Year is when students do their OWLs, yes?”

“Mm.”

“Are you prepared for them?”

“No.”

“What? Don’t you know they’re the most important exams in your life, alongside the NEWTs? Your grades on those exams can very well determine the course of your life, such as which classes you’ll be allowed to take from Sixth Year on, and after Hogwarts, which jobs you’ll be qualified for! You must prepare properly for them- your very livelihood depends on it!”

Harry flipped the page in his book.

“Are you listening to me!?” Hermione shrieked, making the Fourth Year glance up, looking very annoyed.

“Yes. I simply chose to ignore you.”

Hermione huffed. “How rude!”

“It’s more rude of you to assume I knew none of that, despite me being in this school for longer than you,” Harry droned, returning to his reading. His eyes were flitting across the words at incredible speeds- speeds that Hermione knew she couldn’t match.

“Are you even reading, or just skimming the pages?” she asked snidely.

Harry snapped his book shut, making the First Year flinch. “Is there a reason you’re trying to piss me off?” he hissed, glaring at her menacingly. His emerald eyes glowed with a fierce light, cowing Hermione. She tried drawing upon her Gryffindor courage, but to no avail. A shiver racked her spine.

“I-I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I’m simply trying to impress upon you the importance of your exams,” Hermione explained weakly. Harry rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need you telling me that.”

“You said you weren’t prepared for your OWLs, even though they’re next year!”

“Why would I bother with that when I’ve already done them?”

“...What does that even mean?”

“It means, I did my OWLs in Second Year,” Harry said slowly, condescendingly. Hermione ignored his tone.

“What!? How!? Would I be able to do that as well!?”

“That is a matter to take up with you Head of House, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall interrupted, striding out of Madame Pomfrey’s office, where she Flooed in. “And, since I am here, I am forbidding it. You will take your OWLs in your Fifth Year, along with the rest of your classmates.”

“But, Professor McGonagall, Harry-”

“Mr. Potter is a special case, Ms. Granger.” That was when the Deputy Headmistress noticed the bar of chocolate the Fourth Year was nibbling on. “I see Poppy had to bribe you once more,” she commented, beyond amused. Harry glared impotently, the effect ruined by the eagerness with which he bit into the treat.

“‘S not my fault,” he grumbled around a mouthful of gooey goodness. “The smell of potions is too strong in here.”

“Well, then I suppose I shan’t ask you to suffer it any longer. You may return to your dorm for the night, Mr. Potter.” The young man positively rocketed out of the Infirmary, making the Iron Lady of Hogwarts chuckle fondly, shaking her head. “That boy…” She occupied the chair he had been sitting in, turning her attention to her little Lion.

“How are you, my dear?”

“I’ve… Been better,” Hermione hedged. “The Calming Draught seems to have worked, at the very least.”

“Yes, Madame Pomphrey’s skill in potion brewing is only outclassed by Severus, a Potions Master. She does good work.”

“Um, Professor…” Hermione trailed off, unsure how to say what she wanted to. She fiddled with the loose fabric of her robes.

“Yes, Ms. Granger? If you have a question, you need but ask.”

“What’s going to happen with Ronald and Thomas?”

McGonagall’s face darkened like a black thundercloud. “They, along with Mr. Longbottom, will be serving three months of detention, and have been deducted fifty House Points each. Given how Mr. Potter- the younger, that is- has already lost fifty points for insulting Professor Snape during class, I’m afraid this might put Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup.”

Tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes, despite the Calming Draught. The first term wasn’t even done, and all her hard work had already been undone? She had gained the most points among the Gryffindor First Years through her diligent, if somewhat excessive, work, and it resulted in nothing? McGonagall seemed to be able to follow her train of thoughts, because she stood and put a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, my dear, but bullying will not be tolerated in any capacity. Hopefully having the rest of the House being quite cross with them will set those boys straight. At any rate, I have paperwork to do. Will you be fine on your own?” Hermione nodded, and Professor McGonagall strode out of the Hospital Wing, leaving the bushy-haired girl alone with her thoughts.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfiction

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imaginesharrypotter · 7 years

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Road trip with the Marauders would include?

The whole thing was Peter’s idea, it just being the five of you for the summer after leaving Hogwarts

Arguing about whose music to listen to

Sirius usually wins because he has the best taste in music

Although it does mean Sirius will obnoxiously sing along at the top of his lungs

Somehow this ends in you all singing along together, shouting to be heard over each other

Peter coming up with the idea to take turns with who gets to chose the song. It works for awhile until James and Sirius get fed up with it

“You’re playing that song on purpose! You know I hate it!”

“I did not! I was just playing what I wanted to hear! Hey! Stop, it’s not your turn, you can’t just hit next because you don’t like my choice!”

In between singing, Sirius spends a lot of time complaining

“Are we there yet?”

“Are you kidding, Sirius? It’s literally only be five minutes since the last time you’ve asked”

Who gets to sit shotgun is hotly contested every time you get back in the car

Sirius is never allowed to sit in the front if James is driving and vice versa

Making sure to be near an isolated forest if there’s a full moon coming

Remus is the only thing standing between the five of you and being completely lost

Everyone pulls the “slowly drive away when someone is trying to open their car door move” at least one

Taking tons of photos to remember the journey by

First one to fall asleep each night gets pranked

The best of all the pranks was when James woke up in the middle of a lake, None of you could remember whose idea it was because you were all laughing too hard

The car spends an unfortunate amount of time smelling like wet dog after it rains. Sirius insists the smell has nothing to do with him

James and Sirius start a competition seeing who can confuse the most Muggles with a stag/dog in unexpected places

Somehow a stag is always more shocking than a dog

Remus credits this to the antlers. He’s probably right

Getting into little arguments about the dumbest things

Usually it’s because Sirius or James forgot to do something

Like Sirius forgetting to fill the gas tank at their last pit stop and their car slowly shutting down in the middle of the road

Peter making obnoxious puns that sends the whole car into a rage

James is the ‘mum friend’, making sure everyone’s eaten and gotten enough sleep and refusing to start the car until everyone is wearing their seat belts

Personal space ceases to exist as you all spread out all over each other to get comfortable

Sirius tends to rest his legs in the lap of the nearest person

Remus will fall asleep on you, and you will stay still because he needs all the sleep he can get

James flings his arm around the shoulders of whoever wanders too close

Peter leans his body into the person next to him during long stretches on the road

You spend a lot of time talking about the future. Not the war, but hypotheticals or possibilities, lots of what if scenarios

Talking about the past as well, reminiscing about your years at Hogwarts and trying to remember embarrassing stories about each other

Involves Masterlist: (x)

-Lauren and Kerrie

#harry potter #hp #marauders #mwpp #marauders era #marauders involve #involve #involves #lerrie #lauren #kerrie #james potter #james #sirius #sirius black #remus #remus lupin #peter #peter pettigrew

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tinyglowingsharks · 6 years

Note

Answer all the asks please. If you don't have the mental spoons for it then that's ok

lmao sure, thanks friend!

moon: what is your astrological sign?

Sagittarius (not avery good one)

gingerbread: your moral alignment

Neutral good

birdseed: family or friends?

Friends,probably. All the family I have time for are my friends anyway so

sheets: your sexual orientation

Bi if I’m with gaypeople or people who ‘don’t believe in labels’, queer with everyone else.

warm milk: when do you usually fallasleep?

About11:30-midnight, usually. I do not function well without enough sleep so Ihave to go to bed earlier than I would like, but then it takes me an hour or soto get to sleep anyway.

pot of honey: your gender identity

oh, it’s [loudnoise from passing truck obscures answer]. Gimme those they/them pronounsthough

snow: what is your favorite time ofyear and why

I like very earlyand very late summer. I like the end of spring where the days arestretching out and weather starts being consistently (ish, it’s still scotland)not awful, and everything feels optimistic and brighter. And then I like theends of summer when the air starts smelling of bonfires and the days are warmbut the evenings grow cooler and everything feels like snuggling and settlingin

yarn: what are your most enjoyablehobbies?

Love me someknitting, it’s really relaxing and gives me something to do with my hands andalso you get cool stuff out of it. Also I’m getting more into folkmusic/dancing recently - i was gonna say morris dancing but actually i don’treally like morris dancing as an art form, but I really like playing the musicand I love singing (hit me up for some filthy folk songs) and have gone to afew sessions and such which were really cool. And I really like folk danceslike ceilidh, bal and contra - I like the fact that each time I do it I’m lessshit. I am a bit of a baby on the scene but it’s still good, there’s usuallyalcohol to numb the embarrassment, and the people are really nice.

bicycle: what are you talented at?

Words. I am good atword-ing. Writing stuff, reading stuff, copy editing, etc. I am agood person for words.

folktale: what stories remind you ofyour childhood?

I read so much as achild and have so few memories of being a child in general that actually mostof the memories I have are mixed up with reading. But I guess some of thesignificant ones are Harry Potter (of course), Lord of the Rings, the VeryHungry Caterpillar (we did that as a school play and I was a strawberry), we’reall going on a bear hunt, His Dark Materials, the Earthsea trilogy, and Redwall. Also the Houndsof Morrigan and the myth of Niamh of the Golden Hair. Also, my dad was ahuge story teller. He used to do stories more or less on demand - I’dgive him prompts and he would make them up to order. Notable onesincluded one about a snail whose name I forget, one about the Penalty Fare, afunfair where people who committed civil misdemeanours went for punishment (ina masterful anticipation of Final Destination 3), and an ongoing series calledLittle Miss Good, Little Miss Bad and Little Miss Tries-to-be-good. Idon’t remember any of them clearly, but they are wound firmly in with memoriesof my dad and my childhood.

woods: where do you feel at peace?

The sea. Always, the sea. Anywhere quiet outdoors with big skies. GlasgowNecropolis.

chicken feet: what is your emotional“flaw”?

so many

red cheeks: what makes you nervous?

Was gonna say SOMANY but actually, not that much really? I draw a distinction between nerves and anxiety, which I have for daaaayyys(though not badly enough to be a major Thing). Mostly I get nervous about talking to my mum about difficult stuff, honestly.

sunflower: what do you love and cherish?

My friends, my mum, my Victorians, myPhD, my bisexuowls shawl, sharks.

bells: what sounds are your favorite or calm you the most?

The sound of the sea. The sound of wind chimes. The sound of the rain and wind. I struggle to listen to music because itmakes me think too much but repetitive, soothing nature sounds shut my brain upat least a little.

turnip: what is a food you could eat everyday?

Garlic. Doesgarlic count? it’s more an ingredient than a food but i’d happily eat it inmost things. As a first year in uni I ate so much raw garlic in a few days (cosI worked out how to make bruschetta) that I made myself sick, but these days Iwould garlic differently. Not just eating clove after close of crushed garlic.

spit: do you get jealous easily?

Not really

mushroom:list unique things you like about yourself

This is really hard – especially the ‘unique’ bit. I like that I’m an excellent speller and thatI have synaesthesia and that I have terrible handwriting.

cupboard:a good childhood memory

We used to occasionally go to the Snowdon region of Wales as a family, cosmy mum’s best friend at the time had a cottage there so it was free, and weinherited a lot of their traditions, one of which was this hill that the friend’shusband used to race up and down with his friends from a nearby (now long-gone)hostel before breakfast, giving it the name Breakfast Mountain (its actual nameis Brin Brith in case any of you know it, it is a fairly unremarkable hill inall respects except it is cherished of my family). We used to climb it whenever we visited,though not before breakfast. I have alot of good memories of climbing it but in particular one time I rememberstanding on the top with my dad and he did that thing where you hold a child bytheir arms and spin so they like fly out, on the edge of the mountin, so Iremember the warmth of the sun and my laughter and my dad’s hands on my wristand the flashing alternation of the estuary, far below, and the mountain top grass,a few feet from my face. I realise I’m talkingabout my dad a lot but I don’t remember a lot of my childhood and much of whatI do remember that is happy is either books or my dad.

eyebags:what do you think makes a person attractive?

