#the manner in which they were killed was easier to guess though

[justwantedtoscrolldown]

NOOOO....i got the death order wrong

#the manner in which they were killed was easier to guess though #I've come to like them too! #and they're dying #oh well this is why I like the format #at least i can see a glimpse of their thoughts #even though they're dead at present #four dead queens

[thewertsearch]

Hey, I’ve seen that gun before!

I spent the other day trying to figure out what the bunny’s other weapons were alchemized from, so their appearances are fresh in my mind. This is, uh...

Well, I think it’s this thing. That second word looks like ‘crosshairs’ to me. Ababo Crosshairs, maybe? Xhahe Crosshairs?

Edit: Never mind! I searched ‘crosshairs’ on the Homestuck Collection, and it turns out the gun’s name was confirmed in Hussie’s second recap as Ahab’s Crosshairs. Fitting, given that it’s about to kill a white whale. 

Either way, I don’t think CA is the enigmatic pen-pal - their speech patterns are too different. He might know the pen-pal, though.  

Your name is ERIDAN AMPORA.

For once, a pronunciation doesn’t immediately spring to mind. 

UR-ih-dan, maybe? Eh-REE-dan? AIR-ee-dan? 

A flying whale lusus? Are you kidding me? That’s sick as fuck!

We knew the bunny weapons were endgame, but I didn’t expect a Kamehameha Launcher. Eridan’s going to have an even easier time with Underlings than Equius, and we’re starting to run out of trolls who aren’t cheating at Sgrub. 

Purple blood. Looks like Eridan’s killing his own lusus, before the Mobius Double Reacharound can do its dirty work. 

I guess it has to die somehow, and a mercy kill is one of the kinder options. 

Your name is FEFERI PEIXES.

You hear that, guys? That’s the sound of every troll officially being named! Time to pop the champagne!

Feferi is strong enough to tow a whale, which puts her solidly in the same tier as Equius. I can only assume that having the highest blood on the list has its perks. 

I’m not going to pull out my calculator, but scaling from the whale, this thing is gargantuan. Judging by its design, it’s probably a lusus - but definitely not a lusus as we know it. 

It looks like a kraken, which I speculated to be Feferi’s lusus. I don’t even want to know what it’s going to do to the Underlings. 

That should keep her quiet for a while.

Another reference to the dangerous ‘voice’ of Feferi’s lusus. I’m not aware of any lore about the voice or ‘whispers’ of a kraken, so I’m not sure what’s going on here. 

The whispers, at least, might be metaphorical. Feferi is getting Sgrub lore from her lusus in the same manner as Terezi, whose dragon communicates with her telepathically. Maybe every mythical lusus is telepathic in this way. 

That should keep her happy for a while. And make a freshly orphaned troll somewhere pretty sad.

Eridan’s actual lusus must be his flying seahorse - which is slightly less cool, but still nothing to sneeze at. 

Anyway, what the fuck does krakenmom's voice do that necessitates this kind of slaughter? 

#2408 #homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5 #fe-FAIR-ee PECKS-izz #s38

[finniestoncrane]

Heya, could you write something about Farrell! Oz and Reader? Maybe about Oz coming back home after fighting the Batman and Reader comforting them? Thanks

Honey, I'm Home

Farrell!Penguin x GN!Reader, word count: 750 ah anon poor ozzie omg, but it just means i get to love on him so i guess i can't be too sad for him oops 💜 also look at him all wet and sad, poor bub ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi minors DNI!! 🔞 cw for nsfw stuff: blood, injury, mostly just very sweet fluff u-u

“Oh my god, Ozzie! What happened!?”

The collar of his usually pristine shirt was covered in dark, almost brownish, red. His face stained the same colour. In fact, there was so much blood it was almost impossible to tell where it was coming from. Approaching him cautiously, knowing how much he hated to make a fuss of himself, you tried to hold back the look of deep concern growing on your face, but he already knew he’d worried you.

“Ah!” He waved his hand at you, dismissively, trying to usher away any stress he might have caused you. “I ran into the Bat is all.”

“That brute!”

He placed his umbrella in it’s space by the door, taking off his long, leather coat, revealing the extent of his injuries, bruising already beginning to form on his face and his knuckles, suit filthy underneath, suggesting he’d been ambushed indoors at least and not beaten up and left somewhere in the rain. He finally made eye contact with you, evident that he had been avoiding it since walking through the door, and sighed when he saw your expression.

“I held my own, sweetheart. Don’t you worry about me.” He continued as you cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’m just not as young as I once was.”

He was still offering you a smile, beaten and bruised, ego and body, and yet his main concern was making sure you were soothed. The least you could do was pretend to not be as concerned, that usually made it easier for him to accept your help. You brought your hand to his upper arm, squeezing it softly, his muscle tense under you though obviously he had been hurt there as he let out a quiet hiss.

“But you did good, I bet. Showed him where to get off?” He chuckled softly, the movement of his chest obviously still painful, but he kept his signature grin stapled to his soft, bloodied face.

“You know it, kid.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest. He was so tough, so strong, so brave. But so sweet and tender. And vulnerable. Something that ridiculous vigilante took advantage of at every given opportunity.

“Let me look at you?”

Oswald sat back, sighing, but not denying you. A quick trip to the kitchen for a warm, wet cloth to wipe at his face with and you knelt before him as he sat on his favourite chair, dabbing at the blood on his hands, taking off each ring and placing it down to wash it later, making sure to hold his hands gently, as they looked almost swollen. He really had given as good as he’d got. Hopefully he’d dented that ridiculous jawline beneath the cowl. When you got to his face, wiping the blood from his lips and his chin and working your way up, you gasped.

“Oh, Ozzie! Your nose! Your beautiful nose.”

He tried looking down at it, adorably cross-eyed as he strained.

“Did he get it? It felt a bit funny.”

“He’s broken it! You’re going to have to get it set or…something…”

He tapped at the side of it tenderly, scrunching his eyes closed and wincing in pain.

“It’ll be fine sweetheart.”

“I swear, I’ll kill him.” You stood up, pacing in irritation. But despite the sincerity in your words, the serious manner in which you swore your revenge, Oz was laughing lightly.

“Ok, settle down tough guy. I don’t want you going anywhere near that asshole.”

“For his sake?”

He stood up, a lot of effort exuded in hauling his sore body up, shuffling slowly over to you. His hands, cleaner now but still exhibiting the evidence of a brawl to remember, were placed on your cheeks, cupping your face as he kissed your forehead.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

“Hmm…ok. You go sit back down, silly. I’ll bring you some tea to soothe you.”

As you walked away you heard him call after you.

“A scotch!”

You denied him instantly.

“A tea!”

You could hear him grunting as he settled back down into his armchair. Nothing made you more glad than knowing that for all the times he’d gone through this exact situation before, completely alone, he now had you there to make sure he was at least comfortable and looked after. You remembered fondly the first time you had tended his wounds, kissed his swollen and bloody lips and held him as he tried to see if there were any broken bones. He’d held you close, admitting that getting to be nursed by you was worth the beating.

#just this one little thing tonight i got secret stuff to work on u-u #q #penguin x you #finnie writes #oswald cobblepot #the penguin #batman fanfic #the batman 2022 #colin farrell penguin #oswald cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x you

[stuck-in-hypna]

First of Summer

Niki x OC | Oneshot | Highschool AU | Oneshot

The first day of summer, the first day of our story...

-Niki's POV-

Today marks the last day of junior year and I’m all set for summer, nothing specific is planned though, just enrolled in some review classes for the upcoming college ability test this November.

For tonight though, it’s the dreaded junior-senior prom. As per the school’s tradition, this is like a send-off for the seniors while welcoming the juniors into semi-adulthood.

I, myself, don’t like these social functions—even my friends are all going with their respective dates. I didn’t ask anyone though; it wasn’t deemed necessary. I’m just going since this is the last time I’ll see my favorite seniors, especially Heeseung hyung.

Heeseung hyung took care of me since freshman year—when I first joined the dance club. He also introduced me to his friends who were part of it, and that made it easier for me. Although, I think, being part of that caused a rift between me and his sister, Lee Serin.

Serin has been my best friend growing up—we were basically friends since kindergarten. I didn’t know what happened, but I’m guessing that it’s because we had different interests, we just drifted apart.

The chats in the hallway were reduced to nods until it came to a point that we were completely ignoring each other.

