#the second friend was way more judgemental than i remember her being but it's been two years since we saw each other

[fayeandknight]

Our beach camping trip was both a success and a failure.

I got there Friday around 5pm after a 6 hour drive. My one friend and her two corgis were already there. Faye knows these dogs well and Forte has met them once before on a hike. All four reacquainted themselves with some sniffing and then took to playing. Forte was more than thrilled to lead the corgis on a merry chase and the corgis, being corgis, were happy to chase him while yelling their fool heads off. I wish I had thought to video it because it was really cute.

After we let the dogs tire themselves out we went to a local place for dinner. We had the whole patio to ourselves and all four dogs napped under the table while we ate. It was also nice to catch up with my friend. A few people spotted the corgis and squealed over them and we let the dogs meet their adoring fans. Forte wasn't on duty so I gave him permission to say hi as well and he actually stuffed himself into one lady's lap, which she told me would be the highlight of her weekend.

When we arrived back at the beach the dogs played some more while we set up camp. It was cool and the wind was picking up but not too bad. I positioned the portable crate against my tent so the tent was blocking the brunt of it. I put a towel over it (weighed down) so it was covering part of the back, front, and exposed side. And when we went to bed around 1:45am Faye went in without prompting and immediately went to sleep. Forte and I got cozy in the tent as the air mattress I bought was bigger/taller than expected and left us closer to the ceiling than I would have preferred.

He woke once around 2:40am and grumbled when the wild horses came through but settled after they left and snuggled me till I got up around 6.

And that's where things went down hill.

I thought the wind sounded worse than it was because I was in a tent. But it was whipping sand around to the point that our other friend, who showed up in the small hours, was wearing ski gear to protect herself.

While we were sitting/chatting/waiting for our friend to get up both Faye and Forte were hunkered down, Forte next to me and Faye under the table. They both were low growling at every dog who passed even remotely close by. Which is out of character for them. Faye can get testy about another dog in her face but both of them are generally neutral even around reactive dogs.

I took the dogs on an hour long walk off the beach to burn some energy/avoid being pelted by sand in the hopes that would help.

But even when we set up on the beach closer to the water with less dry sand for the wind to whip up both dogs were clearly uncomfortable. To the point that they started snarling at even my friends dogs for getting too close. At that point I decided to call it quits. My friends were disappointed (the one I'm less close to was actually pretty derisive) but I packed up anyway.

If the dogs were having a good time and only I was not, I'd have sucked it up and stayed. But I just don't see the point in staying when they're both so stressed out that they're being reactive. That's so far out of character for them that I'd be hard pressed to justify it even if I were having a great time.

So yeah, I left. It sucked, I felt shitty, and it wasn't particularly fun to have driven a total of 11 hours for a less than 24 hour stay. But in the end I'm unwilling to subject my dogs to a situation where they're that far over threshold when I have no way to give them relief from it.

[daisyblog]

First Date

Unexpected Love Masterlist Summary: Harry and YN are set up on a date.

2019

Jonny had separately nagged YN and Harry to let him set them up on a date. Harry’s argument was that he was in the middle of writing his second album, and wanted to be on his own after his last break up. YN’s protest was that she was a single working Mum who didn’t have the time, and added “nobody wants to date a single mum”. 

After what felt like months of constant begging, Harry and YN both gave in to their friend and agreed to go on a date. Jonny had arranged for them to meet at a small quiet restaurant on the outskirts of London, knowing Harry would want to stay under the radar. 

YN had been nervous all day. She had messaged Jonny several times to try and cancel but he insisted that it was just nerves and she should give it a chance. Harry felt mixed emotions, part of him was nervous, he was meeting someone new but the other part of him was excited because he knew Jonny wouldn’t set him up with just anyone. 

Harry arrived at the restaurant first, being fifteen minutes early. He was shown to their table which he was grateful was tucked into a corner away from other tables. He knew that was down to Jonny’s request. Wanting to calm his nervous, Harry ordered a bottle of wine for them, hoping YN liked it too. 

He had just taken a small sip from his glass, when he saw the waiter walking towards him with a woman following behind. Harry stood from his chair, ready to greet her. “Hi, it’s nice to finally meet you”. Harry spoke first, bringing YN in for a hug. 

“Jonny and his persuasive ways huh?”. YN joked, causing Harry to smile knowing Jonny must have nagged YN as much as he had nagged him. 

Harry pulled YN’s chair out for her to sit before taking his place back in her own. “I ordered wine, I can get you something else if you’d prefer”. 

“No…wine is perfect, thank you”. YN smiled with appreciation, showing her little dimples. “I like your tattoos”. She complimented as she noticed them on his arm, that was exposed due to his short sleeved shirt. 

Harry glanced down as he looked at his arm, smiling slightly at the mixture of ink that covered his skin. “Uh thanks…I have too many to count”. He giggled. “Do you have any?”. He gestured to his tattoos. 

YN hesitated before explaining. “I have one…on my wrist”. She turned her hand over to reveal the delicate ink on her right wrist. “It’s my son’s name”. YN watched for a change in Harry’s response or how he may end the date now. 

But what surprised YN was Harry’s genuine grin as he looked down at her wrist. “What’s his name?”. His question was genuine, YN could tell by how he looked at her directly in the eye which a soft look. 

“Jacob”. YN smiled as she thought about her favourite person. The little boy who saved her in more ways than he would ever know. “He’s five and a real sweetheart.”. Harry noticed how YN’s whole face lit up as she spoke about him. “Does me having a son not bother you?”. YN couldn’t help but ask.

Harry frowned at her question before shaking his head. “Of course not…I don’t date people based on if they’re a parent, or if they have a certain job or x amount of money in the bank…I date people for them.”. 

“I’m sorry…I couldn’t help but ask, I’m not used to people being so understanding when it comes to Jacob”. YN apologised, hoping she hadn’t ruined the date before it had started properly. 

“Hey…it’s fine, you can be yourself tonight…there’s no judgement from me.” Harry reassured her, knowing how it felt for someone not to get to know you and having a false opinion. 

“Thank you…that really means a lot”. YN smiled before taking a sip from her glass, needing to treat her dry throat. 

“So tell me about you and Jacob…I can see he’s your life and I want to know more”. The sentence caused a spark in YN’s chest at how interested Harry was in not only her but the one person who mattered the most. 

Harry and YN had talked, laughed and smiled all evening. YN couldn’t remember the last time she felt like herself and was able to be just YN and not just a Mum. Harry wondered how he hadn’t met YN sooner because for once someone didn’t want to speak to him because he was Harry Styles, he could see that YN was genuinely interested in getting to know him as just Harry. 

Harry had learnt that YN was in university studying business when she fell pregnant but had to drop out before graduating. But now owned her own florist in London. He noticed that she hasn’t mentioned her family apart from Jacob, but decided it was best to leave it that way for now. She didn’t ask one question related to the band or his music, she asked questions about his family, where he grew up, his childhood memories and all the little things that built up who he is today. 

After they had finished their meals and nicely argued about how the bill was going to be paid, they found themselves walking through a quieter part of town, still chatting and giggling like two teenagers. They wanted to blame the wine but deep down they both knew it was from the excitement of each other. 

Harry had arranged for a taxi to drop them both back home. They were both supposed to realise that YN didn’t live far from Harry’s Hampstead house. He walked YN up to her door to make sure she was home safe. They both stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to break the silence. Smirks covering their smiles. 

“I had a really nice time tonight”. Harry broke first, meaning what he had said. 

“Me too!”. YN felt shy for the first time all evening. 

“Can I see you again?”. Harry was bold, he hadn’t felt like this after a date before and he wasn’t willing to lose his chance. 

YN smiled, she felt special and chosen for once and inside she was screaming with happiness. Harry really wanted to see her again. “I’d love that”.

They quickly swapped numbers and Harry was eager to arrange to see YN again. Before making his way back to the taxi that was waiting patiently, he leaned in to hug YN goodbye. It was like neither of them wanted to let go but the feeling of Harry’s lips leaving a peck on her cheek is what caused YN to jump around in happiness once she closed the door behind her that night.

Taglist:

@ell0ra-br3kk3r

[thestarsarebrightertonight]

bad idea, right? // theodore nott x fem reader

part 2 for but daddy i love him!

playlist: bad idea right? - olivia rodrigo

"im sure ive seen much hotter men but i really cant remember when!"

summary: you agreed to go out with theodore nott and you did infact go on a date with him! however ever since your date with him youve been doubting your judgement.

y/n used , part 2 , gryffindor granger reader , swearing , mention of dr*gs and alcohol , not proof read

its been a week since theodore nott confronted you in that classroom. and its been a day since the date you went on with him. it was nothing too special ,just coffee in hogsmeade and overall it was great!!...except from when some guy in slytherin came over asking if theo wanted his 'weekly supply of the good stuff'.

you had almost gagged on the spot. being a muggleborn , throughout all of your muggle education you were preached about the evil of drugs. so when theodore smirked and whispered something to the guy before showing him off.....you got the ick.

and its been 24 hours since then, and youre going crazy about it.

"girls , i cant condone drug use!! that shit is fucked up!" you screeched as you paced a hole into the carpet of your shared dorm.

lavender , parvati and hermione all stared at you with concern , having listened to you panic and rant for the past half an hour.

"y/n we know! but i mean you cant even know that it was what youre thinking! cmon you were the one that protected his character like he was a saint a few days ago!!" hermione argued back, trying to calm you.

"before , i knew he was doing drugs!! WEEKLY!" you cried , collapsing onto your bed as the three girls stood up and surrounded you.

"i mean...whats so bad about that?....the gryffindor guys do it at parties all the time-" lavender started before parvati threw her a harsh glare , making her stop her scentence.

"its more about that its making me question if i really know him well enough to commit to dating him!" you groaned , face down into your pillow.

"y/n i think youre being dramatic! you like him too much and now youre scared. its okay lots of people get like that dont worry!" hermione sympathised.

you paused at this , eyes widenening at the thought that this was likely very true. you did like theodore. a lot. maybe more than you found comfortable. and now you were finding a way to shut out the overwhelming feelings.

at this epiphany you sat up , eyes wide and mouth dropped open.

"youre right mione. i think im gonna take a small distance from him and...firgure it out!.... yeah... figure it out.." you mumbled quietly as you got up from your bed , your friends staring at you wearily , "i mean theres always hotter guys out there and it was always a bad idea...right?".

you looked at your friends with red cheeks and a hesitant expression , they stared back as you took slow steps towards the door before bolting out of it , running down the stairs before they can stop you.

"y/n-!" parvati shouted trying to stop you before the girls stood in stunned silence , "ive never seen someone change mood and mind so quickly..."

"shes going to avoid him , isnt she?" lavander said knowingly as the other two girls noddly grimly.

"yeah...she definetly is." hermione sighed.

----

and that you did! youve been avoiding theodore nott like the plague for three whole days and it was driving everyone around you insane.

ron. he had been walking with you in the corridors , slowly commuting to potions when you eyes spotted something in the distance with great suprise and terror. the next second you sprinted the way you and ron had come from. leaving ron extremely confused and left to walk to potions alone , and getting points taken off by snape when he was the only late person.

harry. you swore that you would watch him practice quidditch and give him pointers on how to improve his technique - you were the old gryffindor seaker before you quick months after joining. but after finding out slytherin and gryffindor were sharing the pitch that day , you never bothered to show up. harry was mad at you for days , knowing the reason was your avoidance of theodore. yet you denied it and said you were ill.

hermione. you were studying with hermione in the library , both of you equally focused on the task at hand , until you perked up at the sound of a deep familiar voice walking towards you and hermiones area of the library. you gasped in suprise before ducking under the table , spilling a pot of ink in the process all over hermione pages. she gasped also , but in pure horror , and thankfully was able to cast a spell to clean the ink before being distracted by someone standing infront of the table you were studying on.

theodore. if anyone could be described as going insane at your constant avoidance , it was theo himself. he had been practically ripping his hair out everytime you avoided his eyes , or walked in the opposite direction when he approached. of course he had noticed , there wasnt a single moment he didnt notice you. and every time you left or ran away , he became more and more desperate.

so now he stands infront of you sister in the library , fist clenched in the deep desperation to see you; to know what he did wrong.

"where is she granger." he said through gritted teeth.

"nott , im actually quite busy cleaning the ink off me , so a little more context to who 'she' is would be great in this moment!" hermione argued in a annoyed tone as the smoothed down her recovering parchment.

"y/n!" theodore replied in more of a shout , making hermione jump and loud hushes echo through the library in response.