God, it’s such a cliché but confidence can make a person attractive. Being a nice/good person makes themattractive too. So does beingfunny.

fallenlog: something you’ve gotten over that you never thought you would

Coincidentally, I have just accidentally stumbled over an email chain ofthe aftermath of a fairly messy breakup – the end of a major, 3 year, late-teens,unhealthy, rite of passage, heartbreak and drama, serious relationship. At the time it was a pretty big deal involvinglots of crying and a fair amount of drama, and thinking it would never end and I’d never be over it, but on looking back at the emails, Idon’t remember a lot of the gory details they allude to, and I have no feelingsabout it except relief that I ended it, albeit about two years too late. He’san MRA now so, bullet dodged

dagger:your worst fear

being completely unloved/losing everyone I love

whisper:do you have any secrets?

Yup.

wildboar: which person do you feel closest to?

I have a small collection of four people who are Very Important. Theyaren’t all friends with each other but they’re all people I’ve met in Glasgowand they are excellent in very distinct ways. I’m not gonna name them but I like to thinkthey know who they are. The one I feel closest to at any point varies but it isalways one of those people.

sweet:what candies or cakes are you fond of?

I like chocolate eclairs, I likelemony things, and I like werther’s originals cos I’m a grandad

footprints:do you remember your past lives?

Not a thing, sorry

fur:name an animal you feel connected to

I feel very connected with rodents. Especially guinea pigs. (aren’tyou surprised I didn’t say sharks)

vodka:do you drink?

Yeah! I didn’t really drink regularlytill I got to Glasgow, then after a couple years I mostly stopped cos I was TooSad to drink and didn’t have fun drunk. But then I started again when I joinedMorris dancing because I got over the thing I was sad about and Morris is avery alcohol-oriented sport. The people I hang out with are really fun to drinkwith and it’s drinking as socialising rather than drinking to get drunk which feelslike a Better Choice.

sourcherry: an obscure tradition from your family?

We aren’t a huge family for traditions, honestly, but one that me and mymum do (mostly at my behest honestly) is get a Christmas decoration to remembermy dad every year. He’s been dead almost20 years and we’ve been doing this consistently for about 15, so eventually thetree is going to be entirely eclectic stuff I’ve picked up over the years formy dad.

pineneedles: what is your favorite scent?

I really like rose, and I really like vanilla. I am about as boring as can be. I do notcare.

heart-shaped:do you believe in love? are you in love?

I think it’s hard not to believe in love. There are people I love, inlots of different ways

home:where do you dream of living?

Honestly, I want to stay where I am now. While being by the sea or going to the Netherlands appeals, I love mycity and the life I have built here.

spice:list your favorite herbs

I actually tend to prefer spices to herbs – gimme all your paprika andVanilla (is vanilla a spice???) and pepper – but I like basil, rosemary,lavender, lemon balm and sage.

mud:something you’re insecure about but trying to love

My entire self honestly.

tobacco:do you have any addictions?

Nope

sock:how would you describe your clothing taste?

Predictable. Give me a colourfulprint on a mid-thigh or knee length fit and flare or skater dress, and some blackleggings, and that is me happy. That isalso the entirety of my wardrobe.

cuckooclock: are you a morning, a noon, or an evening person?

Depends on what youwant me for. I’m best at productivity early in the morning, but terribleat social skills. I’m best at like, physical tasks and walks and stuff in theafternoon when I’m properly awake and feeling restless, and best at socialisingin the evening (but not too late cos my brain falls out at about 10pm).

woodenfence: a favorite memory

When I was in undergrad I fell, predictably, into the DnD crowd, and Ihave lots of really nice memories of that time. Including: sleeping over after dnd, which was basically not sleeping butstaying up talking quietly about the sort of thing you can only talk about onsomeone else’s floor at 4 in the morning, and not sleeping over after DnD, butwalking the 3 miles uphill from the town to the university, again quietlytalking, and if you timed it right you’d get to the top of the hill just atdawn and you’d see the sun rising over campus like a promise, Seeing dawn from the ‘other’ side, going tobed after it rather than waking up before it, still feels really special to me.

#i love getting asks #thanks friend #about me #like more shit than anyone ever really needed to know about me #certainly killed snow day time though #long post

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hibernianbok · 7 years

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Papa Nordics hcs? Individually, not together!

I’ve been waiting for this

Denmark:

He is child in an adults body. Raising his own children would be a walk in the park! He’s always up for playing pretend or dress up with them and you better believe he will get them a mountain of Lego to play with!

Protect of his child, very. He’s one of those dads that will give his children alot of freedom but as soon as they’re going out with someone he wants to know who they are with and where. No harm shall come to them.

Dad jokes are extremely common, in fact he probably tells his child to call him ‘dadmark’! Every time he makes his child sigh or ugh he laughs and gives them a hair ruffle.

Sometimes it will feel like his child is looking after him, especially when he take them to the toy shop. On many occasions he will be the one buying the toys for his own entertainment.

Pushes his children to their absolute limits and cheering them on every step of the way. If he knows that his child can do something he will bribe them, cheer them and whatever else to help them achieve their goals!

To annoy his child he does many things. His personal favorite being to tickling their hips till they’re crying with laughter and putting them on his shoulders (Still laughing) and running around the house!

He adores it when his child lets him do their hair, no matter the length or texture. If it’s short he gives them a quiff, if it’s long he’ll give them a danish braid! if it’s mid-way he’ll do plaited pigtails!

Sometimes when he’s bored and his child is nearby, he’ll make a game out of trying to put his tiny hat on their head without them noticing. If he achieves it he’ll take a picture and posted it on Snap chat.

Trips to the shops to get ingredients is pretty common, he loves to bake with his child! Only the best danish pastries recipes will be taught and anyone who even smells them will being to drool!

When nobody is around or is coming over he will turn the living room into a giant pillow fort! He loves to see the look on his child’s face as they dive into the fort of pillows and blankets he’s made.

Dad rating: Everything is awesome

Finland:

He is a very caring and fathering man, he is always doing everything he can for his children; the cooking, cleaning, general family bonding, anything to keep them happy!

Strictness wise he is rather flexible. MOST of the time he will brush of misbehavior and give his child a quick scold. Just, don’t make him angry. For the love of everything holy and your safety don’t!

The amount of worrying he does over his children is almost enough to worry about him. He is always on edge when his child is staying at a friends, you better believe he has the friends parents phone number!

You know when your mum/dad/guardian see a friend outside the shop and starts to talk for them for about fifty years? Yeah… he’s that dad. Best bring something to entertain yourself with!

He is very relaxed when it comes to emotional issues, if his children have any problems at all he’ll talk them through it and then give them words of encouragement and enthusiasm!

Also that dad that takes his children to the park and has a flock of mothers surrounding him. All of them are very kind and such, but can he please watch his baby whilst they’re swinging on the monkey bars?

One of the Parent Council dads, he is very involved in his children’s education. Plus he can prove that he’s the best at making cookies! No one can beat Santa’s cookies after all~

Speaking of being Santa, he’s children always get the best presents! But they do have to stay over at uncle Estonia’s house for Christmas eve. Only because he needs to do his job though.

Sauna days with his kids! He loves to just sit back and let the steam engulf him. If the steam is too intense for his child, they can always go for a nice swim in the pool!

He is always giving his children hugs. He will find any excuse to give his kiddo a tight snuggle, good moments and bad! Unless of course they don’t like hugs in which case, hair ruffles are good too!

Dad rating: Baby in a box (If you don’t get that click: here)

Iceland:

At first, he has no idea what on earth he is doing. For those who are friends/family of Iceland will likely receive 3am phone calls with the topic; ‘What do I do when my child cries?’

He is probably that dad that is completely awkward dad that makes jokes at the wrong time, Denmark does that right? Denmark raised him so jokes are a thing that good dads do right? (Send the lad some help please)

Mr.Puffin is the official “HELP ME PARENT PLEASE!” bird, as much as it may annoy the poor puffin it will keep him busy. Family chill time is probably everyone’s favorite time.

Saying all of this, he does try his best. He tries to show his children the wonders of his land and others, as odd as it may seem he knows that the world is very large and he hopes they will see it all!

He enjoys telling them old folktales for bedtime stories! Sometimes he’ll go on for long after his child has fell asleep, so many tales that have been passed on to tell from the people lost in time.

They’re raised to be able to speak more than one language, He can get pretty embarrassed speaking his own language (Source: X (Trivia point!)). He wants his children to be able to wonder the world understand others!

School wise is eeh… He believes that education is the way too success but coming to him with homework or school drama is not the best idea. He either doesn’t know or doesn’t really care.

Discipline wise, he’s got it down to a T, he knows that as soon as the Wifi password is changed and the remotes have been hidden his child is all of a sudden going to be rather nice to him~

To add to the point above, he cannot stand bratty children. From day one he will tell them “You respect me, I respect you” and if they follow that rule then they will be very close!

He can be pretty clingy to his child, he doesn’t like to be surround by people but he’s not a big fan of being all by himself. His child will probably be around him alot to stop him from being too lonely.

Dad rating: How to be a good papa?

Norway:

The chill parent™ literally. He is very tolerant and patient with his children. He will let them do as they please as long as they stay within their boundaries. So long as they do it’s chill™

He will probably put his children on a pedestal like he does Iceland. He’s always going on about how his children are amazing and how cute they look in that outfit he bought them(like Maes from FMA? please tell me if i’m wrong)

To any out lookers, they would say that he’s got a good hand on raising his children. They would be right! Besides the mental screaming and the worrying coffee intake from lack of sleep due to worrying about them, he’s fine!

Dad jokes are a thing, but in a weird way. His child can say anything and he would pause, stare and murmur a really bad pun under his breath. I.e. ‘Whoa, papa! Look at this!’ ‘……I can’t believe it’s not butter...’

He spoils his children more than he is willing to admit, they could see something on TV and he would surprise them with it the next day. He can’t really help it, he doesn’t want them to live like he used to.

Emotional stuff he’s pretty good at! He is able to sit there and listen to any problems his children are facing for hours if he must. He is also willing to hug them and sooth their worries with comforting songs!

Adores telling his children myths and folklore! Sometimes he’ll even take them on drives to the places and introduce them to the creatures that the stories are based around!

Whenever the midnight sun or the Nordic lights are on show he’ll let his children stay up to see them. Joined with the forces of caffeine and warm blankets he’ll sit outside with them all night if they want.

To him, his children are a blessing and something to live for. If he is ever lacking motivation or inspiration he’ll think about his children and BAM! You’ve got one very determined Norwegian.

He takes alot of time off work to spend with his children. He wants to be apart of their lives and for them to always know that he loves them, for him nothing is more important than his family.

Dad rating: Butter hurry up with that homework

Sweden:

This man is a papa and a half! He is already raising two kids (Sealand & Ladonia!) so the man knows what he’s doing. He is always alot more relaxed when with kids and is happy to care for them!