She became popular, and probably her head ballooned with it. She’s untouchable, especially when her brother is the ever-so-famous Lee Heeseung.

Her friends are also the worst; everyone feared their little group, even the club knew how Heeseung hyung’s sister is problematic—how she’s such a spoiled brat, how she has a bigger allowance than him and an even better car which was gifted to her by their parents on her 16th birthday.

Speaking of, there she is now at one of the Science labs. Classes have been dismissed early today due to the event this evening, I wonder why she’s still here when everyone must be in their respective homes, getting ready or doing some last-minute touch-ups.

Unfortunately, I was assigned cleaning duties today, which explains why I’m still here. She, on the other hand looked glum, and she sat on one of the stools just outside the lab.

Now the problem is, how can I make her leave?

"Excuse me..." I approached her in the nicest way possible, "Lee Serin-ssi, I would need the stool so I can lock up the lab."

"I'm sorry?" she said with an automatic high-pitched voice. It's more or less 3 years since I last called her by her name, or rather talked to her.

"I said-" I was ready to repeat what I said, but she cut me off.

"I heard you.” she said icily. "Do I look like I’m deaf?" she gave me a disgusted look that says nobody shoos her away.

"Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything!" I said as if it was the most obvious thing to say. Maybe she still made me speechless, maybe because I still think she looks like a goddess. Okay, so nobody knew I liked her before.

Without another word, she stood up and kicked the stool away from the both of us, the loud clang sounded through the empty corridors.

"Thanks." I said in a non-sarcastic voice, but somehow it still annoyed her since she gave me a piercing look. "Did you need something else?" I asked as I looked at her in the same manner.

She just shook her head as response.

"Good. The place is empty, let me walk you to the parking lot. It's not safe here." I offered, and to my surprise, she agreed.

We walked silently for the first few steps, but I had the urge to start a conversation, "are you excited about the prom later?"

"I'm not..." she was too quick to reply accompanied by a frown.

"Why? You're probably going to be the prom queen..."

She became quiet for a minute as she sat on one of the benches that were near the school’s parking lot. "How can you be excited when the people voting for you don't even respect you?"

"What do you mean?" I sat beside her. It somehow reminded me of those times when all we did was kill time in each other’s backyard. "Of course, they respect you..."

"More like scared of me!” She scoffs, “That's why they're voting. This may sound too narcissistic but I know I'm the most envied girl in school, but at the same time, I know I'm the most hated." A sigh escaped her lips. "What about you? Were you planning to root for me at all?"

"Of course..." it wasn't a lie per se. I was indeed going to vote for her, and I think she's the prettiest of all the nominees.

"For what reason? A prom queen should be someone to represent the school in a good way, not because she's popular or the most envied one, or maybe just because she's rich. She should affect the people's lives in a positive manner, not bully them..."

"You affect them... but only, they get terrified!" I couldn't help but laugh at my lame joke, she did too.

“I know how my brother’s life is a living hell because of me and I know how excited he is so he can stay away from me when he goes to University—he must’ve ratted out how much of a bitch I am..”

She was right, Heeseung hyung had non-stop complained about her since she had this new set of friends. Telling us how they were all a bunch of useless brats that can’t do anything. I’m just surprised that she wasn’t affected.

"Nishimura Riki... Do you even want to go to the stupid prom?" she asked when I didn’t say anything. Serin mentioning my name again, after so long, made me feel giddy. It was the only thing that I needed to realize that I missed her, a lot. I shrugged as I glanced at her.

"Let's play hooky!" she said with a big grin. “Uhm, you don’t have a date, right?”

"I don’t have a date. But for real?"

"Yes! But I'm going to be dead for sure if Heeseung oppa finds out I didn't attend."

"I have an idea..." I offered, as she was all ears. "What if we don't skip the prom, just be late? What do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan. We're going to be fashionably late!" she giggled. "Come on, let’s head home first so you can change into your tux, and I can wear my ridiculous dress.”

We each rushed home, to prep for the evening. Both agreeing to see each other at 6:30, an hour and a half from now.

Mom thought I was excited about the prom as she took thousands of pictures. I was already frowning big time, but she still finds it adorable. Kept asking who my date was and didn't believe a single thing I said when I said I didn't have a date.

Oh great! There's one thing I forgot to ask, her number! Of all the things that I had to forget, it was this one essential thing.

I’m arguing with myself internally on whether to call Heeseung hyung or not. To call him and risk getting interrogated, or to wait for some miracle to happen and waste time?

My phone then rang, showing an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Niki... it's me, Serin." the voice on the other line replied.

"I was about to call Heeseung hyung to get your number." I laughed.

"I stole your number from his phone..." she said proudly. "So where are we going to meet?"

"Shall I pick you up?" I offered. "But I have to tell you, the car I’m driving is an older model, you may not want to be seen in something old and beat up!” I teased.

"It doesn’t matter, to be honest. I actually don’t care. I just asked my parents for my car so I can piss off Heeseungie oppa!" That surprised me, as I expected another reason. This made me grin unknowingly, my mom looking at me weirdly.

I faced the opposite side just so she wouldn’t see my face, "Great, I'll be there in 20 minutes."

We both hung up as I made my way to the car, trying to avoid any more conversation with my mother.

This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date. I kept repeating this to myself as I didn’t want to assume. It’s even more surprising that she didn’t have a date for the prom. 

It took me less than 20 minutes to reach their place, have I driven too fast?

Serin was wearing a light blue dress, the hem of the skirt flowed just above her knee, paired with a strappy high-heeled sandals which looked uncomfortable. The whole outfit she put together was not on the conservative side, but on her, it looked elegant. Breathtaking, in fact. She really is.

As a courtesy of course, I got off my car after I parked it, and I can tell that Heeseung hyung was surprised to see me.

"I didn't believe that you’re her date... I thought she was lying!"

"I told you oppa, I'm going with Niki..." she whined like a little kid. Cute.

"It's better that you go out with him since he's a close junior, just don't give him a headache, please. It’s already embarrassing enough to be your brother!" he scolded her. "Niki, take care of my sister, and I'm hoping that you’ll be patient enough with her. " He both pushed us lightly to my car, and we waved our goodbyes before leaving.

"Where are we going?" She was pretty excited when she asked.

"I have no idea..." I confessed. I didn't plan the whole thing, since I wasn't really good at stuff like this. She must've sensed my hesitation when she spoke.

"It's okay, lets grab some takeout first and then I know this place..."

We chatted like old friends as we drove, she was nothing like the Park Serin that everyone knew from school, tonight, she was just the fun-loving, silly girl that I used to be friends with.

After we got the food, she instructed me to drive until we reached a secluded place, which was overlooking the city. The air was fresh, far from the city's pollution.

"I often go here when I feel like my life is useless..." she stated. We were both sitting in my car's hood, looking at the city lights, "this place is like my sanctuary..."

She continued to speak without inhibitions, "When we were in our last year of middle school, I felt the pressure. I started to change without even knowing it until it came to the point that I got lost, and I didn't even know who I was... and after talking to you today, I was reminded of how happy I was back then... so thank you."

Dumbstruck was the perfect word to describe me at this moment, I didn't know what to say. This was the person that I fell in love with before. She was the Serin that I knew... the one I’ve always admired.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she tilted her head, her clueless expression was so inviting.

And this made me realize that I never really stopped liking her. I just became contented with looking at her from afar.

"Nothing..."

"Oh come on!"

"It's just that..." I didn't finish my sentence, instead, I touched her cheeks, then slowly lowered my face to hers and kissed her. I can tell that she was shocked at first, but she slowly reciprocated.

"I've always wanted to do that..." I admitted, "but I never had the chance."

She rested her head on my shoulder, "you should've done that before... I needed a wakeup call.”

"Are you kidding? You were so high and mighty in school, I even thought you forgot about me.

"Well... not really, but the people around me made me feel like I had no life back then. I hate the idea that I had to give in with peer pressure. And I had this tiny crush on you, I thought you should know." She lowered her voice into a whisper.

“What? Can you speak a bit louder please?”

She hit my arm softly, and I knew she was shy about it, but still it was fun to tease her this way.

"It's okay babe, at least we're good now... and if you must know, I like you before too, and I still do.” That confession made her smile, “I wish we can just stay here…”

"Idiot, we can't. We still must go to the prom..."

I frowned, "Why?"

"Because I want to show you off!"

---

Time passed by so quickly that when we got to the prom, it was just in time for the announcement of the prom king and queen. The school principal was the one who announced it, but it wasn't Serin.