"oh!...oh...shes right h- ow!" hermione screeched as you hit her from under the table shaking your head furiously , "yknow what ive had enough of this , you WILL talk to the boy and you WILL sort this out. everyone is sick out it y/n so come out NOW!"

hermione pure fury and demanding tone made you cower at your older sister , before slowly coming out from under the table with deep embrassament.

theo watched as you came out and stood infront of him , head down , "theodore-".

you words were cut short as he grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the library , avoiding your protests and tugging.

he dragged you in the same manner , through the dungeons and through the slytherin common room , until you reached what you supposed to be his dorm.

then he pushed you infront of him , the back of your legs hitting the wood of a bed frame as you stumbled for balance , watching him pace the room.

"you have to tell me what i did , please PLEASE tell me what i did because i cannot go on any longer with you avoiding me!" he stammered.

you silenty watched as he try to push out his words , the consequences of your actions setting in.

"i-..i got second thoughts-"

"WHY!" he shouted back , walking towards you.

"because - because... YOU DO THE GOOD STUFF!" you finally stammered out as he stared back , dumbfounded.

there was a short pause of silence as he blinked in confusion , "...what the fuck is the good..stuff?..."

"DRUGS!" you finally let out with a sigh of relief , like a weight had been lifted off your chest.

"you-..i-...what the fuck?!" he breathed out in shock , eyes wide , "i- i dont do fucking drugs!"

"oh yeah? then who was that boy on our date? he asked if you wanted your weekly supply nott!" you shouted, angered by his denial.

he stared into your eyes with pure confusion before seeming to peice things together in his mind , his exression dropping.

before he laughed hysterically , holding your shoulder for support.

"what...why...why are you laughing?" you asked, bewildered.

"the good stuff..is..its not drugs!" he let out between loud laughs , "its fucking chocolate!"

your jaw dropped as you stared at you bankly , "what- what do you mean?!"

"this boy in our year - in slytherin - he gets chocolate from his mum every week , he hates it and doesnt want it to go to waste every week..so he gives it to me because i really like it!" he continued to laugh through his explanation as you cheeks reddened in embarrassment.

"what-...i-..who the fuck calls chocolate the good stuff!?!" you screehced in pure shame , theodores wheezing drowing out your feelings as you begin to laugh with him.

after a few seconds of theodore collecting himself he grinned and looked you in the eyes , holding your face softly , making your breathe hitch and giggles cease , "i cant believe you actually thought that.why would i ruin my godly body with that stuff?"

you smacked his arm as he smirked and winked , both of you laughing , "i guess i just...i got scared , truthfully , i like you a lot theo and i guess i was just begging to not...falll for you."

"so you avoided me? rather than speaking to me?" his eyes saddenned as your heart shattered at the sight.

"im so sorry teddy , ive- ive never had a boyfriend before im new to this feelings and- its terrifying it really is!" you desperatly tried to reason to him , words speeding out of your mouth.

he softly ran a hand through your hair , eyes seeping with adorations as a soft smile found his lips, "i know. dont worry i get it. just...dont avoid me ever again - just talk to me, okay?"

you nodded swiftly as he smiled brightly at you.

"now...how about we lay down and just...talk. then you can really get to know me and never misjudge again..sound good?" he whispered.

"sounds like heaven." you smiled back at him , his lips finding yours much softer than your first exchange , with much more love and delicacy.

for the next few hours you did exactly that , talking and talking. you talked about everything- you even told him your favourite film , of course its the little mermaid.

[oneforthemunny]

crossings |mafia!eddie munson x reader|

prompt: everything is new and exciting with you and eddie, but joyce can't help but worry about you.

contains: mentions of suggestions to drugs and violence. an au of eddie in the mafia so crime and dark-ish themes. nothing graphic in this, mainly just fluff and a little angst. I'll put a warning on here anyways of 18+ or read at your own discretion.

It started with a necklace. A simple diamond necklace on a dainty gold chain. Reserved and classy, but still far too expensive than you could afford on a receptionist’s budget. Joyce furrowed her brows when you first started wearing it, nestled between your collar bones delicately, glimmering in the sunlight when you moved. It was too pristine to be second hand, but still, she figured it might’ve been a gift, shaking it off.

Then came the bracelets. Three gold stacked bracelets that were very chic; very expensive. She only knew that because she saw them in the magazines, dangling off some tiny model’s wrist with the price inscribed in tiny writing off to the side. She’d snorted loudly, flipping the page with a huff. Who on earth would pay that price for a bracelet? One that could get you a decent car? Yet, you strolled in on Thursday with them adorned on your wrist- again, understated and simple, nonchalant. Like you weren’t carrying some people’s salary on your wrist.

Handbags, earrings, rings, shoes all followed. Every piece more expensive than the next. Joyce had started to wonder if you were embezzling from the bank, stealing out of the drawers. Until she saw him.

Eddie Munson strolled into the bank, which wasn’t unusual, but this time he wasn’t here for Charles. Oh no, he was here for you.

“Hi, Joyce.” Eddie greeted with a smile. He was always so polite, it made her stomach twist knowing that behind that alluring smile was a dangerous man. “How’re you today?”

“I can’t complain.” Joyce smiled back politely. “How are you?”

“Good.” Eddie said cooly, his eyes flicked behind her, lighting up. “Better now. I got a hot date for lunch.”

Joyce blushed at the information. “Oh? Who-“

She saw you giggle, purse- a new designer bag fresh off the runway- slung over your shoulder. You wrapped your arms around Eddie in greeting, squealing when he pressed kisses into your cheek. The way his dimples deepened, creasing deep into his cheeks, eyes lighting up when he saw you; it felt very sweet. Joyce almost forgot who he was for a moment. More importantly what he was capable of.

"I'll be back in an hour, Joyce. I put the sign up." You beamed at her, your happiness nearly infectious when you smiled over at her. Joyce hesitated for a moment, watching Eddie sweetly place his hand on your waist.

"Have a good lunch!" You called over your shoulder, pressed into Eddie's side, pushing the glass door open for you to step through.

Eddie turned, lifting a hand in a wave towards Joyce, a kind gesture that shocked her. She could barely raise her own hand back, watching them scamper out the door- two young kids in love. She remembered being like that before, the insatiable feeling to be with each other at all times. The whirlwind of love and adoration that followed, sweeping you up on a cloud of ecstasy, fogging your judgement.

Joyce could barely touch her sandwich, staring at the plastic bag in front of her. She ignored the other chatter around her, coworkers busily clambering about their days and droning subjects she couldn't bring herself to engage with.

She knew you had no way of knowing, you couldn't have. You weren't from Hawkins, you were Nancy's college roommate, brought here because of a job- this job. She wondered if you had told Nancy about Eddie. She had half a mind to ring Jonathan and ask, insist he tell his fiancé what her friend is up to; who her friend is hanging around.

Everyone knew the Munson's. Eddie's father, Wayne, Eddie, his mother. The distaste, snarl that usually followed with the name was all Eddie grew up with. His hoodlum of a father, who was a delinquent around Hawkins, got his mother killed. Wayne who was forced to take the boy in, and the boy. The boy they outcasted all his life, mocked and ridiculed, now, held all the cards. He had the power now. When people said "Munson" now, they didn't snarl or scoff. No, it followed with wide eyes, in a low tone, turning to make sure no one was listening. That was whenever anyone dared to say anything about Eddie at all, most content on pretending they were unaware of the dangers that happened in Hawkins.

Eddie was always a good kid, and even now, he took care of his city. He had established terror in the hearts of all his citizens, enough to keep them quiet and docile, let him keep doing what he needed to do; but he was always the first one to help when they were in trouble. No one came for his city, for his home, for his things.

Joyce knew Eddie was responsible for the boy's home being rebuilt. He'd had a 'meeting' with Charles and a few other big names around town after a few kids at the children's home had become sick from the lack of heating that winter. The children's home had requested renovations, but the city pushed it back- until it became a top priority practically overnight. Joyce knew it was more than a coincidence that it happened to become priority after Eddie's meeting.

Still, she worried that you didn't know the danger. Joyce was a wreck all day, contemplating if she should say something to you. She knew it was a risk, that if you reported back to Eddie it could lead to a world of hurt for her... for her family.

Joyce watched you all day. When you'd returned from your lunch with Eddie, he'd walked you back to your desk, all dimpled grins and tossing you a wink that left you flushing before he left. He promised to pick you up later, walking away with a small wave. "Have a good day, ladies." He'd purred lowly.

Hours later, Joyce still hadn't worked up the courage to talk to you. She'd tried, she had, but every time she'd call your name, you giving her a wide eyed, sweet look, her words caught in her throat. Choking and constricting around the request, before she'd just shake it off, laughing and blaming the weather for her scattered thoughts.

Joyce's eyes flickered from the clock on the wall, back towards you. You'd begun packing up, neatly filing papers away, and smoothing your agenda for the next day out. She bit her lip, rolling it in contemplation, pencil bouncing on her desk.

Five o'clock- closing time. You were already standing, peering out the window to see Eddie's Bugatti below. Joyce followed your gaze, shoving her own things in her purse.

"Wait!" Joyce called, much more urgent than she meant it to be. She called your name just as frantic, stopping you in the doorway.

"Um, could I talk to you for a second?" Joyce stammered, hands trembling when she shoved her things into her bag.

Your brows furrowed gently. "Yeah, of course. Are you alright?" You asked, tilting your head to the side. "Did I miss something in the paper work? I thought I stamped all the envelopes, but if I missed one I'll-"

"No, sweetie, it's not that." Joyce gave you a small smile, but her heart hammered so fiercely in her chest she could hear it in her ears.

Joyce pushed the door open, gently leading you outside. She caught the eyes of her coworkers, wide eyes and heads shaking in warning. They knew. Everyone knew. But what they didn't know was why Joyce would approach you with the subject. Put herself at that own kind of risk.

Joyce felt her stomach squeeze, turning to meet your confused gaze. "Joyce, is everything alright? Is it about the wedding? I told you Nancy can be a little stubborn about details, but if you're worried about something, I'll talk to her."

Joyce shook her head, eyes trailing behind you. The large ferns outside blocked her view, but she could still see him. Black button down, rolled sleeves, leaned up against the car finishing his cigarette.

"Sweetie, I-I..." Joyce let out a straggled breath. "What are you doing?" She asked lowly, eyes meeting yours cautiously.

Your brows furrowed. "What?" You asked. "Joyce, are you feeling ok? Do I need to call Jonathan or Will-"

"No," Joyce sighed heavily, placing her hands on your shoulders. It felt so maternal, shocking you a little. "What are you doing with Eddie?" She asked finally.

There was a silence between you, filling the space in a buzzing, defining tone. You blinked at her carefully. "Eddie?" You asked.

Joyce nodded fiercely. "Eddie... Sweetie, I know you're not from here, but-but Eddie... Eddie is not- he's-" She stuttered, shaking her head at herself, frustrated at her fumbling words. "There's things in Hawkins that are dangerous, ok? We all know it, but we don't know it, understand?"

Your face fell slightly, lips pursing slightly. You looked over your shoulder towards Eddie through the glass doors. Joyce's breath hitched. "And-And Eddie he's into those things." She said slowly, eyes watching you carefully. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

You gave her a soft smile, hands arching up to lay over hers, squeezing them gently. "Joyce, I understand." You nodded. "But Eddie is a very sweet guy."

Joyce blinked at you, in disbelief. She said your name in exasperation, but you held your hand up. "Joyce, I appreciate your wanting to worry for me, to look out for me, but," You sighed gently, looking over at Eddie. "I'm a big girl. I've got it handled."

"He could hurt you." Joyce muttered low, fingers squeezing you lightly in panic.

"He won't." You said firmly, head nodding back at her.

"Honey, I don't think you know what you're-"

"I don't think you know." You snapped, a little more defensive than you meant it to. The fear on her face at your tone, flinching back at the words made your heart drop. You sighed heavily, rubbing your temple.

You took a step forward towards her, cautious and holding your hand up in truce. "I know that you know some of Eddie's life, but you don't know Eddie." You gave her a sincere look. "Not like I know Eddie, and I can promise you, if I felt like I was in the slightest bit of danger, I wouldn't be with him. You don't know him like I know him."

Joyce didn't reply, mouth uncomfortably dry, heart beating far too fast in her chest. She felt like her knees might get out.

You gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze, offering her a small smile. "Thanks for looking out for me, Joyce, but I promise I'm ok." You turned, seeing Eddie checking his watch, eyes now watching the two of you inside.

You turned, waving at Joyce over your shoulder, pushing the door open. "Have a good one, Joyce! See you tomorrow!" You called cheerfully.

Joyce watched in slight horror, confused and awed when you wrapped your arms around Eddie's neck, his own gripping your waist, pulling you into a sweet, passionate kiss. He kissed you like he hadn't seen you in years.