He is very good at keeping his children in line, how exactly? Star charts. He knows that losing a gold star is everyone’s worse nightmare and he will use this to his advantage. Gold stars are given to good kiddos only!

Want a tree house? Because his children are getting a tree mansion! Nearly all of their room’s furniture and toys are made by him, but don’t worry they’re made entirely out of love!

Super protective of his little ones! He would never let any harm come to them whether it be physically, mentally or emotionally. If anyone dares to hurt them he will be knocking on the culprits door at 3am!

Sometimes he’ll take his kids with him for a small fishing trip if the weather is right. Sure camping may be a little boring but it’s the bonding that counts! Plus fishing can be rather relaxing~

He is always willing to participate in games with his little ones, even pretend and sports! If it means that they’re gaining an interest in a possible future career or dream then he will do his best to guide them.

To his children he can seem like a rag doll at certain times, he doesn’t mind them climbing onto his shoulders or letting them borrow his glasses. If it keeps them happy and they’re safe then it’s fine.

Education wise he is the man when his children need help with homework. He will talk them through the problem and give them as much motivation as they need, sometimes in the form of pastries!

All drawings and school achievements will have a special spot on the fridge for all to see. Any of his little ones achievements will be rewarded with a meal out wherever they want!

His absolute favorite thing in the world is to wake up with his little family all fallen asleep on the sofa with him, he thinks it’s so cute seeing them all snuggled up on top of him with a blanket covering them all~

Dad rating: Swedad

#hetalia #hetalia aph #aph #aph hetalia #hetalia scenarios #hetalia imagines #hetalia headcanons #aph scenarios #aph imagines #aph headcanons #aph nordics #Nordic 5 #aph denmark #aph sweden #aph norway #aph iceland #aph finland #papa headcanons

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28allthelove28 · 7 years

Text

Pink Dolphin - Fionn Whitehead Fan Fiction (13500 words)

Everything is red. The sun looks bigger than it normally does, and it always sets the sky on fire. Dark shadows swim into unknown corners and the ocean is always pink, but Fionn can’t go home. Not until the plan falls into place. Fionn is not leaving this surreal pink film set until he’s honest with Alana, the mysterious artist girl with pale skin and hair like a flame. And Harry is there to make sure neither of his friends waste any more time pretending they aren’t in love.

13000+ words of pining, pet names, conceptual art and true friendship. Meet Me In The Hallway, a big plot twist, some long smut scenes*, and a love of nature. Harry is married to Louis, he’s acting with Fionn in an art film that his best friend Alana wrote and throughout the nervous giggles, there is a happy ending for everyone.

I put a stupid amount of time and effort into writing this so I no longer have any idea if it’s wonderful or terrible, and I’m pretty embarrassed about it, but please, please do read (It definitely gets sooo much better as it goes, I think Chapter 2 is my favourite) This will hopefully be on Archive of our Own soon!

Also, a WARNING to any of my friends reading this, parts of this are pretty explicit, sorry!!! Xx

PINK DOLPHIN

“She’s ridiculous!”

The words hiss from Fionns mouth before he realises he’s let them out. His eyes squint, following the droplets of water travelling down Alana’s body, as if her white skin is too bright for him. Her arms hang around Polly’s waist, their fingers linked loosely. They look like a renaissance mother and child.

“She doesn’t like LA, you know?” A deep voice speaks and startles Fionn. He blinks himself back into consciousness and looks down to the left of him. Harry peers up at him with a smug smile, he looks more playful than normal. He knows.

“She doesn’t really like LA.” Harry repeats, following Fionn’s line of vision to the girl sitting across from them. The two boys are lying together lazily by the side of the outdoor pool, warm evening air sitting heavily above them, and the orange sun falling into the sea. Harry’s been anticipating this conversation for a while. A long while.

“No?” Fionn leans back. The weird pink cocktails reveal the interest in his face a lot more than he may allow if he were slightly more sober. Harry sits up, wrapping a sheer floral blouse round the butterfly tattooed on his chest. He’s prepared for this, and the time is now.

“Alana’s been here for months, Fionn, even before starting this weird film project with us. Yeah, she got that studio deal here, and she made good friends through work …she’s been preparing for this film a lot, she’s been writing and drawing as usual, but she can do all of that stuff at home just as easily. The weather is much nicer here, for sure. She likes the landscape and the wildlife but nobody, nobody loves Newcastle as much as Alana.”

Fionn accepts that this speech is going somewhere.

“Her mum’s there, up north. Her closest friends are there. And it’s not just that, Fi, if she’s not been here then she’s been in London. And the exact same goes for there too. She likes it of course, she’s always got plenty to do, but it’s just not her home.” Harry says. “And this has been going on for over a year.”

Harry looks at his friend and realises he still needs to be more obvious. “Alana is only in LA or London when you are in LA or London.”

Fionn pushes air from his nose in an almost violent sigh. He knew something was coming. Something was going to happen on this film set. Something beyond his control. Something more real than he could ignore. Not that he was even sure he wanted to ignore it anymore.

He lays further back on the strange pink sun lounger he’s melted himself onto, and he cradles his head theatrically. He absolutely knew it.

There was something about the light in Alana’s eyes which shone brighter when looking into his. There was something about the way sun fell on her red hair which made it glow golden, like leaves in autumn, like a colour Fionn had never seen before, and can now only associate with her. There was something about the way her presence in a room made itself known to Fionn before he even reached the doorway. There was a tenderness in Alana’s voice that sounded more intimate when she spoke to him. As if every word were plucked from a letter she’d written that no one else were allowed to read, and that, honestly, Fionn didn’t want anyone else to read.

Of course he knew it.

He was just terrified to admit it.

Harry’s hand gently holds Fionn’s knee. He can feel Harry’s silver rings cold against his skin. “I know her Fionn. She’s my best friend, and has been for years.” He gives Fionn’s knee a little squeeze. “I know how she loves.”

Harry slides his thumb over Fionn’s skin once more then takes his hand away. “Alana’s more vulnerable and shy than you’d think, but when she’s certain on something, she’s certain.” He continues. “She’s busy, her mind never stops, not for a second. She’s so impatient. But here she is, a year after meeting you… still there. Right fucking, there!” Harry nods his head to the other side of the pool for more affect, his brown hair swishing into his eyes, and Fionn allows himself to see her.

His green eyes lift to gaze through the glasses pushed up on his nose. He sees her bright floral dress hanging loose, hair clipped into a curl behind her ear, and a camera in her hands. Alana films her friends watching the peacock butterflies fly around lilac buddleia flowers with a smile on her face. Always a smile on her face.

“I don’t want her waiting forever Fionn, and I don’t think you do either.”

Fionn meets Harry’s eyes and smiles. Bless him. Bless him for doing this. He doesn’t deserve someone like Harry, or someone like Alana. “She’s so nice to everyone, Harry. I love the way that her eyebrows curve into the top of her nose. I love how she always asks questions, and how she’s always excited by everything… as if it’s all new. I’m just… fuck. I’m just a bit scared.” Fionn confesses. “Quite a lot scared.”

“That’s ok, Fionn. So is she. She’s terrified! And it is scary.” Harry says this calmly with all the wisdom of an old woman, but there is a glint of excitement in his eye. He loves drama. But Harry knows exactly what he’s talking about. “You don’t think I was scared when I told Louis how I felt about him when I was just 16? But look now, almost 8 years later, we’re married and he basically re-proposes to me again every month.”

The two of them laugh and Fionn realises he might be being over dramatic. Fionn is far from unlovable, he isn’t hopeless, and he isn’t even sure why or when he started to think he might have been. He isn’t too busy. Maybe he isn’t even too shy. He’s actually completely fine, and he does deserve this. He does want this. A lot.

Alana isn’t some ethereal princess or the most beautiful person in the world. She’s quite odd. Her face is both angular and soft at the same time. Pale but often with blushing cheeks. Thick eyebrows and thin hair. A bit funny looking if you really think about it, but just lovely. Pretty in the way which art is pretty. But she’s just another human. An incredibly lovely one, yes, but another human nonetheless, and Fionn is going to be honest with her, in whichever way he has to be.

“Thank you, Harry. Thank you so much for everything. You’re an absolute sweetheart and I’m very grateful for you.” Fionn grins and squeezes Harry’s chin, pressing into his dimples.

“Anytime, Finley, you handsome and wonderful man!” He grins back. “Count yourself lucky that I’m letting you both go, but I’ll be keeping watch.” He warns. “You two will be wonderful. Please just go for it, love.”

----------------------

The film set they’re all working on is odd, of course it is though. The whole project is bizarre, but in the most excellent way. The buzz transcends the cast and crew, it seems that everyone is excited about this movie. Alana and her friend Polly had the idea. They shared a studio together in Newcastle and Alana had performed in several of Polly’s videos before. They describe this project as a film which isn’t so much a film, but more so a film about the idea of a film. And this idea for the film is discussed and questioned by the cast as it morphs and grows, but all in a poetic and romantic way. The owner of the idea narrates the film and explains which aspects are clear and which are undecided. The focus is on the atmosphere and the visuals more than the structure. A feeling more than a story.

Everyone involved received a pink envelope with a hand written letter inside, inviting them to collaborate in whichever way they wanted. The film is essentially an art piece and the actors are essentially performers. The package also included postcards of paintings which inspired the set, mainly David Hockney’s brightly coloured swimming pools, as well as notes and sketches from Alana and Polly themselves, referencing the ideas which fuelled their project, and offering some quotes from the narration.

“Maybe sharing your thoughts is more revealing than sharing the work which the thoughts made. ….One loose, unresolved, foetal, dreamlike thought can inspire concrete ideas, or maybe just an idea can be enough in itself.”

“Art allows you to somehow make real the thoughts which would otherwise only exist as imagination.”

Initially Fionn found it a little hard to follow. Very arty. Maybe even a bit ‘Inception’. But there was something new about it, something honest and very compelling. Harry was all over it of course, and Fionn always likes a challenge. He’d started off in the theatre, doing plays about social media and queer rights. He did a TV show about a troubled boy with telekinetic abilities and then a film about a young war soldier trying to get home. That’s how he’d met Harry, through whom he’d then met Alana.

After months of them purposefully and in-purposefully bumping into each other in London and ultimately becoming somewhat close friends, neither Fionn nor Alana fully entered or fully left the other’s lives.

They both intend to fix that now.

------------------------

There is a definite colour scheme to the film set. Very warm and soft, but also quite sinister. All the furniture is clothed in fluffy fabrics of a deep orange, there is hot pink neon tube lighting drawing a continuous line over every corner, it’s always dark inside and most of the walls are painted in a glossy black or rich red. The sun looks bigger than it normally does and it always sets the sky on fire, black and red butterflies dance around the lush shrubs and the yellow flowers which are planted everywhere. The outdoor pool is made of shimmery bright pink tiles and seems to be the epicentre, when filming or not.

Fionn stretches his arms out and floats on his back, the water laps against his sides and briefly puddles in the dip of his chest, then runs down his body and back into the pool. He drops his head back so his dark hair soaks neatly away from his face and flicks out behind his ears.

“Harry said you don’t like LA?” Fionn questions Alana and playfully splashes a tiny bit of water over her lap. She is perched on the edge of the pool steps, her legs reaching into soft ripples as she twists them in the water, toes painted with a warm peach colour.

“I do.” She smiles, tucking her legs back up and rolling the hem of her striped trousers back down. “Just not as much as home.”