We were standing in the middle of the crowd, giving applause along with the rest of the students, I initially thought that Serin would be disappointed, but I was wrong--she was smiling from ear to ear with a look of contentment plastered on her pretty face

"Serin! I thought you wouldn’t make it!" one of her friends approached us, "What are you doing with him?" The said friend looked at me from head to foot, repulse evident in her eyes.

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Serin snapped, "and Niki is my date. Now if you'll excuse us."

“Was that okay?” I probed as she dragged me to the dance floor, “I mean she’s still your friend…”

“Ah, the friend that spreads baseless rumors about me.” She then wrapped her arms around my neck as we found our spot and started slow dancing as Butterfly by The Boyz started playing.

She tiptoed a little and gave me a kiss on my right cheek and smiled. I panicked internally when I realized that we were in front of the whole senior class, and I was right when I saw Heeseung hyung and the others looking at me, equally astounded but quietly cheering me on.

“Heeseung hyung is going to kill me!” I muttered and when she heard she looked around, instantly finding her brother staring at the both of us, arms crossed, as if waiting for an explanation.

“Oh he’ll live with it!” she rolled her eyes and gave me another kiss, this time on the lips. “I want to see him try though!”

This is going to be the most interesting summer of my life!

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

| Home | Masterlist |

#kflixnet #kflix #enhypen x oc #enhypen niki #niki x reader #enhypen au #enhypen oneshots #nishimura riki x reader

[dmclemblems]

I do feel kinda bitter over AG though because of all those things you mentioned since i cant look at AM the same way for not having a lot of those things

I can get that. I feel a little similarly. Overall I like AM more because it really delved into Dimitri’s trauma, but AG definitely handled the Blue Lions’ friendships better. What I didn’t like about AM’s characterizations for Sylvain and Felix in AM is that despite five years having passed, they didn’t mature nearly as much as they should have. In comparison, AG was only two years of a timeskip and it felt a lot more fleshed out with their characters. Ingrid was on a lesser scale, but she definitely got the better end of characterization in AG.

In part I think this is also because the writers have had time to decide on some things. When they made Houses, it was a new game. With Hopes they were working with pre-existing characters, so it was probably a lot easier to flesh them out and change their behavior. It just feels weird to look back at Sylvain from a five year skip and see that he hardly changed, but with a two year skip in an AU he’s a much more mature and composed version of himself.

AG also gives us the possibility of having Rodrigue to the end, and I’m wondering if that was a decision the writers made because they saw how he was received and decided to swap his position in the story with Gilbert who was a less popular character. Having the possibility of losing him is like a callback to AM, but we at least have the option this time. There’s also the chance for us to get supports for him with the characters that needed to be more fleshed out in their relationships with him.

Granted, in AM Rodrigue died because that was the final nail in the coffin for Dimitri’s mental state. He needed to have that moment where he gave up entirely and stopped caring about everything, planning to just go out and kill Edelgard or die trying. Byleth was also able to prevent it because they spoke with Rodrigue the night prior and could bring Dimitri to his senses through what they learned when speaking with Rodrigue. In that sense I think it was too important of a scene to leave out, because if not Rodrigue, I don’t believe any other death could have impacted his story to reach that point.

For example, in Ailell Dimitri behaves the same way to everyone around him. When they meet up with Rodrigue, that’s when his manner of speech starts to waver and he is, for the first time in five years, scolded and essentially told to shut up and listen. With Rodrigue being, as Dimitri literally says pre-skip, a second father to him, he didn’t treat that situation as he would have with anyone else, ending it with referring to Rodrigue as his friend (which is more than he did for anyone else by that point, too paranoid and being unconvinced that everyone wasn’t his enemy. The one person he knew would never be his enemy was Rodrigue).

Since the stories are vastly different in both games I do get why things were altered. Going back to AM will just be unfortunate that Rodrigue fans can no longer use him as a playable unit or get all the character lore we got in AG (which was a whole lot tbh for the parent generation, as well as his relationships with the people around him). We also have things like Gilbert coming back to the Kingdom much sooner and thus mending his family relationships, bringing back the old Gustave who is fiercely protective of his family to the point he won’t tolerate any enemy laying a single finger on his daughter and brother. I love seeing him in SB as an enemy and getting to see how aggressive he really is when someone tries to harm his family. To me that shows us who he used to be before Duscur.

I guess in the sense of like, for the sake of fanfics I’ll probably love keeping both stories in mind and mixing the two for things like characterization. Like I said, I understand that they were reusing already established characters so it was much easier to create new situations and improve the characters (to which tbh I’d say was usually hit or miss, like how I can’t even begin to imagine what they were thinking when writing Caspar for Hopes but they did so, so good writing for Lorenz).

Really I guess it’s just kind of what happens when they use existing characters and improve upon them when the original story was already so good. I’m going to hate going back and not having all the Rodrigue content because he’s one of my favorite characters in the franchise itself. On the other hand I’ll like returning to all the sides of Dimtri’s character, because having that aspect of such severe mental illness I think is really important to use in media, particularly in our modern day where that’s a big and largely important topic in our society. While I’d say they also made the attempt with Takumi in Fates, at this point Fates is not a very well loved game and due to how it was handled overall, I think a lot of the attempt at mental illness and suicidal behavior went over people’s heads due to of how poorly the rest of the game was received by players (and admittedly the writing wasn’t nearly as clear with Takumi as it was with Dimitri).

Houses kind of has the vibes of like... a whole lot of “what if” situations that AG used to show the answers of that. SB is more of like... another rendition of Edelgard’s story with not much changed except that we get to actually fight Thales instead of the characters defeating TWS post game. GW is the total opposite of VW, so rather than creating it as a “what if” timeline like AG it’s more of a “what if they went the opposite path they took in VW”. AG focuses more on the possibilities that existed in AM and builds upon those, rather than SB’s choice of the same route but handled differently and GW’s choice of seeing what it would look like if VW was turned on its head (no upside pun intended...).

Technically it’s not bad in and of itself for them to have written SB and GW in those ways, and that’s not to say AG is just absolutely the best because of it. It comes down to personal preference and I saw a lot of people saying the same thing that they see SB as more of a retelling but altered CF, which at that point it’s up to the individual if they prefer the new or the old. GW’s plot in and of itself wasn’t an issue, but it was the treatment of its characters and how the plot wasn’t focused on the characters but instead focused on altering its characters to the plot instead of the characters being what made the plot (ex. AM being written to follow Dimitri, not Dimitri written to follow AM).

Following that thought too, AG follows the formula of its characters being the story itself because in SB and GW, the characters go here and there and everywhere and they’re dragged along. In AG if you try to suggest that you go west during a civil conflict, you’re basically told no, we can’t afford to do that and have to stay here where we already are to deal with this problem and we can head west after that. You’re in one place and kept in that place until the conflict is resolved, rather than being pulled west and then having to go back to where you already were.

In some ways I guess you could say AG was written too well, because now when we go back to AM we’re missing all those improvements on the writing. I do prefer chapter 19 to chapter, what is it, 9 or 10? with the way Claude allied with Dimitri because it felt way more natural in AM and was rooted in a trust that was forcibly finnicky in AG because they were trying to sneak in concepts of GW Claude and how he wasn’t someone people ordinarily trusted. Instead of writing him as just a different path Claude, they tried to keep aspects of him that applied to very different routes and it wound up feeling wonky. AM was much more rewarding, and even more so because Gronder had already happened. Comparably, AG Dimitri and Claude had not even fought each other and yet everyone except Dimitri (and presumably Seteth and Rhea based on the dialogue when they all met up) was highly distrusting of him and treating him like he was some infamous slimy plotter who was going to jeopardize something. It was very forced and kept trying to nudge at GW/SB Claude, so for me that was extremely awkward to see considering in AM, nobody really highly distrusted Claude when he asked for aid. They’d never even fought or had problems in AG, but for some reason most of the cast didn’t want to trust him.

Regarding Thales though, for sure AG did handle it way better. I don’t really like Edelgard’s story in the second half of AG since I prefer AM’s ending for Edelgard (and it makes more sense because she was hellbent on fighting to the end, even if her path killed her. Dimitri gave her a final chance to end it alive, but she willingly chose her death and for her that could’ve been a matter of pride which is more in line with her character, but AG took her character away entirely so that just wasn’t a possibility). Thales imo should’ve been the final boss in AM too, having escaped as Arundel in chapter 19 and fighting the Kingdom later on. Considering how deeply rooted in Dimitri’s entire backstory Thales is, it’s kind of insane to me that he wasn’t the final boss. He has the least connection to Claude but is the second to final boss in VW instead.