He held the door open for you, letting you slide in before jogging around to the other side. He could see Joyce still staring, watching in amazement from behind the glass. His chest tightened, the carnal, protective need washing through his veins.

"What took you so long, baby?" Eddie asked, peeling off from the curb. "What were you talking to Joyce about?"

"The wedding. Nancy will not finalize details on anything, and Joyce is worried sick." You rolled your eyes playfully. "She wants me to talk to Nance, and I told her I'd try, but you know how Nancy can be? She's so stubborn and the more you push her, the more she'll dig her heels in."

Eddie relaxed, eyes flickering over to you gently. "She wasn't bothering you?" He asked carefully.

You furrowed your brows at him. "No." You giggled. "Just wanting me to play miracle worker for the wedding."

"Good." Eddie muttered, reaching his hand over the console to hold yours. "You remember what I said? You let me know if anyone starts bothering you." He brought your hand to his mouth, pillowy soft lips brushing your knuckles. It was so romantic, it had you giggling, positively giddy and drunk in love.

You leaned over, nose nuzzling into his clean shaved cheek, still smelling the nicotine on his lips when you kissed him sweetly. He slowed at the stop light, hands wrapping around your jaw to pull you closer, kissing you properly. When you pulled apart, your eyes were dazzling up at him, taking in his lopsided smile.

You knew there were two sides to Eddie. You knew there was. reason people feared him. You knew Joyce was right to warn you, to look out for you. You would do the same in her shoes. You wouldn't be able to understand either from an outsider's perspective.

They didn't know the Eddie you did. The Eddie that smothered you in so much affection, not just expensive material things, but sweet words that left your skin blushed with praise. He was passionate, about his business, yes, but about you too. An old school, intense type of love that you only saw on the screens. He was gentle with you, showing you a side of himself no one else saw.

You didn't want anyone else to. Selfishly, you liked that it was all yours. For you, and you only. Eddie was yours. Your scary man that everybody else feared, but not you. No for you, he was yours. Sweet and caring and protective; all yours.

You'd let them have their judgments. Their silent fears and worries about your sanity, about your safety. It was better that way, for both of you. You'd let them have their thoughts about Eddie, and you wouldn't try to change them, because that meant potential issues that neither of you wanted.

You'd let them think you were just with him for the lavish gifts. You'd let them think that you were insane. You'd let them think that Eddie was a threat to you. That he would hurt you or you'd get caught in the crossfire like his mother. You knew they couldn't help it, it was so easy to judge you and him silently, removed as far away from the relationship as they could. Yet the still casted their judgements in hushed tones and fleeting looks, too scared to speak on them, but too indulgent not to at least determine the outcome of your relationship. Mourn a fate that hadn't even happened. Predict a repeat of history without the facts.

"History repeating itself," They'd mutter to their friends in the quiet of their own privacy, head down but eyes cutting when the two of you would pass.

It was so easy to assume that, to brush it off that you'd both suffer the fate of his parents before him. Easy to judge when no one knew the facts or the truth. Opinions are easy to make with one sided, skewed facts. They were too scared to really try and know, to even try and see. But you supposed that was ok. They didn't need to know anyways.

Besides, none of them knew Eddie. Just like none of them knew you. Not the way you knew each other.

[reveluving]

I have another ideaaaa 👀 I imagine Santi and Benny being very flamboyant when it comes to showing their admiration for someone. Imagine Rick bringing lunch to reader’s unexpectedly just to see Santi bringing her flowers and Benny giving her the heart eyes. My poor flag baby might have a stroke just from the scene in front of hiiimmm!!

a/n: Aria, baby. it’s been a long ass time ✋🏼😔 BUT THE FIXATION IS BACK (kinda. largely because I’ve been reading fics after fics of Oscar & Pedro chars. RAAAAAH). so we’re here baby, after 1 ½? 2 years later???? ENJOY

warnings: humour & fluff; poor Rick just wants to love you in peace.

j.k. m.list (series under 'rick flag vs the triple frontier boys'), or check out my full m.list!

Oh, you know Rick’s eyes are TWITCHING. The paper bag in his hand, packed with lunch from your favourite stop, crumpling in his grasp, almost tearing at the top. Not the food though, he’s not trying to ruin his wife’s favourite. 

But he’s chill. Absolutely chill. He swears. 

Benny and Santi just had to stop by the same time he came home from work, both leaning against the white porch railing while you sat prettily on the bench. 

Benny was expressive in whatever he was talking about, likely his last boxing match from the way he was holding the air in a headlock before the three of you shared a laugh. As much of a troublemaker they were, they were your friends, after all. He’d chase them off his property or warn them with a glare any day if it meant cutting off any form of ‘allegiances’ with that horrible past, both yours and his.

Just when you were about to reply to God knows what they asked, you noticed Rick lingering by the mailbox. Your eyes lit up, and it didn’t take the duo any other hints to know that he was home.

“Rick!” You enthusiastically waved at your husband, beckoning him to sit on the bench next to you. Rick couldn’t help but smile back at you, walking over and ignoring the two until he reached the top step of the stairs.

“Boys.” He greeted them, going over to shake Santiago’s hand before Benny’s, flexing his hands as they shook to see if the other would break. None did, as usual, pulling away and somewhat putting the tension on hold in favour of you. Rick took a seat next to you, passing you the bag of food and a soft ‘there y’go, baby’ (but not really, he made sure the two would hear it). 

It took a few seconds, making sure he greeted you with a kiss before stretching his arm to lay on the backrest behind you.

“So, what’s the occasion?”

“The boys just came over to say hi. Gave me these flowers from the flower shop nearby,” You raised the calla lilies that were resting on your lap. Now, Rick was no flower specialist, but he has been to the shop countless times to buy you your own fix. 

And if he remembered correctly, they generally represented beauty.

Well played.

“And Santi was just telling me about this new Cuban restaurant just outside the neighbourhood.” You continued, turning to Santiago with an encouraging smile so he could tell Rick about it.

“Cuban restaurant, huh?” 

Santiago curtly nodded to his curiosity. 

“The best. Might even be your new favourite once you both try it.” He explained, only to glance at the paper bag Rick was holding—a look that was almost… Judgemental? Critical? All of the above? All Rick knew that the man before him was silently scoffing at his choice. 

And, well, Santi wouldn’t exactly deny that claim, either. 

Rick didn’t hide the scoff, only to pair it with a faux smile so you could take it as nothing more than a harmless banter, “Gotta be real good then. ‘Cause this here,” He cocked his head in the paper bag’s direction, “Is my wife’s favourite place. Our favourite place.”

Rick not only had to watch out for the bold claim Santi was making, but he also had to bear in mind the sight of Benny openly looking at you like a lovestruck puppy. The promising boxer didn’t even care about the passive-aggressive argument going on around him. He was just appreciating the beaut in front of him.

(Man’s just doesn’t give a shit atm).

“Hey, I’m not here to burst your bubble,” Santi huffed in amusement, raising his hands in a defensive way, “But I’m not trying to give the pretty girl any mediocre recommendations either. C’mon Flag, you, of all people, should know that we want the best for her.”

“Aw, Santi, you’re too kind.” You were touched and it showed, and Rick couldn’t argue with the statement. Without a doubt, he wants what was best for you, be it food, comfortable clothes, gourmet treats for the fucking neighbourhood cat you adore—anything. 

In the midst of their silent argument, you reached for Rick’s hand, holding his larger ones in between yours, “I’m sure Rick and I will enjoy it,” He mirrored the warm smile as you stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, only to break when you addressed the two, “And if it’s as good as you said it is, we might as well have a get together.”

Oh. 

You were growing concerned of the two’s silence, eyes darting back and forth and almost—almost asking what was wrong until Benny, as if snapped out of his trance, finally, spoke up. 

“Absolutely.” Benny raised his hand in a manner that a believer would in church. 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

» gorgeous rose divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics ♡

[redskull199987]

Of Thoughts and Actions

Jaskier x fem!reader  word count:0.9k Warnings:spoilers for season 3, apart from that just fluff Summary: You didn't see your friend Jaskier for a long time, since he split up from your group after the events at Kaer Morhen. So, when Geralt suggested that you ask the bard for help, you were more than happy to see your singing friend again… Masterlist

You watched the scene in front of you unfold with a smile on your face. Jaskier´s sweet voice was slowly lulling Ciri to sleep, after you had spent the evening playing cards against each other. Jaskier, of course, had lost all of his money to the young girl. Finally seeing her smiling again, having fun again, after all she's been through lately, made you feel like it was still worth fighting for. For Ciri, and her future. “What are you thinking about?”

Your head shot up, as Jaskier suddenly stood in front of you, his slender frame towering above you. “Just thinking about our journey so far”, You mumbled, as you slowly stood up, starting to gather the plates at cups from the small table you had been playing cards at, until a few minutes ago. “Anything in particular?”, Jaskier smiled, as he helped you clean up, picking up a plate. “Oh, maybe the one time, Geralt and I saved your ass?”, you chuckled, playfully hitting his arm. Jaskier mockingly opened his mouth, acting like he was utterly shocked by your words.

“Fine then”, he mumbled, stepping closer to me,”Remember when I taught you how to dance, that one particular evening where you had too much ale?”

You felt your cheeks redden, as you remembered how much of a fool you had made yourself. even Geralt had laughed at your sloppy dance moves, and Geralt never laughed, ever.

Jaskier had seemed to notice your discomfort and slowly stepped closer. He looked down at you for a second, before carefully grabbing your hands. “You know, I always thought you were the most beautiful Dancer, I had ever seen in my life.”, he smiled, causing you to blush even more. Since when were you so easily flushed? You were a great fighter, that had been through many battles along with your companions. But  now you were a blushing mess in front of the smiling bard. When you didn't say anything in return, Jaskier just continued to recount the story:”Not because you were the best at dancing or the most experienced, but because you enjoyed yourself. You were having fun to no end, just being yourself. That's what I´ve always loved about you, Y/N.” You were speechless at this point. You always knew that what you felt for Jaskier was different than what you felt for Yennefer or Geralt. It was more than friendship. But you never believed that he was feeling the same way, in fact you still didn't believe it. 

Against all your better judgement, you slowly pulled your hands away from Jaskier and excused yourself, saying that you needed some fresh air. And within seconds, you had left the small hut, stepping out into the night. 

Taking in a deep breath, you looked up admiring the stars that glistened in the sky. Upon seeing your breath come out in small huffs, you realised how cold it was. You slowly started walking around a bit to conjure some warmth, but it had no effort. After two laps around the hutt, you were still shivering. You debated going back inside for a second, but you didn't quite know if you were ready to talk to Jaskier again. 

The decision was made for you, as you felt how Jaskier´s coat was being wrapped around you. The purple material easily engulfed your form, preventing you from shivering. You turned your head to see said bard standing behind you, one of his hands was resting on the small of your back, as he wrapped the coat further around your form. “Thank you.”, you mumbled, looking back down. “You seemed cold”, he smiled, now stepping in front of you. His hands came up to adjust the collar around you. You felt his touch linger, as his bright eyes shifted towards your face. “Y/N”, he suddenly said. His hand rose to gently caress your cheek. Slowly leaning into his touch, you listened to his shallow breathing to calm yourself down.

“Jaskier.”, you finally said, looking up at him. He only sighed, seemingly not really knowing what to say:”I-I havent been honest with you,Y/N” “About what?”, you uttered quietly. He didn't say anything for a second, just staring at you as if you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

“I really want to kiss you.”, he suddenly blurted out. You only smiled at him:”then do it.”

It only took Jaskier mere seconds to press his lips to yours. You felt his hands pulling you closer by the waist, as he deepened the kiss, his lips softly working against yours. Only as you parted, you actually realised what had just happened. Yours eyes widened, as you looked at his dreamy face. “I've wanted to do that for ages”, he admitted. A smile crossed your lips at his words:”I´m glad that you finally did.” “Oh I could kiss you again a thousand times, my love”, he chuckled, slightly squeezing your waist. “I wouldn't have a problem with that”, you whispered, before connecting your lips with his once more. Bonus: Ciri´s eyes slowly fluttered open, as the soft sunlight hit her face. Upon sitting up in her bed, she started to look around the room in search for her two friends. She expected them to be in their separate beds, still sleeping but Ciri couldn't help but to smile at what she saw in front of her. Right there, just a few metres away from her, you and Jaskier were huddled up together in the tiny bed. She could barely see your smaller form, as Jaskier was laying on top of you, his head resting on your chest. “I knew it”, she mumbled to herself, before slowly getting up to get ready for the day.

[heartfullofleeches]

I'm so sorry but the way you write Daina reminds me so much of Enid Sinclair from that one Wednesday show on Netflix so I BEG you to write a little thing about Daina being here girlboss self with a goth(and maybe a little bit psycho) reader pls (God I love Daina so much she is just 💕💕)

"So... you're really serious about going out with Y/n?"