Fionn leaves the water to re-dress into a checked shirt and jeans. He sits by her side and looks at her. “Why have you spent so much time here then? Apart from the film, I mean…”

Alana thoughtfully scans over the water, the sunset is sinking into it and making everything a deeper pink. “The people.” She answers, her eyes smiling cheekily into his.

Surely that wasn’t too obvious? She wonders.

Fionn’s face creases into a smirk and Alana giggles. Good. ‘Just enough’ she thinks.

“I feel like wherever you are, if you have good friends around you, then you’ll be at your happiest.” Alana declares, and Fionn has to agree with her.

“Am I your good friend?” He asks, nudging her in the elbow. He’s feeling cheeky too, and confident.

“Of course, Fionn!” She answers.

No hesitation. Excellent.

“Great.” This is going well, he thinks. And he hears her voice again.

“You’re great. …You’re very cute. Very lovely.” Her cheeks sting a little but she’s seeing this through.

They both laugh and Fionn pretends to shh her. “Oh stop!” He dramatizes. “I think you’re…. I think you’re really wonderful, Alana. Honestly.”

Oh my gosh, he sounds sincere. Keep it together Alana, come on.

“Gee, thanks Fionn!!” She jokes and they laugh more than is necessary, for no particular reason, but they feel comfortable. It’s a nice, light, hopeful feeling. Finally! Something is beginning to happen between them that feels more like ‘something’. They move to lie back on a stretch of grass and watch the clouds darken to red. Alana announces coyly “I think you’re as nice as that sunset.” She’s joking. …maybe half joking.

Fionn barks a loud laugh which sort of pulses his body forward to hang over his knees, he almost surprises himself, it really wasn’t that funny. He looks up to see Alana pulling a mock-disgruntled expression. “Excuse me, Finley, I was being deadly serious, man!”

He chuckles, “I know, that’s why I’m laughing.”

They silently thank God that not many people are nearby, because they’re probably being outrageous. But that’s alright. “Oh, charming!” Her soft Geordie accent thickens slightly.

Fionn can’t help but blush at how endearing she is. “That would have sounded stupid coming from anyone else, but because it’s you, it was very sweet and kind.” He tells her. “Thank you, Alana.”

She can’t believe they’re just sitting there talking to each other. It’s the simplest thing in the world but her body tickles all over. “Good.” She teases him, springing up and jokingly running away. “…Because it’s the last compliment you’re getting, mate!”

She leaves him watching her scamper off, a stupid big grin on both their faces.

Maybe it starts here.

--------------------

Their time spent together is fleeting, Fionn and Alana. But still often. They are both essentially at work. And they both work hard, everybody does. But luckily, because of the personal and creative nature of the project, it was encouraged from the outset that the actors spend all their time together and inhabit the film set as their home, making the whole video more collaborative. The cast is essentially friends of friends, so really, it’s just very social and enjoyable.

Alana and Polly and the rest of the team wanted the character interactions to be real and organic, hence their minimal script, and their emphasis on the actors trusting their instinct and taking more ownership. All the actors and crew started off watching films together which influenced Alana and Polly’s ideas, so they could get more of a collective understanding of the reference points, and of the style they were aiming for. There was a good week spent living on set discussing The Neon Demon, Submarine, High Rise, The Tree of Life, Amelie, and basically Wes Anderson and Stan Brakhage’s filmographies.

The camera crew are filming almost constantly, to capture the candid human interactions. Most of the film will be made in post-production, not necessarily with fancy editing, just piecing the right clips together once all the footage is there, instead of story boarding it all beforehand. The narration and spoken word will be the main thing, with only a few specific scenes being pre-planned. The film basically makes itself as it exists as a living organism.

The core of the whole piece is a poem Alana wrote. The entire film was imagined from it.

“I cannot make real the thoughts which I imagine, because an imagined thought is not clear.

The thought came to me like a dream.

It was pink.

I saw us by the pool,

Sunken in a foreign sunset,

Foggy and thick.

Warm colours.

Words seeping from our tongues like water and they all reflected in our eyes.

I think of you and see starlings murmorating over the sea,

And swallows flying home.

It is important to share a thought before it expires.”

This one poem is the only concrete scene in the film, everything else is woozy and unclear - like a thought or a dream. The scene is two people by the pool at sunset, talking. Yet there is no script for it. Polly wanted the actors to be free to feel the experience fully and to say what came to them naturally, and whatever they do, she’ll use. The actors for this scene are Fionn and Alana, playing Toby and Isla, and they film it tomorrow.

Them and the whole cast were prepped as much as they could be, and treated with nothing but kindness and inclusiveness by Polly and the team, and they were mostly guided to just enjoy themselves and go with it. As completely unusual and open ended as the brief is, Fionn and everyone else thought it sounded amazing. He knew it would be a pleasure to work with Harry again, and admittedly, Alana’s allure was as consuming as the atmosphere of the whole film.

*------------------

It’s this allure which Fionn is trying his best to ignore as he makes steps back to his room, intent on rehearsing some more ideas for Toby, but then he sees her.

Fionn sees Alana from across the landing by the lift.

He sees her in a way he doesn’t feel he should see her.

He’s stood on the dark red carpet near the corner of the hotel corridor. A window in front of him. Night begins to fill the sky, but a warm orange glow burns from Alana’s room.

Fionn sees her and he can’t move. He should, but he can’t.

He must walk away now. What is he doing?

He sees her white skin, all of it. It shines against the dark red silk of the bed sheets.

It’s erotic. The lighting. The whole film set. Everything. Why do the lights have to be so warm? Why is the colour of everything so sexy? Why do shadows seep into every corner of wherever Alana is not? Why is Fionn thinking of the colour red when his heart begins to beat like bubbling acid, and his breath bleeds fast out of the cracks in his lips, and his chest rises and falls like waves? And he can’t move. He cannot move.

It’s like she’s a siren and he’s drowning in the Red Sea but her song keeps pulling him back, spluttering.

He shouldn’t look. What the fuck is he doing? It’s wrong. It’s unprofessional. It’s disrespectful. This is his friend. His friend’s friend. This is essentially his boss. It’s wrong. But she’s there, and it’s hot. It’s so hot in here. Fionn can’t think clearly.

Where is everyone else? Why when night falls, does everyone disappear, and why is it always just him and Alana left?

Why is it so hot?

What the hell is happening? How is he seeing this?

This!?

Walk away right now Fionn, stop it. Stop watching her.

But she’s still doing it. And he can’t move.

She’s there. Her bed is right next to the window. Why? It doesn’t matter. Maybe to feel the breeze rush in through the window in the hot mornings. Good. That makes sense. The morning. Her. In the morning. Waking up beside her. Skin. Warm, beneath the covers. Hot. Pale skin beneath pink silk covers.

Her skin.

All of it.

Stop it. Walk away.

It throbs. He feels it. Tight, hot, stiff. There, pressing against him. Hard.

She’s doing it by the window. Of course she is, her bed’s there. Fuck.

Walk away Fionn.

No. God no, oh God. Fuck.

Fucking hell.

He rushes nearer the window that he’s watching her from, he stands behind the curtain. Lays his hand over himself.

He breathes out.

She breathes out. She presses the side of her face into the hot pink cushion.

For God’s sake, what’s wrong with this place? Why is everything dark and pink? What the fuck do they expect to happen?

Don’t touch anymore. Just keep your hand there Fionn, breathe out. Walk away, this is wrong.

Oh, fuck no. God. Look at her! Look at her, fuck.

She’s… She’s actually… Oh my God he can’t believe this.

Her other hand runs up, from her thigh, across her abdomen. He feels it.

Fionn feels her hand across his own abdomen, just below the belly button. He can practically feel his hand on her, sweeping over her skin. Fingertips pressing into her flesh. God. No.

Fionn presses his own hand against his abdomen. He presses his other hand down on himself harder. He sighs out.

Her hand travels up over her stomach, to her breast.

Her face rolls upwards and she presses her head down into the pink pillows, her eyes closed tight.

No. God, no Fionn. Leave now. Fuck.

He sighs out loud and pushes himself away from the window, leaving the dark purple curtain gushing in his wake.

Fionn storms along the corridor. Furious. Strides up to his door and, God. No. Absolutely not.

Not a chance.

“Louis!!”

“Lou! Ahh ah …oh fuckkk”

No.

Please, no.

“Harry! Harry ohhhh, yeah”

“God! Ah ahh fuck, Harryyy”

Fucking hell no.

“Yes, God! Ahh ah yesss”

Do not fuck in the room next to me right now, Harry. For the love of God, no!

“Louis!! Louis! Ahh”

“Fuck, yess!”

No. Please. Not now.

Fionn hurls his own door open, tripping over his own feet, breathing heavily and shutting it firmly behind him.

For God’s sake.

What the hell?

He leans against his door, desperately, then he quickly pulls his shirt up over his head, his glasses come off with them and fly onto the floor. Fionn huffs loudly, flustered and cheeks burning. Furious. He storms towards the bathroom, kicking off his shoes on the way and pulling off his burgundy socks. Fucking burgundy, for God’s sake!

“Ah! Louis, fuck!”

“Fuck fuck fuck Harry, God!! Yes!”

Fionn yanks the bathroom light cord down and switches the shower on. While the water heats up he violently undoes his belt and pushes down his pants and trousers with almost laughable urgency.

This is fucking ridiculous.

He grips himself and leans back into the sink edge, his head falling back.

He’s already wet.

He spreads out pre-cum with a shaking thumb and runs his hand down himself smoothly.

He tugs back up, and sighs.

Fionn steps into the shower, warm water falling on him, he bows his head and pumps himself hard. He puffs out frustrated sighs and moans, almost whimpers.

Veins sting in Fionn’s arm and neck, his eyes screw shut, and the water collecting in his fringe gushes down onto his cock.

Fionn steady’s himself with one hand fanned out against the shower wall and lifts his head back to breathe out, as if exhaling cigarette smoke.

His arm moving fast and steady, he works himself beneath the water.

One leg is bent slightly, and the water keeps washing over Fionn’s skin. Droplets fly over his thighs with the force that his hand flies up and down.

Low groans escape from Harry’s mouth, muffled through the wall, but still loud.

“Harry, God. YES!” Louis’ voice is audible even over the rush of the shower. “So good, baby, ah!”

Fuck. God.

“Ah! Ah!” Fionn pants, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth. “God!”

“Louis!!! Ahh! Fuckkk”

God, no.

“Fuck.” Fuck, Harry, why now?

Why is everyone in this hotel fucking at the same time!??

Why are the walls so thin?

Fionn sees her again, seeping into his vision, Alana with legs stretched out across the bed cover, her hand moving fast. Red light swimming around her.

Fuck, God.

Her fingers pressed together, and rotating fast, between her legs. Her lips apart.

Oh God.

He could see Alana’s breath moving inside her body. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuckkk

Harry moans loudly in the next room.

Alana’s legs drop against the red silk, a breath heaving out of her throat, she trusts up into the air.

“Ah!”

Louis pounds hard into Harry and quivers inside him. One hand clutches Harry’s waist and pulls him further back onto his own dick. Louis’ other hand squeezes hot cum out of Harry’s dick. Louis presses his forehead against Harry’s shoulder and blows a hot breath onto his skin. Harry moans, hanging his head, kneeling over the bed.

Fionn thrusts forward desperately into his fist. Sighing loud. His Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down his stunted breath. He pictures Alana, touching herself. He remembers Alana touching herself. She’s in this building right now, stretched out naked on a red satin bed. Fionn squeezes the end of his dick and shoots thick bouts of cum against the shower wall.