For me the perfect ending would’ve been like... a mix between the two, where Dimitri had to come to his senses because Rodrigue almost died but he survives just barely. Perhaps he can’t fight for the rest of the war, thus rendering him unplayable as a unit and making sense as to why he couldn’t be playable from beginning to end. Sylvain, Ingrid and Felix would have grown into who they became in AG when you get to the five year timeskip in AM. Obviously Dedue would keep his story about saving Dimitri with others from Duscur, but then maybe soldiers from Duscur continue to fight with the Kingdom army the way they do in AG. We’d have AM’s version of the Alliance getting the Kindgom’s aid, and we’d have Thales escape as Arundel but fight the combined armies later on. Maybe while they were allied, the Kingdom gets news that people from the Alliance, maybe even Holst, located TWS’ base (since they’re near Goneril territory I think?). Since they were basically one big army, Dimitri could defeat Edelgard as we know their battle to happen in AM, but then they could travel to the Alliance territories with the war being over now and from there, fight Thales and have Dimitri learn the truth. Maybe Rodrigue joins as an NPC in the final battle so that he can be present against Thales, even if he’s not fully recovered because he feels he has to be there since it’s the battle for the truth that he’s been waiting on since he lost his best friend and son.

Whether or not Nemesis would be at the very very end idk, but I think Thales at least should’ve been the final or second to final boss like how he was the latter for VW. I think it would also be nice if Claude hadn’t left right away and instead joined the joint armies, even if just as an NPC since in this case you’d be traveling through the Alliance to fight TWS, and since they’re in Alliance territory I think it would make sense for the Alliance to be much more invested in that fight. It would give Claude the truth he’d be seeking in VW, thus giving a nod to his story in his route, and would give Dimitri and everyone else the truth about Duscur. It would be a complete story imo that way with all loose ends tied up, and if they had Duscur soldiers show up with Dedue in the timeskip then they’d be there too maybe as some NPCs in the final battle, so their story would be concluded too with the truth proving their innocence. Imo it would be a perfect way to resolve the whole Duscur storyline.

I know they were probably going for an imperfect ending in AM in the sense that we can’t have everything, but the only problem with the way they wrote that out was that Duscur was the focal point of AM. At the very least I think they should’ve tied up that entire story from beginning to end, concluding it with everyone learning the truth and Faerghus finally being able to heal when the truth gets around that Duscur’s people didn’t kill their king. Not only do the characters we’re familiar with have resolution, but the actual story we’ve followed right from the start is finished in full.

The problem with ending it with Edelgard for AM is that Edelgard... wasn’t really the true enemy of AM as a route. She was Dimitri’s personal enemy and conflict and he would have to fight her if he was going to end her war, but with the way the actual plot goes, Edelgard should have been AM’s penultimate battle, exactly like how Dimitri is CF’s penultimate battle before she reaches her actual enemy and goal, Rhea. Edelgard’s war was most specifically against Rhea, thus why her route made Rhea the final battle and not Dimtiri. AM should’ve followed that same formula, because Edelgard’s overall gripes weren’t Dimitri himself. Similarly, Dimitri’s story and the plot itself was centered around Duscur and the truth, which defeating Edelgard doesn’t solve a single part of. It concludes Dimitri’s personal arc with his step sister, but it resolves absolutely none of the plot of AM. While it resolves a character arc within the plot, the plot itself remains unfinished.

Like I said, I get the whole idea that we can’t get a perfect ending, but in this situation I don’t think it’s even about a “perfect” ending anymore. You could argue that this ending still should be present even if Rodrigue still died. AG is in a better position for the plot because it actually thoroughly explores the true plot of Dimitri’s background as a character. AM is a character centric ending, but AG is a plot centric ending, and I hate that we don’t get both in either of them. We either get a very good character heavy story, or we don’t get the full depth of the characters (ex Dimitri’s mental state not really being a problem in AG and is only sometimes given a nod to) and have a completed plot.

Hence, I feel like for fic’s sake and headcanon’s sake I like to think there’s more to the point of the Alliance fighting alongside the Kingdom as one army and that the plot related final battle would be against at least Thales if not Nemesis (since Nemesis himself isn’t relevant to AM’s plot or any of the characters, but Thales is deeply involved in multiple characters’ lives). Also, it could maybe give resolution to Dimitri’s personal story with Edelgard, learning that Arundel was killed and that was why he stopped donating, and realizing why Edelgard changed so much post her stay in the Kingdom. Just a final battle against Thales alone would conclude both the story and character plots and make a full, true ending. AG technically has a full, true ending to its story since Edelgard wasn’t in a position to continue her war, so whether she lived or died becomes irrelevant at that point since what happened to her, whether we enjoyed that aspect or not, did resolve that particular conflict. In that sense, yeah, AG solved pretty much everything in one shot.

So yeah, I totally get why you feel bitter about it. AG had an actually conclusive plot while AM was just left hanging as an incomplete story. CF was “complete”, i.e. TWS was defeated post game, and VW was a fully complete story. Instead in Hopes, GW is left a huge question mark and incomplete and SB is still basically complete unless Edelgard continued her war for conquest, so that one is more like... complete(?), with that question mark being necessary. AG is basically complete, since what happens to Edelgard doesn’t really affect the plot which was finished.

Considering TWS is the center of AM’s entire backstory and Dimitri’s most intense trauma, you’d think that would be much more important to the story in AM and that Edelgard wouldn’t be the end of the game. I wish they were still making DLC or updates or something for Houses, because it would be so great if they added that as a late attachment to AM (like how, if you know Tales of Graces, the game ended up releasing and then re-releasing with an entire post game arc added, though in that case it was more of a remake because it was titled differently, adding “F” to the end of the title to indicate there was an addition to the game and changes made/added).

#Three Hopes Spoilers #sorry this kind of turned into a whole analysis of like... #why AG is a complete story and why AM is not #and how that can absolutely make AM fans a little upset at how good but incomplete it was #compared to AG which was a great story and also a completed plot #I love them both but it's still gonna be a bummer for me as a huge Rodrigue fan to go back to AM and have less content of him #Felix's story was also kinda left incomplete in AM but was handled far better in AG whether Rodrigue survives or not #Sylvain's story got more substance both with his family and Sreng in AG and in AM that's pretty much loose particles in the air #technically Sylvain probably lived with Miklan again and if he didn't he at the very least had Miklan in his life again #and Sreng was a topic more often and even given a paralogue while in AM it's just kinda... a background ''this happens sometimes'' #both of those aspects were extremely helpful for Sylvain as a character but he was given literally nothing in the timeskip #his substance is his supports and in the main game he has almost nothing that he didn't already have pre-skip #I feel like we sacrificed a lot by making AM so heavy on Dimitri's conflicts with Edelgard bc like #it's fine that the story centered around HIM since he's the lord of the route #but the overall conflict ending with her was only a resolution to a character arc and not the actual plot #so AM is just kind of sitting there like... if you happen to have Hapi she just happened to have defeated TWS post game #while CF did that too it happens no matter what but AM relies on a side character being alive and present for it to happen #meaning before the DLC there was no indication of TWS being stamped out after Thales died #AM is definitely a great route but its actual plot was a disaster. CF had a messy plot with a disaster incomplete ending #VW and SS had complete stories and full character arcs so I don't feel like GW really hampers VW #SB could be seen as a more complete and better version of CF (especially since it's LONGER than CF just for starters alone) #so I wouldn't be surprised if CF/SB fans felt similarly about SB being more complete like how AG seems to feel for AM lovers #it's kind of just a problem with Houses in general that a lot of story threads were left unfinished #DCE Ask