"Course I am! They're amazing. Why do you ask?"

"Well-"

Daina and you were like mixing oil with water laced with copious amounts of glitter. An outgoing woman with a bubbly outlook on life, and a person who looked like they hadn't smiled since the day they were born. A surprise for no one who knew her hinted tastes, Daina had been crushing you since high school. She still laughs to this day remembering the time you put a cow's eye from a dissection project in the teacher's coffee mug. Shame it was empty. - and what happened to the teacher after you got detention, but the past is in the past.

When you said yes to her date, Daina was over the moon with joy. Sure, your answer was little more than a shrug, but it wasn't a no. Despite you dating in her mind since the day she met you, your offical record was about three weeks. The best almost month of her entire life. Her friend group has voiced their concerns, but if anyone was scarier than you - it was her.

"It's probably nothing." Her friend finishes.

"Baby!"

Daina's exclamation pierces the ears of those around her as she jumps up from her seat; spotting you from a mile away. She waves her arms in the air, beckoning you over despite your current path leading nowhere but her table. A purple lunch bag hangs on your shoulder; a gift from your admirer on your third day anniversary. She thought you would love it with the little raven on the front; plucking an eye from a thoroughly rotted corpse.

"Hello, Grace."

Daina squeals in excitement at the use of her second name, nearly melting at the way it roles off your tongue. To the others at the table - it sends chills. You sit down next to her, setting the bag on the table. There's a soft thuck! from the small shovel you left inside it, and the kitchen knife Daina "forgot" while making your lunch. She kisses your cheek to which you barely respond, countering with a question.

"Are we stilll going to the graveyard this evening?"

Daina gasps. "I completely forgot about that! I'm so sorry, sweetie. Of course we can. You'll all come, right?"

She flashes a smile at her friends. They look between the two of you. You stare with those blank eyes, a stark contrast to Daina's filled with wonder and query. If they left you alone with her, there was no telling what you'd do. Against the judgement of the voice at the back of their minds, her friends respond with a similar answer.

"Sure."

"I have nothing else to do, so I'll stop by."

"Sounds fun..."

"Of course."

"You're all too kind." Daina sweetly chimes, gripping your hand beneath the table. She brushes a finger over your knuckles as you squeeze her hand; gushing over the smile comes to your face. Butterflies fill her chest. You've spoke of this moment for days, and now it was finally here. Tonight would surely be the date to top all others.

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

Xavier in your rewrite he’s a shadow knight does he have a high rank or is he just a personal prisoner of angsty shadow boy ? How badly was Xavier tortured compared to the other SK ? For long was Xavier tortured because in the overworks it was 900 but nether I think for a day equals 2 weeks in the nether ? Does Xavier still resist the king or even remember Irene ? One more thing does Shad keep any other one of Irene’s family or friends imprisoned, I vaguely remember Levin was hunted for being in Irene’s bloodline ?

This storyline has changed over and over again in my mind lmao, so it’ll probably change again, as is the way with the storyline so make myself, but I’ll share what my current ideas/plans are for it :)

Tw for torture, cause… Y’know… SK things, also emetophobia warning

Xavier is a personal prisoner for Judgement. He’s kept in a chamber in the fortress which seems built specifically to imprison him, but obviously wasn’t, because nothing in the fortress was built. The Knights actually allowed in are few and far between, with Judge overseeing it, and there is very little they’re allowed to do in there.

Xavier’s imprisonment was personal, and so is him still being alive. Judge could’ve killed him and taken his power, but that wouldn’t be as satisfying. So he was tortured bad. Most are tortured by other knights, but Xav is a personal project, and as much as he can’t do much physically, Judge makes it as painful as he can. Sometimes he gets knights in to help inflict some real, physical damage, but it’s mostly just him and his imagination left to deal with him. So it’s… rough.

Xav has been tortured on and off since his capture. It was a lot more frequent at the beginning, when Judge was still incredibly spiteful, and slowly dwindled over time to become rather irregular. It begins to become more common once Av shows up (which is a whole thing idk how to explain that without spoiling some stuff) and also during any phases that Xav has of consciousness. So… over word time is ~1000 years, and Abyss time it would’ve been on and off for what felt like ~14,000.

As mentioned, Xav has brief moments of consciousness. Most of the time he’s a mindless minion for Judge, but sometimes he awakes from all of that and it’s… awful for him. Like he remembers everything that’s happened to him and everything he’s been made to do and you can usually tell when he’s conscious again because he’ll begin vomiting due to like… the emotional distress and the disgust and stuff. It’s only whenever he’s conscious that he really acknowledges anything like Irene or anything, and he did used to try and resist, but after a while of resisting and then getting tortured a few times, he kind of would rather submit than go through that again.

Irene didn’t really have any family or friends left by the time Judge was imprisoned, so Xavier was the first and only person he grabbed. That said, he probably would’ve killed Xavier a long time ago if Xavier didn’t give him further motivation to hate him.

The hunt for descendants of Irene happened for two reasons, and surprisingly, spite wasn’t one of them. the first is the dismantling of the lord system, lords who claimed descent to Irene often had very loyal followers, so it would be harder to rally people against their lords if they thought of their lords as descent from their god. And the second one is power, he gets power from sacrifices so hunting down sacrifices from powerful bloodlines provides him more power. He knows Irene doesn’t care enough about her own family for killing them out of spite to do anything.

Also, personally, I think 14k years of torture isn’t enough for Xavier, because when I say most of the Divine were not good people, I mean it. (I’m actually giving each of them a ‘deadly sin’ for the fun of it :) )

[claymorexpunisher]

She Might Be Your Girl, But She's Calling Me Daddy (18+ Fic) (Ch 1/3)

Harper appears in one of my other fics, Liberacion, but I'm excited to write more for her. The possibilities are endless! Hope you all love her stupid ass. 💙

DISCLAIMER: This is NSFW. If that's not your thing, keep scrolling. I try to tag my work appropriately, so if you choose to click on my work regardless, use your own discretion. Thank you for the love always and enjoy!✨

Pairing(s): Rhea Ripley/OFC

Summary: Harper and Rhea have gotten themselves into a messy arrangement that threatens to tear them apart... Will either of them get their shit together?? CERTAINLY NOT IN THIS CHAPTER, PENDEJOS BAHAHAHA!

Tags: 18+, maaaybe some Daddy kink cuz like... have yall seen Rhea?? I haven't decided yet, though... consensual sex, friends with benefits, friends with benefits to lovers, angst. Looots of angst. And stupidity between two adults who are too chickenshit to just talk things through. You've been warned...

Word Count: 934

I should’ve known this would happen.

I should’ve known that I eventually would start questioning my feelings for Rhea.

What started off as something completely casual and no strings attached, now feels like its quickly turned into something far more intense than I was expecting and I hated to admit it.

I told myself that things wouldn’t get weird.

Even when Baron, who despite our age difference, was one of my biggest confidantes aside from Rhea herself, made it a point to warn me about how messy things could get if she and I weren’t careful.

“I think you need to use your big girl voice and tell Rhea how you feel. This is getting stupid,” he said.

“Stupid, uh? Oh, you’re soooo wise.” I had replied, chuckling at the deadpan look on his face.

“I’m just sayin’. Stop lying to her and to yourself. Tell her how you feel. If she doesn’t feel the same, so fucking what? You’ll live. You two are far worse off now than before.” Baron replied.

Naturally, I did my best to convince him that he was wrong.

That I didn’t have to say a word to Rhea because no way did I have any kind of feelings for her other than affection and lust at best.

And no way did she have any kinda feelings for me either.

Of course, Corbs bought none of the crock o’ shit I was trying to feed him.

What an absolute clown I was…

Our casual arrangement began shortly after I joined The Judgement Day.

It seemed like a no brainer to us at the time.

We slowly began to get to know each other, inside and out.

And I couldn’t deny that Rhea was insanely hot and she found me just as attractive, we practically shared the same schedule and we agreed that we weren’t looking for anything serious.

So, we thought, ‘’Why look elsewhere?’

We should’ve.

Oratleast I should’ve looked elsewhere.

I should’ve had enough sense to not quite literally fuck around with someone I still have to work with.

Because now things are weird between us and I’m constantly being suffocated by these growing feelings that I’ve tried to stifle every god damned day with zero success.

I found myself overanalyzing every move I made when it came to her.

Missing her whenever she wasn’t around- which doesn’t sound that out of the ordinary seeing as like I said, we are very close.

But this felt different than just missing a close friend.

It was this almost constant burning in my gut and in my chest that would only get stronger with every passing second until I saw her again.

Until we kissed again...I didn’t just think about the amazing sex we had.

I’d remember a conversation we had, or a compliment she had given me days prior that would leave me blushing as hard as it did when she’d said it.

Or I’d walk into a shop at home and find things that I thought she might like, and I’d make a mental note to bring it up to her before catching myself.

It was just a constant stream of ‘RheaRheaRhea’…

Some days I was left counting down the seconds before I got to be near her again.

And just the sound of her voice whenever we’d talk over the phone on our days off was enough to turn me into a fuckin schoolgirl.

That all sounds bad enough.

But I knew I had to end things the second I started wondering if maybe, just maybe Rhea felt just as out of whack as I did.

I’d catch myself wondering if Rhea’s lips had lingered a little longer than usual against mine.

Or if she noticed me holding onto her a little tighter whenever it came time for either of us to do our own thing.

Or if her sudden desire to stay over my place sometimes, along with her obsession with leaving very noticeable lovebites and bruises on my body whenever we’d fool around meant anything.

Wondering if I was imagining the slightly possessive way in which she’d drape her arm around my shoulders whenever we were out in public or if it was all in my head.

Baron thinks we’re in love.

But that can’t be true… can it?

…Nah.

He had no idea what he was talking about.

 …Fuck.

‘Corbs is wrong. This is just lust. We clicked and she just also happens to be a champ in the sheets…but it’ll pass.’

I said to myself.

But every day felt like a constant battle of telling myself I was confusing things.

I kept telling myself that our dynamic morphed into something so much more intimate, so surely wires were bound to be crossed.

Putting all of those things together in my head, I was 10000% sure of my decision to end things.

If Rhea asks me why, I’ll tell her it’s because I met someone, which isn’t untrue.

I did meet someone while on the road.

In my quest to calm the raging flames of these emotions burning deep inside of me, I did what I should’ve done in the first place.

I started looking elsewhere. 

And I met Danny.

He’s a sweet, good-natured small-town boy from Missouri I met about a month ago.

I had started to distance myself from Rhea and the rest of the group right around that time as well.

I haven’t told anyone about Danny, not even Corbs.

Before I felt comfortable bringing Danny around on the road, I wanted to get this Rhea situation handled first…

Next Part

[marvelmaniac715]

I can’t remember if I’ve posted this before or not but this is a winter themed gothic horror story I wrote for a class in December 2022 which I could and should probably improve upon at some point:

At first I wasn’t frightened. Of course, the notion was so absurd that it was easy enough to laugh off as a figment of my addled, sleep-deprived imagination. The construct of a strained psyche, nothing more. The idea that my daughter’s haphazardly built snowman was a living, breathing being was outlandish.

The thought of this concept came about when my five year old daughter Mathilde came running inside to me, insisting that her new friend was moving. Her mother and I indulged this fantasy when it became clear that the child simply wouldn’t see sense, and a small saucer’s worth of table scraps was left outside for ‘Mr Frost’ as he was now known, as Mathilde insisted that he was hungry.

Mathilde was heartbroken when we had to deconstruct the snowman in order to shovel our front path and retrieve my hat and scarf, she wept for hours on end. We couldn’t convince her to move from the window all of that day. At bedtime, we had to pry her away with our full strength in order to shift her.

My wife and I had hoped that she would be in better spirits by the morning, but alas, she was as solemn as the day before. Some friends of hers from school came over asking to play, but she refused. It was unsettling to see such grief from such a young child, who had no concept of death. Both sets of grandparents were still alive, and the family pet was a foul tempered cat named Spice who was still very much in the prime of life.

Two more days passed in a similar fashion, but after three days, my wife and I woke up to Mathilde bouncing up and down excitedly on our bed, imploring us to come outside. We noticed that she was already in her winter coat (half in, to be precise, she always struggled with the sleeves) and her face was flushed rose pink with the cold.

We were so thrilled to see her return to her former self that we immediately agreed to come downstairs to see what miraculous thing has restored her spirit. But when I went to grab my hat and scarf from the hook, they weren’t there. A feeling of deep wrongness took root in the pit of my stomach, and I shared an anxious glance with my wife. Could Mathilde have possibly rebuilt her snowman whilst we slept?