Some streams of cum run down over his thumb. He’s open mouthed and panting heavily. Fionn holds his hands into the stream of water and shuts his eyes. “Fuck.”

He leans his back heavily against the wet pink tiles, Fionn slicks all his hair back smoothly against his head, and breathes out an exhausted sigh. His cheeks are burning pink beneath his freckles, water trickles down his heaving chest. Fionn begins to rub shower gel into his hot skin, shaking his head and breathing out what could be deciphered as a small, pitiful laugh. “What the fuck, am I doing here?”

------------------------

CHAPTER 2

Morning sun brushes over Fionn’s face and buries itself into the folds of his dark orange duvet cover. It’s early. Too early. Fionn grumbles something into his pillow about mornings and how wrong they are, before distorted memories from the night before absorb into his conscious.

Oh dear.

Everything about this place is weird. Nothing’s quite normal, there is a familiarity to everything, a softness, a niceness, but it’s all sort of clouded with something quite impure and unsettling. Appealing at first and then uncertain. Darker. That is the point of the film, he supposes, but still. He feels it.

Fionn decides to forget last night. Or at least try to. He’s here. He’s here to work, and then he can leave. Just keep your head down, get the job done, and stay focused. Don’t think of Alana. Don’t think of her waking up this morning, don’t think of her going to sleep last night. Don’t think of her saying your name. Don’t picture what you saw. Don’t think of Harry either. Don’t think of Harry and Louis. Don’t get sucked in by the allure of this weird, pink, watery environment, or Alana’s weird allure either. Just don’t speak to her.

-----------------------

Several hours later, or maybe several years, Fionn is watching Alana surface from the pool. Midway through the day he decided it would actually be very rude to stop speaking to her. Unprofessional, even. She steps back into her clothes as Fionn playfully throws a towel over her head and greets her with a cheery hello.

She won’t know a thing, Fionn tells himself, just be normal. Be nice.

“Hi Dolphin!” she smiles, wriggling her painted toes into the plush of the orange towel. She places herself right by his side and says “Sorry to keep making you swim.”

But he just questions “Dolphin?” with a confused smile.

Alana deadpans a very serious yes. “You’re part dolphin now aren’t ya?”

Oh God no. What’s happening?

This wasn’t meant to happen.

“Alana get out of here right now. Did you just call me Dolphin??”

Does Fionn drop his head back in laughter, look down in embarrassment, crease his eyes shut to try and contain any reaction? A mixture of all three? He isn’t too sure. He just knows what this means. She isn’t referencing this film. Not the significance of the water metaphor in this film. No. This means Alana really did watch all of his and Harry’s Dunkirk interviews. This means she knows what a dork he is. Oh no.

“It makes absolute sense Fionn.” She’s still there. She’s still talking to him. Oh Jesus. “You can swim. You’re intelligent, and friendly, and cute, and fun. You sort of had a pod of other swimmers, you used to work on a ferry, and you’re a total doll! Fionn… dolphin… Dolfionn, it fits. It’s brilliant!”

Fionn’s definitely laughing now. He mockingly rests his fist against his hip and adopts a silly old man voice. “I’m part dolphin now. Ohh, dolphin eyy!” He jokes. “Why do I say these things on camera? Honestly!”

Through many giggles and words of encouragement and praise from Alana about how much her and the whole world enjoyed every single interview, Fionn realises if he is going to be named Dolphin, surely Alana must meet the same fate. “You need a name” he informs her.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. This whole film is ridiculous, everything that’s going on here is absurd. Probably some sort of social experiment. Forget what you told yourself this morning, Fionn, you’re here. She’s here. Just do it. Life brought you to this surreal pink world for a reason. For her. Right now feels like a good a time as any to reintroduce The Plan… if he could call it that.

“How about deer?” He suggests, with a smug grin.

The pace with which Alana’s face turns to meet his, suggests that The Plan may actually work.

He’d better keep going then.

“Or sun? Or maybe sunny? …Or yellow?”

‘I can’t bear this. He’s adorable.’ Alana thinks she’s not breathing. ‘He’s ridiculous!’ Her lips feel dry from smiling, like they’re sticking to her teeth. Her stomach feels heavily pregnant with butterflies and nerves and certainty.

“Deer like in Richmond Park?” She whispers, in awe.

“Yes. Deer like in Richmond Park.”

He remembers.

Fionn looks her straight back in the eye and smiles softly. Alana’s breath faults.

He remembers last June after the BBQ at Harry’s. The two of them walking through summer mist, the smell of damp earth, the rain shining silver on the path, as the sun broke from the clouds. Both unintentionally wearing the same yellow raincoat. They’d only just met and their sunlight coloured coats drew them together. The wild deer were reaching up to eat berries from the trees, and the blackbirds sang their final songs of the day. They’d walked Fionn’s dog until dusk guided them home. They may have even agreed to describe it as ‘idyllic.’

“That’s too much of an honour, Fionn. Deer are too good for anyone.”

She’s right though. They are. They’re the best creatures on the planet. Her absolute favourite.

“I knew you’d say that, Alana. …But I’ll think of something.” Fionn lays his hand on her shoulder, traces his fingers over the antlers of the deer tattoo inked onto her skin, then slowly slides his palm round to gently cup her neck. “Just you wait and see.”

This time it’s Fionn who runs off, leaving both him and Alana alone with the same stupid smiles.

*------------------

The moon beams a pool of light into Harry’s hotel room.

Alana’s been with him for a little while since they finished filming in there. They’re lounging on his bed listening to Meet Me In The Hallway crackle on his baby pink vinyl player. Alana basically asked Harry to be involved in the film solely because he wrote that song. He’s been her best friend since they were children, when their families met on holiday in the Lake District. Harry’s a calming influence on her, and he fits the aesthetic of this film effortlessly, but that song, his whole album in fact, and all the photoshoots that came with it, inspired Alana as much as any painting or movie.

Alana is in some way attempting to create her own visual interpretation of Meet Me In The Hallway. The mistiness. The dreaminess; it’s both haunting and comforting. It sounds sort of like a memory. Neither completely sad nor completely happy, but there is emotion there, and it’s real. Even if you don’t know what it means, the honesty is pure. There is a history to it, and a presence. It’s sort of an in-between state, that for whatever reason, you’ve chosen to remain in. There is a neediness to it, but a neediness for something which has only just passed, and will probably come back. And this is basically how Alana wants hers and Polly’s film. …You can listen to that song in the bath, or in bed, she thinks. Or driving to the beach. Indoors by the fire, rain hitting against the window. Day or night. At home or on holiday. It has the right balance between being obvious and being vague, and it’s just nice. It’s lovely.

“I wish it lasted three hours, H” Alana ponders out loud, proudly finishing the last coat of clear glitter on Harry’s dark grey nails.

“What?” He replies. “Sex?”

Alana scowls at him and cuddles a fluffy pink cushion to her chest. “Noooo, you little scamp! I meant your beautiful song!” She exclaims and prods him in the dimple. “You’re too cute, Harry-bo.” She tells him, and it’s true. He could get away with anything. He usually does.

“Heeeeyy! I think you’re cute, Lala!” He grins. “Honestly though, you’re doing very well with this film and I’m proud of you.” He begins plaiting a small section of her hair, where she dip-dyed it yellow. “Whether you believe me or not, I think you’re pretty you know, for a lady.” They giggle together but she scrunches her face at him, dismissing the compliment. “You’re kind of like Perrie if she were ginger and in Warpaint instead of Little Mix.”

A wide grin lights Alana’s face. “Woah, that’s the absolute dream!!” She imagines. “Are you being extra nice, pet, because you want me to plait your hair too?”

Harry swings his legs clumsily off the bed and begins to put on his gold boots. “Nope. I’m being as nice as I always am, but I do need to meet Polly now for some late filming.” He explains this whilst dressing himself in a leather jacket and applying a touch of dark burgundy lipstick. “However…” he flutters his eyelashes flirtatiously “…I’m not the only boy in this corridor who thinks you’re pretty and cute.”

And with that outrageous remark, Harry skips away gleefully into the night, leaving Alana to whimper to herself in a mixture of joy and despair. Having a proper crush on someone is a horrendous ordeal. She decides this is a fact, as she tidies up hers and Harry’s nail polish and straightens the pink bed spread. She wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

Her day today was an early one, she and some of the other girls drove along to record the sun rise over a lavender field, and they were mainly shooting offsite there, or during the journey. It was when Rea and Vissy lay together in the meadow that she realised perhaps she was trying to make every fantasy that Tim Walker’s photographs induced in her as a young girl come true. Either that or her genuine desire as an artist was to make an hour long glorified perfume advert.

Alana throws some pink and black cushions to the floor and sits herself down. Leaning her back against the far wall of Harry’s room, she reflects on her romantic predicament. Maybe it’s not even a predicament. Maybe it is actually hell. Or maybe she’s just overdramatic and everything is actually falling into place.

Alana never wants to be defined by another person. She doesn’t want to obsess over someone, the way that she has been. Certainly not this much, or for this long.

She has a lot to be grateful for in life, and a lot of things which bring her happiness. Alana doesn’t need a relationship, she just quite wants one. Someone to say goodnight to, to make a packed lunch for, to push the cuticles down on her nails, to clean her teeth with, to draw circles into their skin after sex, to know the mole on the right hand side of her back, to leave notes for.

She wants Fionn.

A part of her wishes she didn’t, but she really really does.

Alana’s ex broke her heart. It was complex but for years she thought she was safe with him, until he didn’t love her anymore. So she went home, she drew, she wrote, she danced, she let her friends and her mum look after her, and she walked as far into the ocean as she needed to rid herself of him. She turned her pain into art, and she got over it.

Alana made a promise after that, to live for herself until the time she met someone she didn’t need to question. She doesn’t know if that time is now or not, but she does know that when she thinks of that promise, she only thinks of Fionn.

All she ever really does is think of Fionn.

Always.

A noise through the wall wakes Alana to the realisation that Harry’s record has long stopped playing, and that she ought to descent to her own room to sleep. She’s packing the record into its sleeve and hears the muffled noise continue. These walls are so thin. They’re nicely painted, but so thin. Leaning down nearer the wall to clear the cushions, Alana hears a soft sort of grunt or moan.

With her ear pressed against the wall, the thought of sleep is in disregard. She hears it again, a deep, breathy sigh, and any thought of leaving this wall is now in complete disregard.

It’s unmistakeable.

Completely, universally, categorically, unmistakeable.

The sound of sex.

Haha! Wonderful. Alana does know she ought to leave though, these are her co-workers and friends, after all. Throwing the cushions back onto the bed, she lets herself wonder who it might be. If this is Harry’s room, then… no!

Fuck.

No!!

Absolutely no way.

She listens harder and yes, that is a man moaning… and yes, it sounds like he’s alone. But… that doesn’t mean it’s… but… Harry’s room is the end one, so… there isn’t really anyone else it could be… other than Fionn.

Oh my God.

I have to leave.

This is unprofessional, Alana. This is disrespectful. I have to…

Oh, fuck.

God, he’s really… right now. Right there!

He can’t be… but he is. Oh God.

Fuck, he’s swearing. That’s Fionn!

That’s Fionn pressed against the other side of this wall…

Right now!

Fuck, Alana. Don’t make a noise. Stop. Leave now and don’t you dare think about listening for a moment longer.

Do not touch yourself. Don’t do it.

She means to walk away but the sigh already leaves her mouth.