[andnatiabrosca]

fkdjsldfj time for violence: 1, 13, 21, 22 from the ask game xd

time for (gentle) violence [this ask game] thanks for the ask, and tbh these aren't super thought thru

q1. the character everyone gets wrong

oh...I. don't know. I've been holding onto this for a minute and can't think of who. I think most characters are taken wrong by fandom interpretation in at least some manner because it makes them easier to consider and easier to write our protag's stories. I think origins are the worst offender because it's easier than the later two to conceptualize the npcs not to have motivation outside of the quest of the warden, even though they have - I would argue some of the highest - personal motivations

q13. worst blorbofication

honest I'm not certain what this is specifically meant as, but I'm gonna assume it's meaning "worst case of fandom loving a fandom characterization of a character over the character itself". and uh. honestly I'mma throw oil on fire and say anders. he's babified in (many) fandom interpretations and I think it's a disservice to the complex character he is - and I don't! think we need to entirely disregard the way he and justice are different people even if his writer didn't think it thru super well! - and I certainly think it's a disservice to pretend blowing up the chantry wasn't a significant and dangerous action that hurt and killed many people. I don't think his actions nor his specific brain weird can be ignored or overwritten without creating an entirely new character.

q21. part of canon you think is overhyped

elves. esp the elvhen pantheon. they're just. cool enough I guess. but they aren't the literal foundation of the world and it annoys me that the games treat them as such. more dwarves please and like 80% less elves stuff thanks. if we're gonna keep hearing about the (ancient) elves let's also hear more about dwarva!! they were contemporaneous as large societies!!

q22. your favorite part of canon that gets ignored

I mean. dwarves. which I'm luckily in a more dwarfy segment of fandom! but more ancient dwarf lore and even MORE modern dwarva! especially with a bhelen king worldstate that is overhauling the caste system and opening to the surface!

#birch answers #layalu

[spinaroos-47]

spinny you watched the sea beast!!!!

i would like to hear All Of Your Thoughts (if you have time of course!) favorite line(s) and characters?? best scene?? what are your thoughts on captain crow?? (specifically the deal he made with that one lady whose name i conveniently cannot remember)

sorry i am just. very love that movie fdhdjdjs about to watch it again

Yeah i just finished it! I put it on because i had a headache and nothing better to do and i still have the headache but i am so happy to have watched it!

(Isa i know you can end up seeing this before you watch it so Im putting under a read more. Also i have a lot to say nfdnfnrn)

I LOVED this movie! I did get spoiled about the "maybe you can be a hero and still be wrong" BUT IT STILL HIT SO HARD!!! The messages and the themes were so good!!!! I kept screaming "THE THEMESSSSSSSSS" in a groupchat fksnfnfn

The color work was also amazing, i said on another post but i love how green = imperialism and red = the beast and the inevitable. And how the shade of green the king and queen wore was that arsenic green, not to mention how full of gold they and the palace was (that throne room reminded me of that one in edge of the world, color scheme and all)

A lot of moments gave me vibes of both the httyd movies and the books, which is so nice because they nail down some of the themes that i really like on both of them!

Tbh my favorite line besides the heroes thing is something exclusive to the portuguese dub (i watched it dubbed because again, headache. Which btw, really good dub), when Maisie says "let it end" in the dub she says "put a final point on this!" which i REALLY liked because it neatly ties into how they shaped the conflict through the books! Yeah, end the phrase! End the cycle! Full stop!

I really liked Jacob and Maisie, Jacob for...obvious reasons 😳 fjsnfnfnrn, but also his personality and mannerisms are so fun! The same for Maisie, she's a joy to watch. Sarah i really enjoyed too, ever since i saw her design before i even saw the movie. She's so cool

I really liked Crow's character, and i have to admit that he did have a lot of death flags but Im glad he didn't die. His arc was really interesting, though i don't have the words to explain it rn

I got so surprised that this movie had blood (and blood transfusions, that's a surprise but its a pleasant one because yeah that's something you usually dont see but that probably happened). All the little details in the movie were really cool, like how they were stocking up the royal ship with lemons to avoid scurvy, or how Jacob positioned himself to land in the water at that beast attack at the beggining of the movie, and the orders to change the direction of the ship was really cool, it sounded very legit

The character designs were amazing, with just a few gripes that i have with it. The first one is with the lady that crow made a deal with (i also dont remember her name). Like, did they really need to go with that pretty antisemitic look? Yikes.

The second one is with some of the beasts, including Red. She's just too smooth. Of course that for an easier time swimming it makes sense for her to be smooth, she almost looks plastic sometimes. But that you usually see on aquatic mammals, and Red isnt a mammal, if you look at fishes and aquatic reptiles theyre not smooth usually, theyre more like that beast they killed in the first 20 minutes. That design was really cool.

I guess i kinda get more why people didn't like the light fury's design in the hidden world. But it worked there. Red's design is not bad, but again, way too smooth and tbh kinda bland. I saw some of the original designs with her having stripes and more spikes which i really liked. Her design works, but it could be better. They could have gone a little scarier with her i think. Could helo drill in the themes of misunderstanding and propaganda more.

I'll use toothless from the movies as an example because i think he's a good example and they kinda look similar. He still looks very intimidating, his design works as both cute and scary. Like, he genuinely scared me from watching the first movie for the first time for a good while, at least for three whole years, even when he looked more cute than scary. They could have pushed it a little more.

And i kinda have a similar issue with Blue and that yellow beast on the island. Theyre too smooth and feel out of place. Red has a bit of that too but Blue and that beast do feel like that a lot more. The movie is colorful, but Blue is almost neon, and it can work but it clashed too much and he felt way too cartoony in a direction that didn't match, its more caricature-esque than full on cartoon. He'd work amazingly on subnautica though. I loved the crab beast btw.

Theres some things that i think they could have explored more/gone more in depth but Im pretty happy with this final result, id like a little bit more of the end scene of Maisie and Jacob on their new life, Im not asking for much, maybe a minute or two more.

I liked how at the end they went "we won't disturb them. We should leave them alone", that is a part that gave me vibes from both the httyd movies and books, hell, the books even have the poisoned huge as fuck sea creature goes back to god knows where on the ocean to not be bothered by humans anymore. I know its not for everyone but it served it's message really well. And i think it dealt with it better than the hidden world. I love that movie and the decision, i just think that on the sea beast it worked even better, it was integranted in a different way with the message and i prefer that one

This movie captured a lot of what i want for one of my stories. It gave me quite a bit of food for thought on that story. Because it does also have a war between humans and sea creatures (although on mine theyre sentient humanoid beings) and one of the alternatives one of the characters have is "we should cut off contact". Its a story i really like, id love to apply what Ive seen in this movie on it when i get back into being interested in my own stories

So yeah, really great movie!

#the sea beast #ask

[msked-svicide]

Everything's fine. Masky comfort fic 🎭

Comfort fan fiction 🧸

Fluff, No warnings unless you're uncomfortable with suicidal reader mentions. No smuts no gore, nopes.

Canon Masky, all platonic. tried mah best to imagine how he'd react,, (he's gonna be sorta quiet like how he was in marble hornets.)

Anyways HAVE A GREAT READING TIME !!!!

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It was night. You were crying in your room,, he had broken into your house/apartment, it was dark in your room which made it easier for him to hide while still keeping an eye on you. Suddenly he steps out of the dark, slowly approaching to not startle you or anything. You took a few seconds to finally look up rather than brushing off the feeling of being watched. You rubbed your teary eyes, then saw him. Your eyes widened slightly, moving a bit away, he gestured calmly he was not gonna hurt u or anything, you decided to trust it, honestly not even caring if he was gonna actually kill you anymore. He was a bit concerned how quickly you calmed down, but he shrugged it off. He grabbed a chair and sat down infront of you, tilting his head slightly sideways quizzically. You were a bit confused, wondering if he was curious about what you were crying about, or something else. ''What's up.'' he spoke, his voice calm, slightly raspy. You stared at him for a bit, confused, but then spoke up again. Explaining to him about your sadness. He looked at you, nodding every once in a while to let you know he was listening.

After a slight bit of you explaining, he sighed, feeling bad for you. He got closer, patting your back. He wasn't the most affectionate of people, nor talkative, but he could try. He signalled for you to continue, occasionally petting your head. You started crying again. Until you were done. He then got up, moving the chair away, and motioned his arms open, gesturing with his hands to hug him, while tilting his head, as in to question, 'do you need a hug'. You nodded and got up, hugging him as you rested your head on his chest, he hugged back, slightly swaying sideways while petting your back affectionately, like a 'dad hug' i guess.