Sure enough, right outside, where he had stood less than a week before, was Mr Frost, glaring cooly from his coal eyes, gleaming in a solitary ray of early morning sunlight. Mathilde was beaming as she went to throw her arms around her cold companion, but her joy was quelled when my wife Gretchen gently admonished her.

“Now Mathilde, what have we told you about your friend here? He prevents us from leaving the house, and your Papa needs his hat and scarf. And it was naughty of you to sneak out at night, anything could have happened to you!”

Slightly downhearted but still glowing with the faintest hint of excitement, Mathilde grinned conspiratorially and whispered.

“But Mama, I was asleep all night, I came downstairs to fetch a glass of water and saw him outside. Don’t you see? He’s come back to me!”

This… this was clearly the fantasy of a foolish child, there was no conceivable way that a snowman (a manmade creation) could build itself overnight. Mathilde must have been trying to lie her way out of punishment, but the lie was so obvious that it was easy to see through it.

We had to deconstruct the snowman again, of course, but this time, Mathilde didn’t cry. Instead, she stood still, smiling eerily as she gazed at the front door, just beyond which lay the remains of her companion. My wife and I were unsettled, and this image stuck with me as I went to bed that night, I couldn’t sleep.

Against my better judgement, I crept downstairs and took my coat from its hook. Trying desperately to make no sound, I painstakingly opened the door, and each second my hand was exposed to the air the wind nipped at my skin. I couldn’t find my gloves. Or my hat. But Mathilde was sound asleep, I’d made sure to lock her door and window. She couldn’t have done this.

The moment I stepped outside, I was met with a bone chilling sight. The wind itself whipped the snow skywards, moulding it into a disturbingly familiar shape. My hat and gloves rose into the air, the gloves settling on two sticks that had jerked upwards like a macabre marionette, and the hat just hovering in empty space. But not for long.

The snow had settled into its final resting place, the shape of a snowman. I suddenly felt the greatest urge to rush up to my daughter’s room and apologise profusely. She was telling the truth all along, and I had dismissed her as a foolish child.

The snowman’s coal mouth grinned at me in satisfaction. The sticks jolted forwards, reaching out towards me. Then the wind blew fiercely, pelting me with angry hail and bullet-like snowflakes. This wind wrapped around the snowman and lifted it (whole) into the air. With one powerful blast, it exploded, showering the ground with snow and coal.

Shaken by what I had seen, I returned to bed, but the cold clung to me like a blanket, or more fittingly, a funeral shroud. I couldn’t shake it, even when I went entirely under my duvet. It was like the snowman was right there behind me, breathing down my neck, smiling and smiling.

It wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop? Everywhere I went, every time I went outside or just sat in my kitchen, it was there. Mathilde was delighted to find her friend waiting outside for her, Gretchen just assumed that I had caved in and decided to let her have her snowman. She didn’t understand. When I tried to explain the horrors I had witnessed, she had merely laughed and told me that I was a wonderful father for indulging my child’s fantasies.

It occurred to me that Mathilde would probably know something about this. Sure enough, when I asked if she knew how he kept coming back, she beamed at me and invited me to sit down next to her. Once I was settled, and Mathilde had been assured that her mother was not around, she whispered in my ear.

“The day I built him, I accidentally spilled some water I had taken from Moon Rock Lake onto the snow he was made from. The second he had a mouth, he whispered to me that we would be best friends forever, and that he would never ever leave me. I’m so glad you’ve seen him come back too, Papa, now I have someone else to play with!”

Moon Rock Lake was said to be cursed by a vengeful witch centuries ago, spurned by a lover who went on to wed another. But that was a simple story that the village elders told to children to stop them from playing in our main water source, or so I was led to believe. There was no other explanation for what I had seen though, so I didn’t know what to think.

That night, I didn’t care if I was heard. I raced downstairs and threw open the front door. I paused to grab a shovel, but forgot my coat in my rush to get outside. Outside, I rushed at the snowman and whacked it repeatedly with my shovel until it was no more. I did what I could to separate the snow into several piles, far apart from each other, and I burned the coal, and the sticks. Regretfully, I had to burn my hat and gloves as well. Now this snow demon would be vanquished.

I slept peacefully that night, but when I awoke, my wife Gretchen was not beside me. The house was deathly silent. I crept downstairs in fright, constantly looking over my shoulder as if I was being followed. Sitting near the front door with a knife in hand was my daughter, Mathilde. She tapped the knife against the door and stared at me unblinkingly. Then she spoke.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Papa. You shouldn’t have done that at all.”

[miracles-and-butterflies]

A prompt on how mirabel was treated differently from her family by both them and the the townsfolk, please? Not trying to villainize them but it's obvious she wasn't always treated with respect.

The majority of the town are just indifferent about her, however, there are a few cases where they just don’t like her. She’s not worth any particular attention because she really isn’t any better than the rest of the them. In comparison to the hardworking efforts of her mother and sisters, she’s just useless. The false Madrigal.

To note this is written from Mirabel’s point of view, she has a lot of self-hatred here and that effects her judgement. Also, there is a second part to this, where the issues are resolved, but it’s not so much about Mirabel, so I’ll save it for another time.