Alana asking herself why she’s making noises doesn’t make her any quieter, and it doesn’t make her leave any faster.

Stop it. Don’t.

Why is it so hot in here?

Why can I hear him? Like this? Right now?

Why is the wet nestling into my thigh?

She feels so much.

It’s too much.

Why does the movement behind the wall sound like its right behind her?

Fionn hits his fist against the wall.

Fuck.

No.

Alana moans. She doesn’t mean too. Fionn doesn’t mean too. It’s just so hot in there, and all the lightbulbs are red, and everything feels wet, and the air is thick, and the walls are pink and they’re so, so thin, and there’s only three more days left there on set, and Fionn groans louder just to be sure that he’s wrong.

Of course he’s wrong.

There is no girl on the other side of the wall.

He just wants there to be.

But there isn’t.

Alana’s hands don’t mean to travel up her thigh and lift her dress.

Alana’s voice doesn’t mean to call out when she holds herself against the wall and grinds into her hand.

She doesn’t mean to at all.

She wants to leave, but, well… no, she wants to stay.

What she wants is to tear down this wall that she’s pressed against, but she can’t do that.

All she can seem to do is reach her hand beneath her underwear, and feel the wet wrap round her skin, and drag her fingers up hard, and breathe out a loud sigh.

Fuck.

It can’t be.

Absolutely not.

Fionn slams his hand against the wall, and grips himself tighter and bites down hard on his lip.

How is she there?

If it even is her?

What the fuck is wrong with this building?

Why are the walls so thin?

Why does everyone fuck at the same time?

How the hell is this happening? Again??

How do two people find themselves fucking against each other in a weird pink and orange hotel with an entire wall of old bricks and missed opportunities and unspoken words between them?

Jesus Christ.

Fionn doesn’t press his mouth against the wall and breathe out Alana’s name deeply through his lips.

He surely did not just do that.

No.

He couldn’t have.

…But if he hadn’t… why would the girl behind the wall gasp like that?

Why would she moan so loudly in response?

What she actually means is to leave right now but instead Alana flings her body around desperately, her forehead meeting the wall, she moves her finger tips in tiny circles, pounding them hard into her clit.

There can be no going back now, it’s already gone this far.

Fionn has nothing to lose. Or maybe he has everything to lose. Or maybe he doesn’t care.

Not right now.

He thrusts so hard into his hand, his dick is inches away from grinding against the wall that his hand holds him against.

“Ah! Alanaa… fuck!”

Fuck.

He said her name.

He just said her fucking name!

God.

“Ah! A...lana …mmm yess!”

Fionn has literally just fucked himself against a wall, loudly moaning Alana’s name.

She grasps her hand against the other side of the same wall, to pull at nothing, her body flinches and jumps, she gasps for air and groans out.

There’s no point in being quiet now.

She means to say ‘fuck’ but it sort of sounds like ‘Fionn’.

“Yes! Alana. Fuck.”

He speaks to her from the other side. This is it.

“Fionn! Fionn! Ah, fucking God!!”

This cannot be happening.

They’re fucking each other and they can’t even see it or feel it.

Alana’s so close. Her fingers are slipping, she’s so wet. She throbs and pants, breathless and so close.

“Alana”

Fionn’s voice speaks to her through the wall. It sounds calm, deep. Firm, and definite.

Almost dominant.

“Cum for me.”

“Please.”

Alana breathes in sharply with a sudden moan. “Fuck!! Fuuuuck!”

Her head slowly stretches back to hang, facing the ceiling, as she feels the breath escaping her lungs, leaving her mouth in a soft sigh of his name. She cums with two fingers pressed hard against her clit, her hips thrusting forward in short, intense jolts. Her moan squeaks and she sighs heavily, breathing out a clear “Fiiiionn”

The two of them stand in the same position, their foreheads resting against the same spot on separate sides of the same wall.

They breathe in and out deeply as their heart rates regulate.

Fionn and Alana shakily tug their underwear back on and briefly let their eyes close.

After a little while of quiet, Alana asks “Should I say sorry?”

She doesn’t know neighbour sex etiquette, but surely that’s the polite thing to say when you masturbate against a wall with someone uninvited.

“No” Fionn laughs. “You really don’t need to say sorry. Not at all”

Phew.

“Do I need to say sorry?” He asks, suddenly sounding concerned. He rests his palm out against his side of the wall.

“No, Fionn. Never.” Alana sits back on the floor, and rests her head back. “Not for anything.”

She hears another mumbled laugh. “Good, because that was fun!”

Oh, man!

Alana chuckles to herself and calls back. “You’re amazing Fionn, really.”

“Wait until there isn’t a wall between us!” He knocks on it twice, leans back against it and laughs.

Oh my God.

“See you tomorrow, darling.” Alana says, standing up and neatening her dress. “I’d better go because this probably isn’t really ok.” She laughs sort of nervously and sweeps her fringe out of her eyes.

“Bye, deer.” Fionn smiles and pulls his t-shirt back on. “Goodnight, Alana”

“Goodnight” She says, and kisses her side of the wall. “Sweet dreams, Dolfionn.”

--------------------

CHAPTER 3

Most of the visual content had been shot, there weren’t too many days left at all now. Harry and everyone else had basically done their bit. Everyone stayed from start to finish though, to boost morale and maintain the team effort, and because they were all still enjoying themselves. A lot of the bodies on set were simply required as extras now, there to be seen dancing and drifting through the background, in some sort of flamboyant garment.

The only major part left was the pool scene with Fionn and Alana, well… with Toby and Isla, technically. The only clear thought in the film. Maybe the only clear thought in Fionn’s mind. …If he forgets about another night of questionable masturbation preferences, that is.

But he’s got to do it now. He has to. Time feels like it’s running out, but it also feels like it’s on his side, running towards him. Towards them. Fionn needs to see this through, somehow. Even if he’s cheating a little and doing it through his character, Toby, Fionn is finally going to do this. …The Plan.

Polly’s voice is calmly reassuring her friends to remember that they know what they’re doing and that she believes in them. “Anything that feels natural, yeah? Whatever you both do or say, it won’t be wrong.”

Would you say that about last night, Pol? Alana tells her brain to shut up. Get your head in the game, girl! This isn’t the time to make up rude jokes in your head.

Polly shuffles back, mostly out of view, and the camera men and women are situated comfortably far back. “We have all evening, guys, so take your time.” Everything feels as organic as a pink swimming pool surrounded by rhododendron bushes and orange beanbags can feel. …and if you ignore the night before.

Fionn lies across his chest with his face held in his hands and peers up at Alana through his clear framed glasses. He’s wearing a striped shirt beneath an old denim jacket and repeatedly telling himself not to blush. He draws a breath and feels a deep sickness in the pit of his stomach. But he’s a professional actor. He can do this. Well… he used to be professional.

Here it goes. The Scene, The Plan, whatever you want to call it.

“I think.”

Oh, he started too sure.

“…I don’t think.”

Alana sighs a soft laugh. “Good start, Toby”

“Stop it, Isla”

Toby sits up right, removes his glasses and crosses his legs. Isla watches him fondly.

Oh my gosh, she thinks to herself. Something’s definitely happening. Don’t think about last night. Because something is about to happen.

She chances a glance, both Isla and Alana.

Fuck. ..His jaw line.

Another glance. Oh God. Regulate your breathing, remember.

Her eyes travel from the low set of Fionn’s eyebrows, to the verdant green of his iris. Across the freckles on his cheeks, down the sharp line of his nose. The bump of his top lip, the mole on his chin. The prominence of his Adam’s apple, the ring pierced in his ear. There’s something about the angles of his face Alana feels she’ll never tire of admiring.

“I don’t think…”

Oh, shit. Listen.

He isn’t speaking through a wall anymore.

Listen to him, Isla. Listen to Toby.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met anybody that I’ve been so intrigued by.”

Isla takes a breath, feels aware of every vein and pore in her body, keeps her mouth closed, and tells herself to listen.

“You’re sweet. And lovely, and really cool, and nice. And friendly. But. There’s more, like… to you, than that.”

Keep it together Fionn, you can do this. You’re only acting.

So why does this feel so important?

It’s not just the cameras, he can’t look at her. This is scarier than he thought, for both him and his character. Look at the pool, that’s a good idea.

“I mean, you’re… kind of like water. But… but, not. But maybe you are. I mean…”

Just go for it, Fi. He hears Harry’s voice in his head, encouraging him.

“You were born by the sea, Isla. You always say you like the ocean…”

He should not have said that. That’s too real. That’s Fionn and not Toby. That’s Alana and not Isla. It’s too far from the script. But there is no script. Oh Jesus, he’s going to be fired. He’ll never act again.

“I do.”

She whispers.

Alana. No… Isla.

“I do like the ocean.”

Toby looks at her, and there are lights reflecting in her eyes.

“I like dolphins.”

She did not just do that.

Fionn allows himself to laugh, surely Toby would laugh at that.

But he has more to say. Both Toby and Fionn. She deserves more …Isla and Alana.

“I think you’re great, Isla. I don’t really know what to say because you make me nervous. But in a nice way. But you make me comfortable, and happy too. And funny, maybe?”

“You’re really really funny.” She says.

Oh boy, there she is.

Keep going Toby.

“…And you’re encouraging, and kind. And your voice is like nothing I’ve heard, and you look…amazing. Just lovely. And you work hard, your mind… the way your mind works, and the ideas that are born inside it, astound me. And your eyes are so big and they’re like, green. But no…brown. Orange? Hazel. Yeah, hazel. A deep, enchanting hazel, and… and I’m saying this because. Erm, because… I should have said it sooner.”

Here we go.

“I should have said it last year when we walked in the park after it stopped raining, or when we made that salad together at Alex’s house.”

She’ll know exactly who he means.

“…Or at that gig, or when I saw you buying all those vegetables that time, or when you bumped into me at that café with my family, or maybe I should have just turned up at your door and declared it, or…”

Maybe Toby’s getting carried away, but its Art. Maybe this is what feels organic to him. Maybe this is what Isla wants to hear, maybe it is professional to use a live film set to confess your actual feelings for your co-star, and maybe, maybe he can’t stop… “Or maybe I should have written you a letter, or even sang you a song, or maybe even pressed orange roses through your letter box, but…

Fionn finally looks at her so that Toby isn’t declaring this to his hands and she’s… she’s not… crying? No. She’s smiling, but… well, kind of crying, and, both. Yes. She’s sort of smile crying into her hand, but it’s quite cute. Everything she does is cute.

“…I was scared.”

“For some weird reason I just felt scared, maybe that I would let you down, Isla, or simply that I liked you too much, or maybe not enough. Or that the timing was wrong, and we’d be too busy, but…I just always wanted more. And you were always there. Even when I didn’t think you would be. But I didn’t want to come to expect you, but you always seemed so happy to see me. You were so friendly and you kept saying nice things to me, and touching my arm. But, I know you do that to everyone...”

Keep going Fionn, it’s for the film. You’re a great actor.

“My dog likes you. And my sisters like you, and… and Alex said that you like me.”

There’s no way back now, just carry on.

“And… well, yeah. That was nice to hear. Everything said about you is nice to hear. Your voice, especially, is nice to hear. I just… I suppose that if there were ever a choice for you to be somewhere or to not be somewhere, and I suppose by ‘somewhere’ I mean with me, by my side, I’d much rather that you were. There. …By my side, I mean. Than not there.”

Fionn takes what feels like his first breath in several hours and what might actually be his first breath in several hours.