''..It's okay.'' he says, trying to sound sweeter in his tone. You appreciated his effort. He cleared his throat, deciding to speak more. ''Your feelings are all, valid, okay? And.. I'm sorry you're going through that, sunshine. You don't deserve it, really..'' he says. You're a bit surprised at how much words he managed to get out, ''Do you.. mean that?'' you ask. He sighs, not in an annoyed way, but more in a .. 'Sighh this silly goose' type way. ''Of course i mean it, dumb.'' he says, trying to not be too harsh with his words, still hugging you affectionately. You smiled. ''…Thank you.. I appreciate that!'' you reply. He smiles lovingly under his mask. Giving you a few pats on your back. ''No worries.'' he replies, kindly, though his voice still being that same raspy one.

After a bit you two stop hugging. ''…You gonna be okay by yourself tonight?'' he asks, in a caring tone. You think for a bit. ''I think so..'' you say, not really believing your own words. He could hear you were unsure, and sighed. ''Would you rather, me stayin' here for the night? Or you want me t'leave?.'' he asks, crossing his arms. ''..Stay.'' you decide, before speaking up again. ''please? if it's.. not gonna bother you..''. He scoffs a bit under his mask. ''If it'd bother me,'' he says, reaching at your head to pat it. ''I wouldn't have offered it, huh?'' he says, in a friendly-fun manner. You nod, giggling a bit. He inhales deeply, taking his hand from your head. ''Alright then, staying it is, starshine.'' he says, smiling under his mask.

#masky #maskedman #themaskedman #maskymarblehornets #slenderverse #marblehornets #comfortfic #comfort fan fic #comfort fanfic #comfortfanfic #masky marble hornets #masked man #the masked man #the masked man marble hornets #masky marblehornets #PLATONIC #comfort

[jess-emurphy]

Alice in Borderland Season 2 Episode 1 review

First of all, I loved the episode overall, it had some cute and sweet moments and parts that felt like it was ripped from the manga, but parts that weren’t and still felt like they were from the manga. I was really impressed with this episode of keeping the general feel.

As always, spoilers ahead, including some minor spoilers from the manga (nothing major that goes ahead of the current episode, I’ll attempt to keep my manga spoilers to what should have or shouldn’t have happened that episode)

The juxtaposition between Arisu’s shooting game back in the real world versus the King of Spades killing everyone around him was really well done, that was great.

I will say, I dislike the slight plot armour they have during this scene. In the manga it’s pretty much “the king is shooting, get in the car, let’s go, no time to think.” It fit the tense scene more. Also in the manga, Tatta is the one who knows more about the guns that the King of Spades is using, he learned it from watching a lot of movies, giving us a slight glimpse into what he did in his past. Chishiya got the lines instead.

Tatta finally gets a name drop, finally. Also i wrote in my notes ‘wanna kiss Tatta so bad.’

The pessimistic Ann and the optimistic Arisu isn’t something I thought they’d go into but I did like that a lot. I want more of that, more character building please oh my god.

Okay, so, King of Spades is an omnipotent God I guess now because how did he just end up on that fucking car???????????????????????

During the car chase, I noticed Usagi kept holding onto Arisu’s arm which was extremely cute.

Them getting separated by Ann felt slightly convoluted. The manga got to the point a lot easier.

The shop scene was similar to the manga but they added more, it’s always nice to see Chota and Karube again, they were super heart-warming. I think Usagi’s motivation to be that she actually wants to stay is nice, and gives her something new.

Tatta and Kuina iconic duo, their scene was cute. I like that Tatta is more of a car guy here, in the manga we know he fixes cars but that’s about it, we see here he’s actually into them a lot, I hope it’s mentioned in his flashback that his dad was a car mechanic. Also that line about how even with his debts, he wants to go back. I loved that so damn much, it fits his character so well. Despite all the characters having something taken from them or added that doesn’t make sense, they’ve done Tatta really well so far. This part wasn’t in the manga but I can see him saying that, considering his whole thing is wanting to pay off his debts for his mother.

Also Tatta being bitchless is canon.

I’ve said it on my blog but I’ll say it again, heavily dislike the change for why they go to Kyuuma’s venue (King of Clubs). In the manga Arisu notices he’s a super talkative guy, which means he’s more likely to spill secrets. I think it takes away from Arisu and his insane ability to read people so well, which made him the best at Hearts.

Niragi appearing, hate him, but the makeup looks great. The costume department is so good, I loved the King of Spades outfit a lot. Kyuuma’s friends all have great clothes that fit their past lives so damn well.

The small comment from Niragi about how he’s sure he isn’t the one who’ll bring the team down, foreshadowing what he’s going to do to Tatta. I think it’s really great, he can see off the bat who are the dominating personalities in the group and who isn't. I think it’s also great because he turns out to be wrong.

No criticisms for Kyuuma. He’s literally perfect. The actor portrays the character so well, you can see the charisma oozing off him. His mannerisms are almost dance-like, which is what the manga was trying to show off. The music really topped it off for me.

8/10, great episode for the characters. The plot armour was super noticeable this episode though. He had a small part but Kyuuma really was the star at the end.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland season 2 #alice in borderland s2 spoilers #alice in borderland spoilers #imawa no kuni no alice #Arisu Ryohei #usagi yuzuha #kuina hikari #rizuna an #tatta koudai #kyuuma ginji #Niragi Suguru

[stuck-in1]

First of Summer

We've been friends since childhood, until we're not...

Nishumura Riki x OC | friends to enemies to lovers | Oneshot

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

-Niki's POV-

Today marks the last day of junior year and I��m all set for summer, nothing specific is planned though, just enrolled some review classes for the upcoming college ability test this November.

For tonight though, it’s the dreaded junior-senior prom. As per the school’s tradition, this is like a send off for the seniors while welcoming the juniors into semi-adulthood.

I, myself, don’t like these social functions—even my friends are all going with their respective dates, I didn’t ask anyone though, it wasn’t deemed necessary. I’m just going since this is the last time I’ll see my favorite seniors, especially Jongseong hyung.

Jongseong hyung, or Jay as everyone calls him, took care of me since freshman year, when I first joined the dance club. He also introduced me to his friends who were part of it, and that made it easier for me. Although, I think, being part of that caused rift between me and his sister, Park Serin.

Serin was my bestfriend growing up—we were basically friends since kindergarten. I didn’t know what happened, but I’m guessing that it’s because we had different interests, we just drifted apart.

The chats in the hallway were reduced to nods, until it came to a point that we were completely ignoring each other.

She became popular, and probably her head ballooned with it. She’s untouchable, especially when her brother is the ever so famous, Park Jongseong.

Her friends are also the worst; everyone was scared of their little group. And it also has been a known issue in our circle how problematic Jay hyung’s sister is, how she’s become a spoiled brat, how she has a bigger allowance than him, and an even better car which was gifted to her by their parents on her 16th birthday.

Speaking of, there she is now at one of the Science labs. Classes have been dismissed early today due to the event this evening, I wonder why she’s still here when everyone must be in their respective homes, getting ready or doing some last minute touch ups.

Unfortunately, I was assigned with the cleaning duties today, which explains why I’m still here. She on the other hand looked glum, and she sat on one of the stools just outside the lab.

Now the problem is, how can I make her leave?

"Excuse me..." I approached her in the nicest way possible, "Serin-ssi, I would need the stool so I can lock up the lab."

"I'm sorry?" she said with an automatic high pitched voice. It's more or less 3 years since I last called her by her name, or rather talked to her.

"I said-" I was ready to repeat what I said, but she cut me off.

"I heard you.” she said icily. "Do I look stupid to you?" she gave me a disgusted looked that says nobody shoos her away.

"Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything!" I said like it was the most obvious thing to say. Maybe she still made me speechless, no one knew that I liked her before.

Without another word, she stood up, kicked the stool away from the both of us, the loud clang sounded through the empty corridors.

"Thanks." I said in a non-sarcastic voice, but somehow it still annoyed her since she gave me a piercing look. "Did you need something else?" I asked, as I looked at her in the same manner.

She just shook her head as a response.

"Good. The place is empty, let me walk you to the parking lot. It's not safe here." I offered, and to my surprise, she agreed.

We walked silently the first few steps, but I had the urge to start a conversation, "are you excited for the prom later?"

"I'm not..." she was too quick to reply accompanied by a frown.

"Why? You're probably going to be the prom queen..."

She became quiet for a minute as she sat on one of the benches that were near the school’s parking lot. "How can you be excited when the people voting for you don't even respect you?"

"What do you mean?" I sat beside her. It somehow reminded of those times that all we did was kill time in each other’s backyard. "Of course, they respect you..."