Apologies for this taking so long :)

~~~~~~

The False Madrigal

It was no mystery to which Madrigal was the least appreciated in Encanto. The younger children don’t know who she is; the adults remember the disappointment and depression when Julieta didn’t have a boy, and the disastrous gift ceremony that followed. The family, though they meant well, also couldn't be pardoned for neglecting her on occasion - even if she was so mature and responsible and intelligent.

Mirabel finds the dislike amongst her classmates the worst. They complain at her impressive grades and attendance: “That girl’s mouth must be good to get the scores she gets” and “Of course her attendance is great, it’s not like she’s got anywhere else to be” and “She thinks she’s so much better than us with her fancy clothes and Madrigal blood”. They mostly ignore her. Nobody sits or talks to her. Pupils beg the teachers for different partners.

“They say she’s going to be exiled from Encanto. She’s going to leave Colombia.”

“She’s just some stupid jinx.”

“I hear she’s being sent all the way to some convent in France.”

Words fly up and down the path to school, like butterflies circling flower beds. Dolores has probably heard more than Mirabel ever has and she left school years ago. They go all quiet when Mirabel passes, some giggle or whisper. All day, Mirabel carries herself with a straight back, pays attention and does her work, ignoring any malicious comment that comes her way.

But, she’s very aware of her social status in Encanto.

She’s not lonely, that’s just a rumour. She doesn’t mind the lack of companionship, she’s always preferred the time to herself. But it’s when the line between being alone and nonexistent start blurring that it hurts.

Señor Cortez, an old man, once a painter and still a friend of Abuela’s, has been commissioned to paint a mural of the Madrigals in the town square. A thick curtain covers the wall and everyone wonders what is hiding underneath. He works underneath the thing during the day, so Tía Pepa is tasked to bring down the temperature a little.

The children pass it everyday on her way to school. Camilo, impatient as ever, once snuck a peek - only the triplets had been painted at the time, and Tía Pepa punished him with no football for the rest of the day.

This particular day, the mathematics teacher, Señor Molina takes attendance after lunch. The school doesn’t usually, but some students have been caught not coming back from lunch recently. There hadn’t been any issues, beyond one or two pupils not being present, until he turned red.

“Which one of you have added a fake name to the register?” Señor Molina asked. “Speak up. I will not ask again.”

The class fell into a hushed silence, looking around at each other in genuine confusion.

“Well? Someone must have done it! There is no Mirabel Madrigal.”

Señor Molina has taught them for ten years now. To be fair, he’s never taken attendance until now - music has always been after lunch. But surely, he knows the class’ names? He’s taught all the Madrigal grandkids, he comes by and teaches Dolores every new instrument she can get her hands on, he taught Agustín to play piano when he moved in to town. He’s been to all the gift ceremonies, he played at the couples’ wedding.

The class remain dead silent.

Mirabel swallowed. “I am Mirabel?” The girl questioned, raising a hand from her chair in the back corner.

The man went to yell at her, but didn’t. Just gave a comment he’d speak to her after class.

When they time came, he accused her of lying. She explained in a desperately panicked way that it was no prank and that was genuinely her name. It was an odd thing to argue with a teacher about, especially one that knew her family. She had tried to tell him, but—

“I’m sorry, niña. I had no memory of a Mirabel in the Madrigal family. Your family must be very new to town. When did you arrive?”

She’d been so upset. He’d believed that it as her name, but not that she had any relation to the Madrigals. He’d jokingly played along with her briefly.

“Oh yeah, what’s your gift?”

No answer.

And then, “All the Madrigals have gifts. If you were one of them, you’d have a gift.”

Silence.

“It’s very charming that you think yourself one, they are very welcoming like that, but I’m sure your real family are just as special. You should get back to them. Maybe change your surname to avoid further confusion, sí?”

On Mirabel’s way home, she’s picking at loose threads, hands trembling and eyes misty. She didn’t do anything.

She passes by the mural, the curtain long gone. It must’ve been completed today and everyone has already seen the finished mural. Well, everyone except Camilo, who was at school too, and Isabela, who was doing who knows what, because both of them are admiring the piece when she approaches.

Isabela rolls her eyes, “If you didn’t always have your nose in a book, you wouldn’t be late out of school.”

“You look like you’re about to cry, prima!” Camilo comments. “You can go finish your book or schoolwork or whatever when we get back home.”

Mirabel looks away.

The mural is a beautiful, brightly coloured piece. With birds and flowers and butterflies and— Tío Bruno? He’s barely in the family tree in Casita. He looks scary in this picture. In sheer contrast to the elegance of Abuela; the vibrancy of Tía Pepa; the happiness and care of Mama; Dolores is smiling for once, it’s nice to see her happy; Camilo and Antonio look as charming as always - the latter will be pleased by the amount of animals; Isabela without a single flaw, like usual with her photos; Luisa hardly ever has time to pose like their sister, she’ll love it though; the little houses in the corner are…

“I’m not in it?” She asks.

Camilo raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, you are, four-eyes. You’re right there…” he points beside Luisa. He frowns. Then laughs again. “Cortez left you out? That’s hilarious!”

“Abuela was probably worried you’d ruin it.” Isabela suggests, unhelpfully.

“Maybe it was only for gifted Madrigals.”

“Can’t be,” Isabela corrects. “Antonio is on it.”

“Well, that’s not fair! Antonio will get his in two months.” He retorted. He scratched his head. “Señor Cortez just probably doesn’t know you are. Lots of people in the town don’t. I frequently have to tell the children I babysit that I have three cousins.”

“We speak every morning on the way to school,” Mirabel says.

Camilo shrugs, now bored of the conversation.

He then pounces on Isabela, who is framing the wall with fresh flowers. “There’s a gap between you and Dolores, what do you think that’s about?” He smirks as Isabela glares. “Do you think Mariano will be added in? Do you think he’ll start wearing pink? Will there be enough room for all your babies? Will he be kissing you? What if—” He’s cut off, choking on rose petals.

“If Abuela wishes it, yes.” Isabela answers. “Shouldn't you be babysitting at La Casa Ramos by now?”

“I should, but Señora Ramos and baby Adelita have the same questions as me.”

“Señora Ramos is too tired to remember her name, never mind my relationship. And Adelita is literally three months old.”

“And she’s very curious for her age. Honestly, Isabela, how are you gonna raise Mariano’s kids if you don’t know anything about them?”

“I know stuff about kids!”

“Okay, go on then!”

“I know they can be annoying with nonstop questions!”

“Sorry, that doesn’t make sense!”

“You don’t make sense!”

“Your face doesn’t make sense!”

Mirabel pressed her palm against the wall, trying to ground herself.

She was invisible. She was a freak with no name or purpose or family. With no history and no future.

“Sis?”

Mirabel jumped.

“Stop staring creepily at the mural,” Isabela says. “Abuela’s going to be mad at you for being late.” She almost smiles at the thought. “Or maybe she won’t remember you and you’ll be let off.”

The teenager sighed, following Isabela away.

She can’t decide which would be better, honestly. To be known or to be loved?

At dinner, Abuela taps her spoon against her glass, catching the family’s attention. Mirabel can barely see her, Luisa’s large frame blocking her view.

“Before we start, I have an announcement,” Abuela says, smiling. Proper smiling. The same smile she only gives Isabela. “As you all know, our dear friend, Señor Cortez finished his exceptional mural of us in town. To thank him, I have invited him and his wife for dinner tomorrow. I except all of you to make him feel welcomed. He has also asked if he may paint portraits of each of the children over the next week, to go alongside the others. I want each of you looking your best.”

Mirabel wonders if the offer extends to her.

She spent the entire meal pushing food around on her plate to distract from how little she was eating, but nobody noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care.

“Did you see the moral?” Antonio whispers, with his mouth full at her side.

“Mural,” she corrects, quietly. Nobody hears.

“Did you see it? The moral? Mama says I looked very grown up. I think I look like Papa. I think Tío Bruno looked silly. And Camilo, he is silly.” He stops. “What do you think, Dolores?”

Mirabel trembles. Why is it getting so blurry? She’s wearing her glasses. Tears. She’s crying. Why is it so hard to breathe?

“Can you believe I was only holding one dumbbell?” Luisa asked, to no one in particular. “I get a church would’ve been too big. Not even a donkey? Or two dumbbells? That one was so small. I’m stronger than that.”

“Yeah, and your father should’ve been painted with bee stings.” Pepa added, smirking.

Agustín gasped, dramatically. “I have never been so insulted! You should’ve been painted with lightning.”

“Only if you had a broken arm.”

“Only if you had a hurricane.”

“Only if you had—”

“Stop arguing, you’re worse than the children,” Julieta interrupted. “Agustín, you aren’t even in it. Félix, help me. I thought the mural was very accurate.”

Félix nodded. “Pepi, the mural is to show the best of us, no? We never would have seen Lolita smile if it had been done the way each of us wanted.”

“He should’ve not painted me at all,” Dolores grumbled.

“I think it would be funnier if I was painted as someone else.” Camilo said, shifting into Señora Pezmuerto. “It would really confuse people.”

“Thank you, Isabela. The flowers were an excellent touch.” Abuela complimented, kissing the young woman’s cheek.

She beamed. “I know they were Abuelo’s favourite.”

Mirabel rested her elbows on the table, her head hanging between hunched shoulders. She tried to make herself breathe properly, slow and careful intakes of air, but it was futile.

Everything felt so heavy and light all at once, her heart beating a panicky rhythm. Part of her told her to get a grip, she shouldn’t do this here, she’s embarrassing herself in front of the family. The other part told her she didn’t exist and so nobody would notice. That just made her cry more.

She was suppose to be Mirabel Madrigal!

That’s who she has been since birth, for better or worse.

She had to be Mirabel Madrigal!

Who else could she be?

She is Mirabel Madrigal!

Is or was?

[sequinsmile-x]

Brush Strokes

She’d always found funerals strange, how they catered so much more to the living than they did the dead. Her mother hated them too, often saying no one ever said what they actually thought at them, the truth shrouded in pointed comments and false niceties. It was ironic, Emily thought, given that was how Elizabeth had lived most of her life. 

-x-

Hi friends!

My insomnia is back in full swing, and we all know what that means - I write very sad things in the small hours of the morning and inflict them on all of you.

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Dementia, loss of a parent

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

“The food here is terrible.” 

Emily smiles and a wry chuckle escapes her. She looks at her husband next to her for a second before she looks back at Elizabeth. 

“It is a hospital,” she says, “It’s not exactly going to be Michelin star quality.”

Elizabeth scoffs, rearranging the sheet of her hospital bed over her lap, eyeing it like she was in a five-star hotel. 

“It’s the best hospital in DC, the President would come here if needed,” Elizabeth replies, raising her eyebrow, “You’d think there would be standards to maintain.” 

Emily feels Aaron place his hand on her knee, gently squeezing the joint through her pants before she places her hand over his, linking their fingers together. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll make your feelings known.”

Elizabeth hums, a disapproving noise Emily was achingly familiar with, something she’d almost found herself missing in recent months. It makes her chest tight, a flash of what used to be filling the room. 

“You remind me of my daughter Emily,” Elizabeth says, a smile that could be described as fond spreading over her face. Emily feels Aaron squeeze her hand tightly, his thumb rubbing over her pulse point, and she thinks it’s probably the only thing that keeps her grounded, “She’s a better mother than I ever was,” Elizabeth meets Emily’s eyes, and she finds herself missing the judgement she’d seen there for as long as she could remember, sure it was better than simply not being recognised, “Do you have children?” 

It was slow at first. Small signs Emily could now see they had missed, hindsight both a blessing and a curse after Elizabeth’s diagnosis. It was the opposite of how Emily’s father had died when she was in college, a heart attack taking him in the middle of Thanksgiving break. This was slow and gradual as her mother disappeared in front of her. After it became clear that Elizabeth could no longer live alone, and that living with them wasn’t something that would be right for any of them, she moved into a nursing home. She’d signed everything over to Emily, including power of attorney, and declined sharply, as if on some level she’d been waiting for it all to happen. 

The nursing home had moved her to the hospital after an issue with her heart. Emily was off work, spending half of her time at the hospital and the other half at home with Jack and Hazel, desperately searching for some normality as they waited for the inevitable end. 

Despite how long it had been, how she was now used to seeing her mother like this, it still hurt. It still stung that she didn’t recognise her, that she didn’t remember the kids - the grandchildren she adored. 

“Two,” Aaron answers for her, and Emily isn’t sure she’s ever loved him more, “Jack, he’s 12, and Hazel, she’s 4.”

Emily looks around the room, all of the drawings Hazel had done for her grandmother adorning the walls. Splashes of colour and scribbles that were supposedly pictures of them brightening up an otherwise dreary room. She wonders if her mother ever thinks about where they are from, if she wonders what child drew them for her, or if she was simply too far gone to think that way. 

She knew there were framed drawings from Hazel, and from Jack from when he was younger, in Elizabeth’s home office. Brightly coloured and crudely drawn and mixed in among photos. Cartoon drawings and paintings of their home right next to a photo of Aaron and Emily from their wedding. It was physical proof of how much Elizabeth had changed since becoming a grandmother, or maybe how she’d always been capable of such care and had simply chosen not to portray it when Emily was young herself. She had no memories of anything she ever made for her parents being out on display. No paintings hung up on the fridge. No poorly made mugs leaking coffee out onto a desk simply to see a wide smile on her face. 

She loved that her children would remember Elizabeth as a loving grandmother, as someone who listened to their endless stories, someone who shipped them gifts from anywhere in the world after an offhand comment about something they liked. In her worst moments it made her jealous, made her wish her version of her mother was the same as theirs and she hated herself for it. 

“I bet they are beautiful,” Elizabeth replies, smiling at them and Emily swallows thickly before she nods.

“Yeah, they are.” 

___

Aaron had never been more frustrated at the DC traffic. His nerves fraying even further as the minutes ticked by, highly aware of the fact his wife was alone at the hospital sitting at her mother’s bedside. When he arrives he barely puts the car into park before he is out of it, just about remembering to lock it as he walks away. 

The walk to Elizabeth’s room was familiar now. Hallways they’d walked almost every day for weeks that he was sure he could navigate with his eyes closed. Aaron sighs sadly as he turns the corner, finding his wife sitting out in the hallway, her elbows on her knees as she leans forward. 

“Em?” 

She looks up at him, her lips set in a grim line, her eyes shining with tears he knows she won’t let herself shed. 

“It happened about 10 minutes ago,” she says, looking back at the floor. He walks over to join her, sitting in the seat next to her, “It was a stroke. And she’d signed that DNR so…” she clears her throat, shaking her head at herself, “I held her hand. Not that she knew who I was anyway.” 

“She would have known she wasn’t alone, sweetheart,” he says, placing his hand on her back. He’s grateful when she sits up straighter and leans into his side, her head resting against his shoulder, “She would have known she was loved.” 

Emily nods, a sound neither of them can place escaping her, “Yeah, I guess she would have.” 

Aaron kisses the top of her head and holds her closer, the arm of the chair digging into his side in a way he doesn’t care to stop.

“I’m sorry I didn’t make it in time,” he whispers against her hair, and she shakes her head, pulling back to look at him as she smiles sadly. 

“It’s ok, I know you would have been here if you could,” her smile twitches slightly, and she shrugs her shoulders, “Besides, we spend most of our lives just the two of us, I guess it’s fitting it’s how it ended too.” 

Aaron doesn’t know what to say to that, how to respond, so he simply kisses her forehead, “Want to go home?” 

“Can we just sit here for a little while?” She asks, swallowing thickly, her chest full of grief she doesn’t know how to process even though she’d known it was coming, “As soon as we leave here there will be so much to do and I…can we just stay?” 