“I guess that’s the best I’ve got. For now, anyway.” He says. “But maybe I can work on it.” He’s not speaking to the crew, but still to Alana. Well, no. It’s Toby speaking to Isla.

He realises all the extras have gone inside, and the moon has replaced the sun, and the butterflies are sleeping and Alana, well… Isla, is wearing a loose red cardigan he never saw her put on. And she’s sitting right in front of him though he never noticed her move forward.

Somehow Alana is holding Fionn’s hand in hers, although he never felt her take it. He realises the cameras are still rolling, of course they are. And the set lights are still shining on the tears in Alana’s eyes and he wonders where she learnt to be such a good actress that she could just cry like that.

And then he hears her soft, angelic voice though he never saw her open her mouth, and he realises she’s talking to him.

“Of course I like you, Toby.” Isla breathes out. “I always have.”

She’s such a good actress.

Listen to her.

“You’re intelligent and creative. And you’re respectful about everything. The way you talk, about things, it’s so… earnest, and important. And I could listen to you, for ages. You speaking… you’re voice…I dunno. You’re just compassionate, and so endearing. And you’re so cool! God, you have no idea, but that just makes it better! You’re so humble and wonderful and your singing voice, Jesus Christ!! You’re sort of unbelievable. You’re sort of everything, but mostly, you’re just so nice, and you work hard. And you care about your family, and you’re really funny!”

Alana’s sort of exasperated, as if she’s only realising all of Fionn’s amazing qualities right now but she isn’t, she’s known the whole time she’s known him. She has to keep going though. Isla does.

“You make me care about things more. I learn things through you, you’re just great… I don’t, know… you’re really peaceful. It sounds silly but knowing that you exist, in my life, somehow, is just… really soothing, and reassuring. You’re a bit weird, you’ve got your quirks and everything, but so do I, and… I guess it doesn’t really matter.” She says. “I mean look at you! You’re lovely. So, so lovely. You’re just… real. There’s this grace and composure about you that I’ve never witnessed in anyone else.”

God, she’s good.

Fionn thinks he might see one of the camerawomen moving position and the sound technician move the mic, but all he’s looking at are Alana’s eyes on him, open wide and shining, staring into his.

Maybe the plan is working?

“Toby, I suppose I don’t really know all that much about you, but I don’t know if I need to, because I know enough to know that I feel something.”

Neither Toby nor Fionn know if the feel of lips blowing air against skin is the breeze or the feeling of two sets of knuckles folded together.

“I kept waiting for it to fizzle out, but it never did. I could never just appreciate you in moderation …I wanted more, too.” She speaks. And yes, maybe this is finally happening. And it doesn’t matter with whose voice she speaks, Isla’s or her own. “There were times I was unsure if I wanted you in reality, or if it were safer to enjoy the idea of you, but there was just something...” Alana moves their hands to rest in her lap, her heart crashing in her throat, and she speaks firmly, hopefully in Isla’s voice. “There is just something about you I never felt ready or able to leave behind. And I still don’t want to. I’ve always wanted you, and I still do.”

Fionn thinks he can hear plants rustling beneath a soft wind but he doesn’t know because neither he nor Toby would be listening to that. It’s not important. This is happening. He feels sick, in the most beautiful way.

“For a while, admittedly, I tried to pretend you were only a concept.” Isla pauses, her eyes switch between focusing on Toby’s and studying the stitching on his sleeve.

Just keep going, Alana. It’s for the film.

“I wish I could say I was an actress.” Isla’s free hand climbs Toby’s forearm and rests at his elbow. “…That there was a reason for all this.”

Oh Jesus. It’s for the Film, ok?

Fionn lifts his eyes from looking at Alana’s hand nestled in his, and meets her eyes. “You just had this grip on me.” Isla says, but it is Alana’s eyes that are still glossy. “…And whether either of us intended it to or not, your presence just somehow seeped into everything, and thoughts of you consumed me, but not even in a bad way! Just in a constant and certain way, and I… I made art about you.”

It’s too late now, she thinks. She’s said it.

“Everything I’ve done has sort of stemmed from initially thinking about you. All of this, in a weird and kind of unintentional way, it’s sort of all for you.”

Toby scans from Isla across to the plants which frame her; lavender, foxglove, fuscia. His eyes travel into the still water, decorated with petals and confetti and sequins, through all the other orange and lilac and yellow flowers in the far corner, up into the deep red and golden sunset which seeps into the sea, and then back to her. Gems glisten in her ears, glitter lines her eye lids. A peacock butterfly is tattooed onto her shoulder, and a pale pink flower is woven into her hair. She smiles the sweetest smile and her eyes are full of honesty. “You’re a bee.” He says.

They laugh …finally.

Fionn, Toby, Alana, Isla. It doesn’t matter. Their hands separate and they move to align their bodies side by side, legs stretched in front of them. “You wear yellow, you’re rare, and you like flowers. Everything surrounding you is pretty. You like the outdoors. You sort of fly around everywhere, pollinating everything, I’m not sure what with… but wherever you go, you leave a trace of something hopeful. What you give out is sort of necessary and appreciated. Your words, or art, or smile. I don’t know. But, it’s always nice to see you.” He says. “You’re a bee. …That can be your name. That’s what I’ll call you.”

--------------------------

CHAPTER 4

Morning sun rises slowly in a pale sky and shines weakly through the open window.

The eyes watching Alana are interrogative, in a caring way. Unflinching, deep with questions, but safe. Familiar. A silvery grey blue, with lashes painted black fluttering above them.

“Mornin’ Poll! How’re you feeling?” She asks her friend, it’s a genuine question but she anticipates it won’t be answered.

“Yesterday, Al.” Polly’s eyes widen. “Yesterday.”

“Yesterday was Tuesday.” Alana smiles around a spoonful of fruit salad, investigates a kiwi in her bowl with more interest than needed, and she absolutely doesn’t blush. Not at all. It might be sunburn.

“Alana, please!” Polly reaches across the pink breakfast table and holds onto Alana’s arm.

“I thought I was meant to be the actress round here!” But she can’t keep this up, Alana quickly retreats into shy grumbles and unsure whimpers and adolescent giggles and she cradles her knees to her chest. “Yesterday was amazing, if not maybe a little odd, I suppose? Quite intense. Very, very beautiful, but intense.” She admits, half smiling, half nervously puckering her lips.

“It was amazing, Alana! I could barely watch, I felt like I wasn’t allowed to be there …I couldn’t breathe. I think Isaac the lighting guy was crying! We were all sweating afterwards, just looking at each other in silence. No one knew what to say.” Polly’s a little manic, it was obvious that she’d been holding this in all night. “Acting rarely creates that kind of atmosphere, Alana, I know Fionn’s amazing at his job, obviously, but there was tension. That was super intense!” She decides. “What you both said was personal and obviously, undoubtedly, completely real.”

Alana can only respond with a quiet ‘hmm.’ It’s all out there now, she guesses. Everything. Exposed, honest, said. Everything’s finally been said. Everything she thought and dreamt and wrote and hoped for all year has finally been said…Unless by some miracle all of the shots are unusable and they have to burn everything and no one will ever know a thing. Or maybe the sound is somehow so poor that they have to just make up some random subtitles, or add loads of effects, or maybe even play the speech backwards like in Twin Peaks. Maybe that would be better? Maybe she should suggest it?

“Alana, please.” Polly brings her back to earth. “Please don’t you dare get nervous and avoid him now. Things between you and him do not end with that scene, you know that, right?”

She’s right. God, of course she is. Alana reaches out to hold her friend’s hand and listen to her.

“Lana, you haven’t come this far to freak out about it now. You don’t actually have anything to be scared of anymore. It is quite clear that he feels the same. He is absolutely lovely and believe it or not, you are a catch.”

Alana laughs weakly and brings hers and Polly’s hands up to her mouth to press her lips nervously and tenderly into Polly’s fingers.

“Go and see him, petal. You’ve both done more than enough for this film and all of us can start packing stuff up.” Polly tells her. “Everything you have waited for is happening now. Go and see him. Today.”

Alana squeezes her friend’s hand and smiles at her. “Thank you, Pea. Thank you so much, for pulling me together!” She says. “I love you.” Alana stands to clear her dishes with a slightly wobbly hand, but a big smile on her face. “I’ll do it.”

------------------------------

There is a backless pink bench situated in a secluded corner of a small garden behind the pool. Bull rushes, flag irises and orange water flowers stand tall in a small turquoise pond dressed with layers of lily pads. A willow tree hangs its branches over the grass, the fine green leaves reflect in shards of mirror mosaicked into the pink wall at the back. White butterflies with orange tipped wings and painted-lady butterflies jitter around pink and yellow flower heads.

Fionn is sitting on the bench, cradling a bright pink mug and blowing lightly over the surface to cool down his morning coffee. A navy blue tee-shirt stretches over his chest, soft strands of brown hair curl messily over his forehead. Sunlight paints patches of white light over his face, and tangles into the hair on his legs. Despite not being a morning person, Fionn feels peaceful as he watches little bubbles travel up to the surface of the pond water, he sees them pop with a content smile on his face.

He feels a hand slowly stroke his back then tenderly smooth down his hair from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck.

Alana slides her hand down Fionn’s arm as she sits herself on the bench to face him. She folds her leg to rest her knee on Fionn’s thigh and she says a happy, shy good morning. Fionn places his hand gently on her leg and laughs out an equally shy greeting.

Fionn and Alana are both slow and quiet. As if they woke too early. They are not sleepy but the day is unfamiliarly new, it feels like the morning has paused so it can stretch out for longer than normal. The sun is awaiting their instruction before it rises higher in the sky.

Alana rests her head against Fionn’s shoulder and laughs out “I don’t know what to say!” She feels his two fingers and thumb slide to cup her chin and trace the edge of her jaw. Fionn sweeps his fingers up Alana’s face to push her hair behind her ear, so slowly and softly that his knuckles tickle her skin. She takes his hand in hers, looks at him and smiles. “Maybe we’ve already said everything.”

Fionn turns so each of his legs are on either side of the bench with Alana sat cross legged between them. Their hands hold each other’s thighs. He smiles softly. “Yeah, maybe we have said it all now.”

“Thank you for everything you said.” Alana speaks, earnestly. They sigh quietly through little smiles and slow blinks as they realise that they’ve finally sorted everything out. “Thank you, too.” Fionn says. Alana reaches her arms around Fionn’s neck to hug him and he holds her with his arms wrapped round her back.

Their faces nestle into each other’s necks, cheeks squished into tight smiles. Close, skin pressed inside folds and corners of skin. The morning, their skin pressed together in the morning. No walls between them. No water between them. No windows between them. No unspoken words between them. No cities between them. They’ve done it. They are here. Together.

Their hug loosens a little and they rest their cheeks together with their eyes closed. They stay like that for a while, or what feels like a while, or what feels like no time at all. Eyelids shut softly and they breathe in and out slowly, they rub their cheeks together ever so slightly, almost like deer. The tips of Fionn and Alana’s noses and lips brush over each other’s skin in the hazy yellow morning light. Fionn gently ghosts faint kisses along Alana’s jaw and onto her chin. They are gentle and slow. No rush. Just waking up. Alana leaves a trail of small kisses along Fionn’s neck and onto his face and up to his forehead.

Fionn kisses the end of Alana’s nose. “So we’re good?” She asks him with a smirk and locks her hands around the back of his neck. “We’re, like… friends…and stuff?” She laughs.