"More like scared of me!” She scoffs, “That's why they're voting. This may sound to narcissistic but I know I'm the most envied girl in school, but at the same time, I know I'm the most hated." A sigh escaped her lips. "what about you? Were you planning to root for me at all?"

"Of course..." it wasn't a lie per se. I was indeed going to vote for her and I think she's the prettiest of all the nominees.

"For what reason? A prom queen should be someone to represent the school in a good way, not because she's popular or the most envied one, or maybe just because she's rich. She should affect the people's lives in a positive manner, not bully them..."

"You affect them... but only, they get terrified!" I couldn't help but laugh at my lame joke, she did too.

"Nishimura Riki... Do you even want to go to the stupid prom?" she asked me. Serin mentioning my name again, after so long, made me feel giddy. It was the only thing that I needed to realize that I missed her, a lot. I shrugged as I glanced at her..

"Let's play hooky!" she said with a big grin. “Uhm, you don’t have a date, right?”

"I don’t have a date. But for real?"

"Yes! But I'm going to be dead for sure if Jongseong oppa finds out I didn't attend."

"I have an idea..." I offered, as she was all ears. "What if, we don't skip the prom, just be late? What do you say?"

"Sounds like a plan. We're going to be fashionably late!" she giggled. "Come on, lets head home first so you can change into your tux, and I can wear my ridiculous dress.”

We each rushed home, to prep for the evening. Both agreeing that we’ll see each other at 6:30, an hour and a half from now.

Mom thought I was excited for the prom as she took thousands of pictures. I was already frowning big time but she still finds it adorable. Kept asking who my date was and didn't believe a single thing I said when I said I didn't have a date.

Oh great! There's one thing I forgot to ask, her number! Of all the thngs that I had to forget, it was this one essential thing.

I’m not arguing with myself internally on whether to call Jay hyung or not. To call him and risked getting interrogated, or to wait for some miracle to happen and waste time?

My phone then rang, showing an unknown number.

"Hello?"

"Niki... it's me, Serin." the voice on the other line replied.

"I was about to call Jay hyung to get your number." I laughed.

"I stole your number from his phone..." she also laughed. "so where are we going to meet?"

"Shall I pick you up?" I offered. "But I have to tell you, the car I’m driving is an older model, you may not wan to be seen in something old and beat up!” I teased.

"It doesn’t matter, to be honest. I actually don’t care. I just asked my parents for my car so I can piss off Jongseongie oppa!" That surprised me, as I expected another reason. This made me grin unknowingly, my mom looking at me weirdly.

I faced the opposite side just so she wouldn’t see my face, "Great, I'll be there in 20 minutes."

We both hung up as I made my way to the car, trying to avoid any more conversation with my mother.

This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date. I kept repeating this to myself as I didn’t want to assume. It’s even more surprising that she didn’t have a date to the prom.  

It took me less than 20 minutes to reach their place, have I driven too fast?

Serin was wearing a light blue dress, the hem of the skirt flowed just above her knee, paired with a strappy high heeled sandals which looked uncomfortable. The whole outfit she put together was not on the conservative side, but on her, it looked elegant. Breathtaking, in fact. She really is.

As a courtesy of course, I went down after I parked my car, and I can tell that Jay hyung was surprised to see me.

"I didn't believe that you’re her date... I thought she was lying."

"I told you oppa, I'm going with Niki..." she whined like a little kid. Cute.

"It's better that you go out with him, since he's a close junior, just don't give him a headache, please. It’s already embarrassing enough to be your brother!" he scolder her. "Niki, take care of my sister, and I'm hoping that you'd be patient with her. " he both pushed us lightly to my car, and we waved our goodbyes before leaving.

"Where are we going?" she was pretty excited when she asked.

"I have no idea..." I confessed. I didn't plan the whole thing, since I wasn't really good at it. She must've sensed my frustration when she spoke.

"It's okay, lets grab some take out first and then I know this place..."

We chatted like old friends while I was driving, she was nothing like the Park Serin that everyone knew from school, tonight, she was just the fun loving, silly girl that I used to be friends with.

After we got the food, she instructed me to drive until we reached a secluded place, which was over looking the city. The air was fresh, far from the city's pollution.

"I often go here when I feel like my life is useless..." she stated. We were both sitting in my car's hood, looking at the city lights, "this place is like my sanctuary..."

She continued to speak without inhibitions, "When we were in our last year of middle school, I felt the pressure. I started to change without even knowing it, until it came to the point that I got lost, and I didn't even know who I was... and after talking to you today, I was reminded of how happy I was back then... so thank you."

Dumbstruck was the perfect word to describe me at this moment, I didn't know what to say. This was the person that I fell in love with before. She was the Serin that I knew... the one I’ve always admired.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she tilted her head, her clueless expression was so inviting.

And this made me realize that I never really stopped liking her. I just became contented with looking at her from afar.

"Nothing..."

"Oh come on!"

"It's just that..." I didn't finish my sentence, instead I touched her cheeks, then slowly lowered my face to hers and kissed her. I can tell that she was pretty shocked at first, but she slowly reciprocated.

"I've always wanted to do that..." I admitted, "but I never had the chance."

She rested her head on my shoulder, "you should've done that before... I needed a wake up call."

"Are you kidding? You were so high and mighty in school, I even thought you've forgotten about me."

"Well... not really, but the people around me made me feel like I had no life back then. I hate the idea that I had to give in with the peer pressure."

"It's okay Serin, at least we're good now... I wish we could jut stay like this."

"Idiot, we can't. We still have to go to the prom..."

I frowned, "Why?"

"Because I want to show you off!"

---

Time passed by so quickly that when we got to the prom, it was just in time for the announcement of the prom king and queen. The school principal was the one who announced it, but it wasn't Serin.

We were standing in the middle of the crowd, giving an applause along with the rest of the students, I initially thought that Serin would be disappointed, but I was wrong--she was smiling from ear to ear with the look of contentment plastered on her pretty face

"Serin! I thought you wouldn’t' make it!" one of her friends approached us, "what are you doing with him?" The said friend looked at me from head to foot, repulse evident in her eyes.

"Well, I'm here, aren't I?" Serin snapped, "and Niki is my date. Now if you'll excuse us."

“Was that okay?” I probed as she dragged me to the dance floor, “I mean she’s still your friend…”

“Ah, the friend that spreads baseless rumors about me.” She then wrapped her arms around my neck as we found our spot and started slow dancing as Butterfly by The Boyz started playing.

She tiptoed a little and gave me a kiss on my right cheek, and gave me a smile. I panicked internally when I realized that we were in front of the whole senior class, and I was right when I saw Jay hyung and the others looking at me.

“Jay hyung is going to kill me!” I muttered, when she heard she looked around instantly finding her brother staring at the both of us.

“Oh he’ll live with it!” she rolled her eyes and gave me another kiss, this time on the lips. “I want to see him try though!”

This is going to be the most interesting summer of my life!

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Home | Masterlist

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #nishimura riki #niki fanfic #niki x reader #enha niki #niki drabbles #ni ki enhypen

[skalidris]

notes from the publication of the letters of the king friedrich wilhelm i on the court proceedings against his son friedrich ii from the prussian state archives

in the introduction, gerhard zimmermann says that apparently these were nearly destroyed - when the allied troops were bombing places, they tried to rescue them, and originally meant to bring them to a place in an old salt mine in schönebeck, but they couldn't reach that place anymore. so along with other important documents they brought them back to berlin and kept them in the secret state archive, of which everything burned down, except the magazine wing these were kept in. he says the fire raged for three days. wack.

there's a note on the letter the king received when the court first didn't give katte the death sentence that's so bizarre linguistically idk how to translate it. i've never seen the word 'flederwisch' in my life. but he's very clear he'd like them to rethink this judgement. also he's calling the court 'krichgericht.' the way i would write that word is kriegsgericht (=martial court). pre-orthographic standardization german is good actually

aw the last letter from that whole trial debacle friedrich wrote to his dad he said 'i'd like nothing more than to erase the miserable past year from my life' (he's polite and claims it's bc he upset his father, but his dad was an abusive ass, whose answer was 'and you'd better not forget it. should you mean it for once then i hope you'll do better next time and be a good son and good christian and then ill be merciful with you again' (paraphrasing. i do Not like this guy.)

ok so this is a bunch of supportive letters to the king from.. other royals? the kaiser of austria's, karl, basically says 'I am certain that there were very tragic and significant circumstances that caused my dear honoured man to proceed with such harshness against your crown prince, but i can only entreat you, since it's a matter so close to your heart and because of the strength of our deep and enduring friendship, to please go a little easier. only because i find this whole thing a little sad!!! but surely, the crown prince will be less likely run away again if you prove that you're not that cruel..."