He nods and tucks her back into his side, rubbing his hand up and down her arm, “We can stay as long as you need to, sweetheart.” ___

As soon as she’s in the house, and Jessica has left, Jack hugs her. His arms tight around her middle and his face against her chest. She hugs him just as fiercely, rubbing circles on his back before he pulls away so they are looking at each other, almost face to face after his last growth spurt. He has a sad look in his eyes that she had seen countless times. 

It felt strange to think this was something Emily shared with her son now - the loss of a mother, despite how different the circumstances were. Emily had decades with Elizabeth, albeit most of them tumultuous. Jack had Haley taken from him when he was young. His memories of her were few and far between. Most of the images he had of her had been painted by Aaron and Jessica. Stories that they told him again and again until it seemed as if he remembered them himself, pairing the descriptions of his mother with the hazy memory of how it felt to be loved by her.

“Mommy?” 

She looks past Jack and looks at Hazel, the little girl’s wide dark eyes shining, “Hi sweetheart.” 

She walks over and leans down so she can pull Hazel into her arms, the weight of her daughter against her comforting as she holds her.

“Aunt Jessie said Grandma died,” she says quietly, and Emily holds her tighter before she walks over to the couch, sitting down and keeping Hazel in her embrace, “Is that why everyone is sad?” 

Aaron sits down next to her, Hazel sandwiched between them, “Yes, sweetheart, and it’s ok to be sad.” 

Emily flicks her eyes to her husband, knowing his comment wasn’t just aimed at their daughter, before returning her attention to Hazel. Jack joins them, sitting on Emily’s other side, resting his head against her shoulder as she wraps her arm around him. 

“Do you understand, sweet girl?” Emily asks, running her hand through her daughter’s hair, tucking a wild curl behind the little girl's ear. 

“Grandma has gone to be with Jack’s other mom?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing as she tries to process what she’s been told, what they’ve been preparing her for weeks, “And that means she can’t come back.” 

“That’s right,” Aaron says from her other side, his arm around the two of them, “But it’s important to remember your grandmother loved you very much.”

Hazel nods, her confusion and sadness clearly mixing together as she turns to look back at her mother, “Did she like the picture I drew her?” 

The way her little girl’s voice cracks makes Emily’s heart fracture even further, her daughter’s grief something she could latch on to, something she could try and help her through so she didn’t have to process her own yet, her relationship with her mother far more complicated than Hazel’s. She thinks of the neatly folded-up drawing in her purse, the piece of paper that she never got to hand over as she got to the hospital having arrived in the middle of a medical emergency. She’d never lied to her children, never anything beyond the childhood fantasies of Santa and the tooth fairy, but she sees no benefit in the truth here. A small lie something that can bring her daughter a tiny bit of comfort. 

“Yes, baby,” Emily says, pulling her daughter closer, her eyes meeting her husband’s over the top of her head, “She loved it.” 

___

Emily feels some of the tension in her chest ease as the door to her mother’s home office closes behind her. 

She’d always found funerals strange, how they catered so much more to the living than they did the dead. Her mother hated them too, often saying no one ever said what they actually thought at them, the truth shrouded in pointed comments and false niceties. It was ironic, Emily thought, given that was how Elizabeth had lived most of her life. 

It was only once her dementia was more advanced that Elizabeth started to be more outrightly honest. All of the social trappings she’d been part of her whole life, the very same ones she’d raised Emily in, fell away quickly, leaving her as if they had never been there at all. Emily had sat and listened as her mother talked about her daughter, not realising who she was talking to. She listened as her mother sounded proud, told her about her career and her family, how she’d made something of herself.

She hated that this is what it had taken to hear what she hadn’t realised she’d always needed. That her mother had lost everything that had made her her in order to say all the things Emily had spent a lifetime convincing herself Elizabeth didn’t feel or believe. 

Emily steps further into the office, the noise from the wake dulled by the heavy wooden door. She sighs as she looks around the room, piles of paper on every surface, the usual regimented tidiness her mother had always lived by nowhere to be found. It was almost like it was a physical manifestation of Elizabeth’s decline, everything left out in the open - waiting for Emily to file it away, to put everything back in its place. She reaches for a photo on the desk, pulling it from amongst the paperwork spread around it, and she smiles. It’s a framed photo of Emily in her hospital bed just after she’d had Hazel. Jack was next to her, cuddled up to her side as he held his newborn sister. Initially, Emily hated the photo, seeing only her dirty hair piled up on her head, the bags under her eyes, and the clear exhaustion that was visible even through the camera. Now she loved it. She could only see the happiness, the tender way she held Jack to her with one hand whilst her other was cupping Hazel’s head, providing additional support as the newborn slept in her brother's arms. 

She wondered if this is what Elizabeth had seen all along. If that was why she’d insisted Aaron print a copy after she saw it. If she’d seen the happiness that she knew Emily had been seeking most of her life. 

There’s a knock at the door and then it opens, and Emily turns to see her husband walking into the room to join her, followed by a short burst of noise from the wake before he closes the door behind him. She smiles tightly at him, pressing her lips into a firm line to stop them from shaking. 

“Are the kids ok?” She asks quietly, not looking as she places the frame back on the desk. She curses as she knocks a pile of paperwork onto the floor, files of paper spreading everywhere. “Fuck.” 

Aaron is across the room in a second, kneeling down as she does to help her tidy up what she’d knocked over. 

“They are ok,” he assures her, carefully rearranging some of the files, “Jack is showing Reid a game on his phone, Hazel is asleep in JJ’s lap.” Emily nods in acknowledgement, her eyes fixed on the papers she was gathering, “I’m mostly worried about you.” 

She freezes for a second, her entire body seizing up before she clears her throat and carries on, her fingers shaking as she reaches for a piece of paper in between them. Aaron stops her, his hand meeting hers halfway, linking their fingers together. 

“Aaron-”

“You haven’t given yourself a minute to just…stop since she died.” 

“There isn’t time,” she says, gathering the last of the papers as she stands up, “Look at this place,” she exclaims, placing the files back down, “It’s a mess. And then we’ll have to list this place to sell it, and that’s without thinking about her properties abroad…” 

She drifts off, her eyes fixed on a colourful piece of paper on the desk, previously covered by the files Aaron was still picking up. She picks it up, her eyes narrowing as she looks closer. The picture, clearly drawn by a young child, was a house with three stick figures standing outside, the smallest one in the middle. 

“I don’t remember Hazel drawing that one,” Aaron says, now standing up behind her and looking over her shoulder. 

“Me neither,” she says, frowning as she turns it over. She sucks in a breath and it feels like it catches in her chest, sticking on every rib as she reads the messy words on the back clearly written by a child, the letters mismatched and different sizes.

Emily Prentiss, aged 5. 02/23/1976

The laugh that leaves her borders on hysterical, and she shakes her head, gripping the drawing she’d inexplicably found in amongst her mother’s medical insurance papers and the deeds to the house even tighter. The paper creases ever so slightly as she turns it back over and looks at the drawing she had no memory of doing. 

Her laughter turns into a sob, and it hurts. Her chest heaving with it as her spare hand covers her eyes, the grief she had held back since her mother died finally breaking free. 

Aaron’s arms are around her in an instant, pulling her into his chest. He carefully takes the drawing from her, making sure it doesn’t get damaged, and she settles against him. She places her hands on his back, grabbing fistfuls of his jacket, and her face on his chest. He feels her sobs vibrate through him, and he holds her tighter, fiercely kissing the top of her head as he cups the back of it, holding her as close as he possibly can. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her temple again, “I’ve got you.” 

He holds her as she finally let's go. As she finally feels everything she’d been keeping in for weeks and months. Years if she was honest for herself. Grief for losing her mother twice - once with her diagnosis, and the other when she died. Grief for a relationship that was never what she needed or wanted, for a version of her mother that had existed nowhere but in her imagination. 

“She was my mom, Aaron,” she stutters, her words muffled by his shirt and her emotion.

“I know,” he says soothingly, his fingers buried in her hair, “I know she was,” he encourages her to move back from him just enough so he can look at her. He wipes his thumb under one of her eyes, wiping away a tear and a smudge of mascara, and he doesn’t have to look down to know he’ll have a matching stain on his white shirt, “I’m so sorry, Emily.” 

She nods, her chin trembling as she wipes at her cheeks, “I wish things could have been different,” she says, her voice wavering, “I wish we could have actually talked to each other instead of…being polite like we were for years,” she looks at the drawing Aaron had carefully placed on the desk and she points at it, “I shouldn’t have to find out how much she cared because of a piece of paper she kept for 40 years,” she chokes out a noise somewhere between a sob and a laugh, “I shouldn’t have to find this after she died.” 

“You deserved better,” he assures her, cupping her cheek and pressing a kiss to her forehead, “And you are doing better,” he says, smiling softly at her, “Jack and Hazel never doubt for a moment how much you love them.” 

She presses her forehead against his and stamps his lips with a kiss, “They know you love them too.” 

They lapse into silence for a moment, the only sound the low murmuring from the other side of the door. 

“Want to go back out there?” He asks, and she shakes her head, her forehead knocking against his before she presses her cheek against his chest. 

“Not yet.” 

“Ok, sweetheart,” he says, resting his cheek on top of her head, “Not yet.” He runs his hand up and down her back and looks at the drawing she’d done when she was just a little older than Hazel and it makes him smile. He tries to picture her, tries to think of what she would have been like at the time. If she was as quiet as Hazel could be sometimes, or if she’d always been as outspoken as she was now. “You know what’s crazy?” 

“What?” She asks, letting herself relax in the comfort of his embrace, in the safety he always provided. He removes one arm from around her and picks up the drawing, turning it over to look at the words she’d written on the back all those years ago. 

“Your penmanship hasn’t improved at all in 40 years.” 

She laughs, loud enough that if someone from the wake heard it he’s sure they’d deem it inappropriate, and she pulls away to shake her head at him, a watery smile spreading across her face. 

“How is it you always find a way to criticise my paperwork?” 

He shrugs one of his shoulders, “Maybe one day it will sink in.” 

She shakes her head again and her smile gives way to an adoring look. She leans in and kisses him, the taste of her tears on both of their lips. 

“Thank you,” she says, her chest tight as she’s once again overwhelmed by emotion, “For loving me enough to make me laugh on a day like today.” 

He kisses her once more before pulling her into a hug again, something she gratefully returns. 

“You don’t have to thank me, Em. Loving you is the easiest thing in the world, no matter what day it is.” 

Usually, she’d call him ridiculous. She’d roll her eyes and call him out for being cheesy, but she can’t bring herself to. Instead, she lets herself enjoy it. 

A week later he frames the drawing for her and puts it in their home office along with drawings that Jack and Hazel had done for them. 

When she looks at it, she thinks of her mother, and she smiles. 

-x-

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[starlingsrps]

elliot holland, twenty six, fighter pilot // verse: at the end of the world

elliot was born with flying in his bones, even if he didn't take his first flight until he was ten. his father, frank, was an ace in the great war and elliot was born nine months after he left for a tour in france that he never talked about if he could help it. frank holland was of the say nothing and drink to forget school of handling ptsd.

for the most part, elliot thinks his early childhood was fine. they lived in fremont, nebraska, he has a sister named maggie who's ten years younger, his mother played the organ at church and his father was a mechanic when his dreams weren't bad and his hands were steady. there were a lot of rules in their house that his friends didn't have at theirs - announcing yourself as you entered a room, dad always sat facing the door, don't ask how someone slept- but it was what he knew so it seemed normal enough.

lindbergh was the first time elliot remembered seeing his father excited about anything again and he was happy to be looped in. they read everything and listened to every news story and when lindy gave a talk in omaha, they went to see it. on the way home, they stopped to visit a war buddy of frank's and while elliot's first time in the air was under five minutes, he still thinks it's the among the best five minutes of his life.

it was all fine until it wasn't. things got tight during the depression but they were tight everywhere. elliot didn't really know any better until he came home from school one day to his mother crying at the kitchen table with his aunt beth and his father nowhere to be found. he took off somewhere between elliot and leaving for school and alice running an errand, taking anything that could be hocked for cash on the way out.

they moved to omaha after that and haven't heard from frank since. at the time, elliot remembers being told that there was a note left for him to read when he was ready but as more time passed, the less he wanted to hear what frank had to say. and now? absolutely not. he hasn't thought of him in a long time and he's not sure he could dredge up more than pity. [frank died in 1937 and the family doesn't know but i do so].

in omaha, they lived with beth and her husband, both of whom refused to let elliot say he'd get a job to support to family more than once. the first time? no of course not, he was going to finish school. the second time? shut the hell up, absolutely not. if most of what he made at his after school job made its way to helping his mother and maggie, that's where it went.

after high school, he picked up work as an airplane mechanic. tinkering with engines and machines had always been his outlet and he'd never stopped dreaming of flying - a perfect pairing. it took him a year to save up for his first round of flying lessons and when he finally got in the air again, it felt like home. he kept going, logging more flight hours until it felt as natural as breathing.

he dragged his feet through a few semesters at the university of nebraska at omaha, studying engineering while tinkering and flying on the weekends but his heart was never really in it. his flying instructor suggested the army air force and enlisted in 1939. he's good at being in the military and doesn't think about it too hard. it's structured and steady and at the time it seemed like america might just stay neutral while europe heated up.

he tried to not think about it very hard. elliot doesn't think very hard about most things. he's confident in his own judgement and knows what he can and can't do - why sweat it? he can only do the best that he can do and that's all he's responsible for.

war was looking inevitable and then war happened and after hanging around in barksdale training on new planes and making sure the new recruits didn't kill themselves, he was sent to england with the rest of the eighth air force.

as with most things, he doesn't think about it too much. flying is natural for him. all he has to do is get in the plane and complete the task.

elliot is, on the one hand, methodical and logical. he's got a big fat problem solving, plans a-z, virgo brain and while he plays well with others, he prefers to work alone. he'd rather mistakes be his responsibility, if there are going to be any at all, than have that rest on anyone else. he's a fighter pilot for a reason. give him a task to complete and he'll get it done.

the man is competent. he learns fast and takes a lot of pride in being able to do a job well. does he accept praise well? absolutely fucking not he will kill himself right here in front of everyone. he's a flying ace but won't put the flags on his plane because 1) no 2) he doesn't like looking at swastikas if he's not getting ready to shoot one down. he's curious and he's clever and he's not afraid of hard work.

on the other.

elliot is so noble that he fucks himself over routinely. he will always do the right thing and it's sometimes hard for him to think in shades of gray. he has high standards for himself and is very self-critical if he does not meet them. he expects a lot of himself. he doesn't want to turn into his father. he's seen how easy it is to ruin yourself and he won't let himself.