“Alana.” Fionn says her name seriously with a raised eyebrow. “Come on!” He smooths his palms over the back of her head and cups her face in his hands.

“Okay” She smiles. “More than friends, please?”

“That’s better.” Fionn nods. “More than friends.”

They’re still smiling even when they try not to. It’s in their eyes and their whole faces, their whole bodies. It could be embarrassing but they don’t care. It’s only the two of them anyway, and they’ve waited long enough. A year and a bit isn’t that long, really, but it felt like it.

“Are we…” Alana leans closer to Fionn to speak in his ear “…Together?” She asks him in a giggle, with a small knot in her stomach, and she takes his ear lobe into her mouth to suck in a little kiss. Fionn whispers into her ear, his lips touch her skin with every word. “I think… that we are together, Alana.” He kisses her cheek. “Yes.”

“Good!” She sighs. “That’s wonderful to hear.” She turns to smile against the corner of his lips. “Phew!”

“I’m so sorry it took me so long to tell you how I felt.” Fionn admits, linking their fingers together. And Alana replies, smoothing her hand over his. “Don’t be. You’re worth the wait, and I’m really sorry it took me such weird and dramatic methods to tell you how I felt.”

They laugh and Alana wraps her legs around Fionn’s waist, he holds his arms around the bottom of her back. They rest their foreheads together. They are comfortable and happy, but nerves still tickle them and shoot up inside their stomachs, like an itch. It’s comfortable but new at the same time. They are so close now, hugging and resting their heads together, but they itch, they both know it, silently. Slowly, with twitches in their bellies, Fionn and Alana lift their heads up, their chins meet gently, they tilt their heads slightly, slowly. They close their eyes, and they slowly press their lips together in a soft, gentle peck. They smile slightly then open their lips to slide between each other’s in another kiss. Their lips open and meet again, and again. Fionn and Alana share a slow, long kiss. She rubs her hand over Fionn’s hair where she lightly holds the back of his neck. He gently lays his hand on her jaw. Alana can feel the shape of Fionn’s top lip between hers. Their lips are warm together. Soft, and they move slowly. Continuously. Soft, wet and gentle. The very faint flavours of coffee and toothpaste mix and taste much better than they should. Sort of comforting. Sort of sweet, sort of funny. Nice. Their lips are close, always. Never leaving, never stopping. Keeping kissing. Sliding. Long, slow, deep, wet, soft kisses. Sentences of long kisses, punctuated with little kisses. A paragraph for a kiss. Their lips are pink and kissing makes them more pink. They kiss in the garden. They sit on the pink bench, in the little garden with the pink walls, by the turquoise pond with the pink lotus flowers, and they kiss. They finally kiss because they finally can.

They kiss every word they never said into each other’s lips. They kiss every word they did say to each other, by the pool at sunset last night. They kiss for every look they shared across every room they’ve been in. They kiss for every inch of distance they ever had between them. They kiss for every time they could have kissed sooner. They kiss for every person who told them to kiss sooner. They kiss for them kissing now. They kiss for them kissing again. They kiss for them finally getting it right. They kiss for the first time because it’s not the last time. They kiss till the sun rises higher in the sky and tells them the day has begun.

---------------------------------------------

CHAPTER 5

(Bonus chapter with plot twist)

September 2019

Fionn is at home, his dog Lewis curling up to his side, and Alana cuddling the other. Their limbs, dressed in comfy jeans and woollen autumn jumpers, tangle lazily on the sofa. Fionn looks up from reading and meets Alana with a wide and fond, if not slightly bemused, and maybe even teary-eyed smile. He places what he’s just read onto the table; a short story self-printed and hand bound in baby pink card, titled ‘Pink Dolphin’.

He chuckles and leans in to give Alana a lingering kiss. “Bless you” he tells her. “This is crazy, this story. It’s amazing! I can’t believe you did that, it’s so funny!” Fionn shakes his head with an amused smile. “Yeah, it’s maybe a tiny tiny bit strange, and it’s pretty hot!” He says. “But honestly… that’s maybe the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Fionn smiles even wider and lays his hand across his heart. “Parts of that really, really got to me. That was so, so nice!”

Alana reaches out to take Fionn’s hand in hers and breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Phewww, thank God!” She looks at him with wide, innocent eyes and a smile, as if she didn’t just share her dirty fanfiction with him. Fionn chuckles and pinches Alana’s nose. He runs his thumb over her cheek to show he’s just teasing. The pair of them nervously giggle. Even after almost 3 years together, they’re still as awkward with each other as they are comfortable.

Alana tucks her legs under Fionn’s and holds Lewis’ paw. “I never even planned for you to read it, you know! I was so embarrassed, I’m so sorry!” She laughs at herself, and at Fionn laughing at her. “I know I’m a bit of an idiot, I just really love you and you’re very inspiring!” Alana snorts a laugh at the facial expressions Fionn is pulling at her. “It’s all completely Harry and Louis’ fault anyway! They made me write it by planting the idea in my head! They’re out of control.”

“I’ll tell you one thing.” Fionn replies, wrapping one of Alana’s legs up in his arms and resting his face against her knee. “Fionn is right.” He points to the pink laminated document on the table and picks it up. “You are ridiculous!” He laughs, swatting at her with her own story. “All of you are absolutely, beautifully, stupidly, impossibly, ridiculously, ridiculous! I have no idea why I spend time with any of you.”

Alana stretches away from him, laughing. “I’m ridiculously in love with you!” She sings. “We all are, does that help!??”

“It only helps a tiny bit, you lunatic!” Fionn laughs, pulling his girlfriend back into his arms. “When Harry said he’d dared you to write fanfiction about us aaaaages ago, I certainly never expected you to have taken it this far, or gone to that much effort! It’s craaazy but it’s honestly brilliant though, and I’m very flattered …but don’t tell Harry that.”

“Ah thank God, though, honestly!” Alana sighs again, kissing Fionn’s knuckles. “I was so worried you’d be absolutely disgusted, and outraged, and confused, and just want to leave me immediately, and then be angry at Harry too!” She gushes, far too dramatically. “You know… Louis even tried to get me to post it online!! Can you believe him!?” She admits, her eyes wild with excitement and confession.

“I just wrote it cos it helped me to, like, deal with you.” She explains, a little more peacefully. “I didn’t wanna get obsessed or anything, or invest too much in our relationship too soon. I just wanted to be calm, and to enjoy fancying you, and happily take things slow, so transferring some emotion into this helped.” She admits. “I wrote it before we were properly together, and I know it sounds odd, and I know I’m really dramatic… but it just made sense to me, and it was fun! I tried to keep all this hidden for all these years, and I pretended that I never actually wrote any, just on the off chance you got mad at me or were, like, really disturbed.”

Fionn laughs loudly at how stressed Alana’s getting. She is so silly. He is actually really enjoying this. Seeing her freak out and feel awkward is pretty funny. It’s adorable, actually. “I’m not angry with you!” He has to save her at some point. “I’m actually really glad that you took Harry’s dare, or advice?, so seriously, and wrote such an amazing story and managed to hang onto it all this time!” Fionn moves to rest his chin on top of Alana’s head. “And it clearly worked, cos we’re all good.”

“You made us into art, Alana, and that is really sweet and a real privilege. You know I’d never judge you for doing something which helps or inspires you.” He says. “You knew that at some point I’d eventually reveal you to the world as the arty mad woman that I was somehow in love with, and I suppose if we do decide to share this beautiful, funny, wonderful, weird, sexy, and ridiculous story that you’ve created, then maybe that would be as good a way as any for us to ‘come out’.” He jokes with her and kisses her on the temple.

Alana giggles and combs her fingers through Fionn’s hair. “Yeah. We’re really private, Dolfionn, and we hope to ‘come out’ in a quiet and simple way…let’s definitely reveal this epic, dramatic, arty, cinematic, fantasy filth about us!” She plays along. “Sure! Maybe we should... Maybe it’s a brilliant idea! Maybe it would be funny?” She lays her head in Fionn’s lap and tickles Lewis under his ears.

Fionn rests his hand over Alana’s tummy. “Yeah, I definitely think so. Louis’ onto something... It would be silly and endearing, like us! But no… seriously, if we just stay calm, don’t make much fuss, and continue living our lives quietly like we always do…” He starts, “And I’ll keep mainly just talking about acting in any interviews, then everything will definitely be fine when people do know.” Alana has to agree with him. She meant it when she said Fionn was inspiring.

“I’m happy for people to know about us now, but we can definitely still be private.” He reassures them both. “We’re not giving Harry and Louis the satisfaction of sharing that story anyway!” Fionn laughs and slides his hand beneath Alana’s jumper, to slowly run his fingers over her warm skin. “What I’m most concerned with now, however…” He leans closer. “…is fucking you through a wall.” He teases but reaches further up under Alana’s top, and licks a stripe up her neck. “You wrote some incredibly sexy things and I was very impressed.”

Alana laughs and tugs at Fionn’s hair. She sits up to straddle him and leave wet, introductory kisses up Fionn’s neck. “So, just to completely clarify first, you’re absolutely sure that you’re definitely not annoyed or embarrassed that I wrote that??” She double checks, stroking the soft hair on Fionn’s arms beneath his jumper sleeves.

“You’re pretty difficult to be angry with, bee.” Fionn smiles and holds Alana’s hips beneath her jumper. “I’m maybe the tiniest bit surprised? If not just at how detailed it is, even though I really shouldn’t be because this is actually typical you… and its typical Harry and Louis! But honestly, love, no.” He answers. “I’m not annoyed with you at all. I absolutely love it, and I actually find the whole thing really cute!” He tells her. “I might be embarrassed if your story were shit, but luckily I’m quite a fan.” Fionn flirts and rests his head against Alana’s chest, kissing it through her clothes.

Alana cradles Fionn’s head in her arms. “I know I’m silly and weird, pet, but for what it’s worth, I meant the things that I wrote. Well… what Harry forced me to write!” She jokes but winds loving kisses into Fionn’s hair and down over his throat. “I meant it a lot, petal, the romantic bits as well as the naughty bits.”

“I know. I can tell that you did, bee, you don’t need to say sorry and I honestly do sincerely appreciate it.” Fionn says. “I appreciate yours and Harry’s unorthodox tactics to deal with your overwhelming love for me!” He jokes between tickles and cuddles and he playfully bites Alana’s shoulder. Lewis wakes up and happily scrambles off into the other room.

“For what it’s worth, Al, I would say everything to you that you wrote in that story, because it’s all completely true, and you deserve to hear it every day, and I’m really proud of you. And I really do love you. And I appreciate everything we have together.” He kisses her firmly and pulls her closer into his lap and against his body. “I love you so fucking much, you adorable weirdo.”

“I love you, Fionn.” Alana sighs out and holds his face tightly up to hers, stroking her thumbs over his cheeks. “I really really love you a lot. Thank you for everything. For putting up with me so well, and for always being so kind.” She kisses his lips. “And wonderful.” She kisses him again. “And pretty.” Another kiss. “And amazing.” Kiss. “And sweet.”

Fionn holds the back of her neck and they kiss quickly through deep breaths. Alana’s hands run down Fionn’s chest and he squeezes the backs of her thighs tightly, moving his hand up her back and into her hair. In the moments Fionn’s lips aren’t held between Alana’s he informs her “We’re reading the rude scenes aloud to each other while we have sex, you know.”

Alana sinks lower onto Fionn’s lap and hurriedly pulls off his jumper. “Yes! God, I know.”

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