ALL OF THAT TO SAY that he is capable of unclenching and having fun and does do so more than some people (david) think. he's a good and reliable friend and has a dry sense of humor and a lovely smile. he doesn't drink very much and he's forever bumming cigarettes and likes to read and hang out with the mechanics when he has a chance. he can fix just about anything or at least give it a shot and likes helping.

boy you gotta learn to let people take care of you i swear to god.

[femmedefandom]

I find it so ironic that even though Caroline has had the most love interests in the show she slut shames other women the most but is still a fan favorite while Elena gets slut shamed so much within the fandom and even in the show. Meanwhile Elena has only slept with the few people she's dated. I remember the dude who played Vaughn in TVD slut shamed Elena too before she even slept with Damon. It's sad that Rebekah slut shamed Elena even though she slept with both brothers and was shamed multiple times by Caroline and Kol.

Caroline is a difficult character for me because it seems like every season you get a different version of her. The first season is her neurotic, try-hard, selfish, foot-in-mouth, yet lovable self. Second season holds onto that for a few episodes before she becomes a very empathetic victim of the supernatural who is pulled in too many directions trying to help fellow supernaturals and oh yeah, now she's the perfect vampire as well in a few weeks time, tops. As fan favorite, from the third season on, she unfortunately becomes more and more of a mouthpiece/self-insert of what the writers want to say directly when natural character interaction isn't doing it for them, which can be frustrating. It almost seems like her journey is more plot than character driven, her reaction chosen to suit the writers' interest rather than make sense.

Let's compare: S1 Caroline is majorly sex-positive and sees no issue with casual sex, in fact advocates it to her friends and for herself. She is then "punished" for this by becoming a plaything for Damon and is "redeemed" in becoming a serious girlfriend to NiceGuy Matt. By S4, she presents a much more judgemental and "traditional" moral viewpoint on girls who have sex or people who are openly sexual, which completely disregards her earlier character and unfairly takes the stance that sex, casual or otherwise, indicates questionable morals etc.

In this vein (pardon the pun), I wouldn't take the comments about slut shaming too hard, theses types of remarks are never in good faith and not meant to be logical in any way, shape, or form. In fact, they are a petty and patriarchal way for a person to imply another is beneath them. Elena has the misfortune of being a girl, and a main character, who has sex with both Salvatore brothers over the course of the show. She has had the love of both Salvatore brothers over the course of the show. And she has been a focal point of their relationship over the course of the show, which puts her, and her actions under a harsher spotlight in the fandom. (You don't see such criticism for Caroline, Rebekah, or Katherine, who have all slept with both brothers because these are side characters and for some reason people give side characters more leeway.) Anyone who slut shames Elena is going for low-hanging and illogical fruit over some kind of suppressed jealousy that she has slept with Matt, Stefan, and Damon. Take your pick, if someone is making that comment, it's likely that they wish they were sleeping with one of them instead of Elena!

[wordtotherose]

Prompt: Muriel befriends an actual human (one we know or a new one)?

Here you are! I'll be posting to AO3 later with a bit of tidy up for any mistakes I've made. Thank you for the prompt and my ask box is still open for anyone!

---

Introducing Muriel to the Scotts had not been the plan. In fact it had very much been an accident. One that Aziraphale was increasingly tense about watching play out, twiddling his thumbs and smoothing out non-existent creases from his trousers every ten seconds. Crowley, sat on the floor between Muriel and the Scotts' daughter Anthonia, was just as bad, acting as a physical, barely not scowling, barrier between their god daughter and the clueless to it all angel on the carpet being shown how to braid a friendship bracelet. To complete the happy home, Mrs and Mrs Scott were sat on the sofa. Also watching.

Aziraphale and Crowley had been over for afternoon tea, catching up with their favourite neighbours after being back in London for a few months sorting out...well. Sorting it all out, Aziraphale supposed. They'd just moved from the conservatory, where Crowley had done some relatively subdued repotting of the plants he'd sort of gifted mostly stored in the Scotts' home, to the lounge when the doorbell had rung.

"Ring ring," it had said.

Aziraphale had fretted his way to the door, that said in a now familiar voice "Knock knock", and Crowley had made up some absurd technological excuse for the sudden change to the ringtone of their doorbell to the Scotts.

Muriel had made their way in, happy as anything in unnervingly neat and spotless denim dungarees and a jumper too thick for the weather, without picking up on any of Aziraphale's desperate hints to leave. Muriel had complimented the decor, especially the colour coded coat hooks, and then walked right into the living room.

It hadn't gone great.

Anthonia had scrambled from her spot on the floor with Crowley to stand at her mother's knee, a calloused hand dropping to rest protectively in the mop of her hair. Her other mother stepped forward, hand out in greeting to distract from her defensive positioning. Crowley, to Aziraphale's despair, had simply groaned loudly in exasperation and dropped his forehead to the ground, back curling serpentine like over his crossed legs.

Muriel had said "oh! Not your house I see! Hello lovely people. Women. Child. I am Muriel, nice to meet you." And had shaken Mrs Scott's hand.

Introductions were made. Crowley eventually uncurled herself. Aziraphale took up residence in an armchair. And to everyone's surprise yet also, when they thought about it, no one's at all, Muriel and Anthonia struck a chord about ladybirds and were away. Fast friends. Crowley tried not to feel jealous. Then remembered jealousy was a sin and he was a demon. And tried to feel jealous without actually showing it.

The Scotts remained wary for all of hapf an hour before offering Muriel tea and biscuits and promptly accepting them as Aziraphale and Crowley's cousin without much of a thought or judgement on Muriel's eccentrities.

By the time 4pm rolled around and Muriel announced they had to leave, only Crowley was still watching the angel carefully and that was more because he was translating Muriel's somewhat angelic speak into plain english for Anthonia than any belief that they were going to cause harm.

Mrs Scott showed Muriel to the door and, when the door was closed once more, returned to announce her approval of the being.

"Is Muriel staying with you two for long? Is that why you were away? Oh they are a sweetheart."

"I can't believe they haven't visited before!" Said her wife, tying the final knot in Anthonia's bracelet for her.

Crowley, dusting himself off from the floor, shook her head. "Not staying."

"Just a quick visit," Aziraphale clarified with a smile. "Anyway, we had better get going."

"Sure thing," Mrs Scott said, handing them unfinished packs of biscuits to take home, some of which Crowley sneakily passed back to Anthonia behind his back, "being Muriel round again if they're ever about. We'll see you Sunday?"

They did see the Scotts on Sunday. Muriel was in attendance, this time bringing a far too large bouquet of flowers having read up on the manners of how to be a guest. The Scotts were delighted.

[is-that-you-satan]

OK

SO i was texting a friend @lacewingballad that absolute fiend and we were talking about this fanfic we’ve been reading that’s amazing (highly recommend, read Survival is a Talent from ShanaStoryteller) but we got to talking about characterizations of Ginny (she’s amazing in siat, all the characters have depth and personality even if they’re side characters and you root for all of them and it’s so well done and the worldbuilding and everything) and ended up brainstorming a concept we REALLY want someone to write. if not we at least want to share it.

ok concept:

after the end of the whole chamber of secrets debacle in ginny’s first year the horcrux is gone, but because tom riddle was possessing her for so long she ends up with like a ghost/remnant of him constantly following her around and linked to her. he can’t actually touch things and she’s the only one that can see or hear him, and both of them hate it. 

and like, okay, it sucks for pretty much all of ginny’s second year. the dementors just make things worse and she’s obviously traumatized by what happened but he just is constantly sarcastic and insulting in a vaguely endearing way and doesn’t give a shit about ginny near the beginning and has just decided that since he’s stuck like this he’s NOT going to mute himself and this thoughts. and ginny hates it for a long time but then starts to get used to it and realizes that yeah he possessed her but he’s harmless right now and kind of just wants attention instead of to be ignored even if he’s SO annoying in class

“really, he’s teaching it like THAT? there’s more to learn on a chocolate forg card. i can do it in half the time.”

“ginny ignore severus he’s being a twat. add some occamy eyes to your potion instead.”

“minerva FUCKING mcgonagall that bitch, you know she ruined my perfect record at hogwarts??? i would have been top of the class in everything every year but that scottish pile of basilisk dung always beat me in transfiguration.”

Ginny: just SHUT UP! *everyone turns to stare at ginny* Tom: oooooo Ginny’s in trroublllee

like, her 2nd year and a lot of her third are hard but she slowly gets better and more used to it, and he’s actually very helpful with the dementors and during the quidditch up attack. he’s all—”you’re my only link to the world without you I’ll disappear so you’re not allowed to die, even if you are incompetent. don’t be so selfish” and she slowly realizes that yeah he’s being a dick but he is scared of disappearing and he’s slowly growing on her like a parasitic mold.

Ginny keeps hexing walls because she tries to throw curses at him and they go right through and he gets so fed up he’s like, “NO, you’re stance is wrong. let me fix it.” and accidentally ends up teaching her a bunch of stuff.

and he also has opinions about people. like the amount of blackmail and judgement he has is astounding and he’s not afraid to call people about because this is sixth year tom, not yet voldemort, just a very salty teenage boy.

Tom, grudgingly impressed: “the goyle line is still going? do they look like the hapsburgs yet?

“it’s leviosA, not leviOsa. honestly ginny your classmates are idiots. has the collective intelligence of the wizarding world gone down since i was alive?

“aaaah, i remember crabbe and goyle. i think they were still following around malfoys in my day; i kind of wis hi had just poisoned them instead of cultivating them as minions. look at them. a mountain troll has more intelligence. i’d rather people marry mudbloods than those two, sweet merlin.”

around the middle of her third year she has to prepare for the yule ball but has no idea how to dance and he spends like three days insulting her, “what sort of pureblood witch doesn’t know how to dance? were you raised in a sty? were you too busy balancing out the idiocy in your entire household brought upon by all that red hair to learn basic manners?” until she finally challenges him to do better. he’s like FINE and just grabs her and spins her around and empty room and they’re spitting insults the whole time and purposely stepping on each other’s feet.

“what if someone sees?” “you dancing by yourself? eh, so maybe you’ve had a drink” “merlin to do this, i’ll need more than one.” “madam rosmerta is very easily bribed if you want firewhisky”

and they finish dancing up and realize that they don’t hate each other so much anymore and don’t acknowledge it, it’s just awkward and quiet and they don’t talk about it but ginny’s a great dancer by the yule ball even if tom spends half of it running around the room collecting gossip and blackmail like a magpie and the other half insulting neville but being begrudgingly impressed by neville’s dancing skills. ginny originally spent all of second year learning occlumency on her own so that she could tune out and get rid of tom when necessary because she’s incredibly determined and scared after being possessed by the diary, but as time goes on she realizes that she doesn’t need to use occlumency against tom and stops, lets him teach her legilimency so that she can defend her mind as much as possible.

and ginny originally hates all the slurs but by her fifth year has just given up and has fully brought up the fact that her blood is purer than his. when he gets particularly annoying she starts pointing out all the people he hates who have purer blood than him and he can’t even run away because they’re linked. at this point even she has grown on tom, his insults have continued but gotten less pointed and he spends more time snarking at others and teaching her revenge spells “to corrupt her” even though they both know she’s not going to get very corrupted.

by her sixth year his retribution to her annoyances is to start pointing out classmates and asking to play fuck marry kill. he’s even done it with professors and on one memorable occasion when he was particularly salty, dumbledore. and while this is happening there is a war going, for the record. like, he’s showed her dark magic spells for reversing cruciatus exposure and acts as lookout for ginny and the DA during her sixth year and has such scathing insults for the Carrows ginny has burst into laughter in public. and tom helps her out as much as he can even when she yells at him that he’s stifling her and that she can take care of herself.

“but you’re so pathetic! and helpless! like a baby niffler!” and she scoffs and hexes the first bully she comes across with a vicious bat bogey hex and is like “helpless? me? bitch you’re a ghost.”

and even while the war is going on tom’s officially realized that he doesn’t want voldemort to win because then he’ll disappear and it sucks but he’s kind of invested in ginny now, she’s been there and she’s kind of what he wished a friend would have been when he was younger because everyone in slytherin either looked down on him for being a mudblood, was jealous of him for being smarter than all of them, or was scared of him. ginny has experienced the darkest parts of him and still refuses to be scared and flinch away, matches him word for word and snark for snark and he can appreciate it okay. so he starts feeding information about voldemort to ginny so she can share it with harry, who doesn’t really question where it comes from because ginny asks him to trust her and just says that she remembers some stuff from being possessed from tom as a first year. and it’s weird stuff too, like how tom lost his virginity, or tom helping to make lesson plans for the DA around grey borderline dark magic spells that can be used for healing and stuff. 

harry, in the middle of the battle of the department of mysteries: “you’re scared tom. scared of what i can do to you. just like you were scared when lisa cromwell rejected your ask to the yule ball.” *everyone else is confused* voldemort, spitting and hissing. “whAAAtttt?? hOOOw??? tell me POTTER?? WHERE DID YOU HEAR THAT NAME??????” tom, sitting on the side with ginny. “it was very traumatizing for us. we learned to dance for her and i’m still bitter about it.”

and HERE’S THE THING. around her fourth year ginny found a book in the room of requirement that taught her how to get rid of his ghost. but. she doesn’t. and since she can’t keep secrets from him for long, she writes herself a note, hides the book, and obliviates the knowledge from her own mind. she doesn’t want to find out or think about why she has found the book again and obliviated herself again, another two times.

the war ends and tom is still there, even though all the horcruxes are gone. and ginny does end up with harry at the end (we debated luna for a while but decided on harry as the ultimate endgame) and it’s weird because they like each other, but they can also both acknowledge that tom is part of what links them. he understands what it is like to be possessed by tom, to be seduced by his whispers and how charismatic he could be. sometimes at night he whispers that he misses the horcrux because he’ll close his eyes and feel alone but he was never alone as a kid, he always had tom, even if he didn’t know it, in the back of his mind, no matter how dark the cupboard under the stairs got. they bond over it a lot. 

one day, a few years after the end of the war, after both of them have graduated, ginny sits down and explains the whole tom remnant to him, about how he is there and following her around, and how she thinks that she can modify a spell meant to send him away to make him visible to the both of them, if he wants, instead of just her. and she explains what happened after the chamber and how he’s always been there and how tom is curious to actually be able to talk to his horcrux, someone like him but not really. and harry says yes and soon tom ends up as the third weird brother in the household, not in love with either of them, just an annoying houseguest that ginny and harry both begrudgingly enjoy snarking with. just a ghost. 

and the thing is that harry gets tom. because harry understands how tom became a megalomaniacal dark lord because harry was also neglected and ignored and scared. the only difference is that he had ron and hermione to teach him how to love, and value friendship, and be a normal human, and tom had no one to teach him. hogwarts was his home, but emotionally, it wasn’t any better than the orphanage.

OK WOW. that was long. we were texting for like more than an hour mind you. but now we have this idea and neither of us have the time to write it but i’m nevertheless putting it out there in case anyone wants to expand upon it or just add to it, i’d love to hear people’s thoughts about this AU, little scenes and funny tidbits.