he kind of gets it ngl.

also ftr this is treated as a trial against the crown prince and also katte primarily and all the other people who were involved only secondarily. they barely come up.

anna of russia thinks the crown prince was probably just misguided due to keeping morally defunct company. it's just a phase, your highness.

it must be difficult to be a royal. they all sound very nervous, this must have been a huge deal politically.

mr friedrich wilhelm (the king), you really write in such an incomprehensible manner! i think in the margins of the letter from august of poland he said that he'd really like to kill a hundred thousand of von katte were god willing? and that he'd like all the english to know that he'd never let any regents work at his side (?) and that he'd also like only to cut off their heads? what is he talking about

friedrich (crown prince) your writing is so much better and you sound so much less like a horrible person. you do not sound happy though. sorry about all of this. he says he'll spend the rest of his life making up for his mistakes to his father and his country :/ (this is in a letter to thank the kaiser of austria for speaking up for him. later, as king, friedrich fought against the then-kaiser of austria, or i guess maria-theresa. uhm. a lot. militarily. so that's fun.)

oh my god there's a tiny little insert of anna's letter. like, a facsimile copy. in russian. i can't read that but it looks pretty.

the closing comments call friedrich ii a genius :)

they also say his dad saw in his uhm. 'differently inclined' son a threat to the country. it's a tricky phrase. idk if i got the right nuance. anyway, this made him very cruel, which sucked for basically the whole court.

this guy isn't into rpf clearly but instead wants to #believe friedrich & friedrich wilhelm reconciled bc family is family. lmao.

the stuff abt england is bc friedrich thought of marrying a princess from there (as another way of escaping from his father). only when that didn't happen did he plan to run away. the bad influences anna mentions were probably the english.

#learnt a lot tbh. im happy i found this #ref.

[subdued-moderation]

INFILTRATION: Shepherd's Flock \ Part VIII [Final]

PREV

===================

Temperance's walk out is unimpeded, reforming his human glamour as he rides the elevator back up to the basement floor, thinking about what he's found out.

He couldn't ask too many questions, as that would too easily reveal that he hadn't been sent to check in on their progress. And Gen, of course, began to pick up on that. Maybe, he thinks, there was a day where she would've freely given info for nothing in exchange, but her time with Charity has clearly taught her a few things.

Not to mention the distaste his sister has for him in particular.

However, he can trust Generosity's words. Despite his sister's influence, he feels confident that she lacks the manipulative nature to lie to him on her own.

Summarizing it in his head...Sloth, most importantly, was not here. On top of that, they seem barely aware that she's even in the city. Or was. Good news for Gluttony, in a way.

But they seem to be working on new developments in imprisonment rituals. Something the Father is apparently aware of.

He could piece together that the purpose, on the surface, was to more easily contain and seal away Vices. The use of which seems obvious in the grand scale, it would make it easier to bring about Utopia if there were less Vices getting in the way in a more controlled manner other than killing them.

However...He knows Charity. There is something more to it than simply that. Generosity may not even be aware of what the true purpose is. As much as those two love eachother, the black sheep is no exception to his sister's manipulations, even if the lie is only by omission.

But...What?

He strides out the elevator as it arrives, the lamb Entities he left on the floor, just now barely beginning to recover. They can't stop him from leaving, but they do glare at him and spit curses at his name.

Walking up the steps to the ground floor, the two he first encountered are there, standing and glaring at him. But they stand aside, clearly having received an order. One speaks, "Lady Generosity...Has given you permission to come and go as you please." There's a little venom in that statement.

The other one adds on, as Temperance steps past to continue on his way, "Don't mind the humans on your way out, we told them to pay you no attention." The human disguised canine just grunts and nods in acknowledgement.

So...He walks right on out, the humans indeed paying him little heed. Right out the front door.

The night air is crisp as usual, a little refreshing after the cramped space of that building behind him. He turns down the street and begins to walk, calmly.

Once he finds a private spot, he has a call to make.

--------

Meanwhile, a different call is made, to notify their significant other.

"My sweet Charri~!! Hiiii~! How're things over in, er...What was the place again...?

"...Oh right! Hahahah! Glad to know things are going well though! Will I get to see you soon?

"Ah...How wonderful! Oh, I simply can't wait~! There's actually a restaurant here that I found that I think we'll just adore!

"Mmhmm~! Just be sure to let me know in advance so I can make reservations~♪!

"Oh but onto business...Yeah! He showed up. I thought the Holy Father might've sent him but I dont feel very sure...

"...Really?...And you don't know...Huh...Not very much before , just current progress on the prototype. I think that...Whats the term? Investor? Benefactor? That you mentioned? I think they'll be pleased!

"But yeah, I told him that he could help us for whatever information he's looking for. May as well, right?

"...Oh come on, sweetie, Temperance isn't all that bad. Moody and quiet but...Well, I wasn't going to say 'useful', but I guess it works in this context.

"Yeah, i'll keep in touch! Why would I never? Okay!...Okay!...I love you toooo~! Bye, Charri~!"

#ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴇᴅ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ [Main Verse] #[IC: Temperance] #[INFILTRATION: Shepherd's Flock] #[IC:Generosity]

[togamzee]

Yuno rarely dreamt. 

When he did, he maintained a certain degree of awareness with it–dreams didn’t scare him, even on the occasion they tried. Wisteria tended to be the typical underlying motif; one he hadn’t quite caught the symbolism in. Her painting in the cafe brought something in it to light. Nothing conscious. Nothing that would touch him on the surface. The power in her body, face, her art–its subliminal messaging hurt, confused and to some extent frightened him–yet he found it continuously became easier to withstand the longer he spent with her. He felt no need to unravel the mystery. Either it would solve itself in due time, or the feeling would fade into oblivion. 

Luckily (or not) for him, it was very possible he had found that oblivion. 

A strong grip tightened around his forearm, pulling him up and away from an all too soft bed of plush green grass. Yuno’s eyes flung open, confusion and displacement having yet to wane. His gaze met the back of a figure surely as tall as him, with long black hair that nearly met his waist. Startlingly light gray eyes peered back at him as they moved. Quickly.

“Did you die?”

“...Excuse me?”

“Did you die? There’s no way you died, right? Already?”

Yuno blinked several times over. The man kept pulling. His grip did not soften, even as they crossed a wisteria covered bridge. He barely had a moment to take in the rushing black current beneath them. Yuno did look back at the field they left, lips parting in awe of the vastness of it. Covered entirely in lilac hues. 

“I’m not kidding, there’s no way you’d actually be here unless you’re dead. And if you’re dead right now…I’m telling you, you’re in for it.”

“I…I don’t think I’m dead.”

“Swear you’re not dead.”

The man whirled around, expression painted with serious concern. Yuno blinked again. He felt it was all he could do. His face…apart from subtle differences, Yuno recognized it as a mirror of his own. 

“I really don’t believe I’m dead. I don’t have any illnesses, and I…haven’t killed myself, so–”

A sigh of genuine relief. Followed by a curt nod. The man let his grip fall from Yuno’s arm, though he gestured in the direction of a cabin. “Let’s keep going, then. It’s great you’re not dead, but that kinda makes me worry…um. Maybe a little more.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not yet.”

Yuno kept his eyes down as the grass covered ground turned to snow. This dream was really strange, wasn’t it? He’d never spoken with someone before. Let alone…dreamt of someone. Not like this. Not vividly. 

Some distant crack of thunder made him jump. His gaze shot up, and he nearly bumped into the back of the figure trying so desperately to get him across this sweep of land. Bright and brilliant lightning entranced him for a heartbeat, only to have the grip return to his forearm. Tighter than before. The other man pulled him up the steps to the cabin, throwing him inside and slamming the door behind them. Yuno nearly tripped over a black ball of fluff, which in turn barked and bared his little teeth up at the newcomer. 

“Be nice, Esteban!” 

“Esteban?” Yuno echoed, staring down at the little creature. After a thorough sniff, he seemed…satisfied. 

The other sighed, crossing over to the sectional and collapsing onto it. Yuno watched him for a moment, hypnotized by his mannerisms that somewhat emulated his own. His presence was bolder, somehow, laced with more self assurance and power. 

He noticed the staring. A brilliant smile flashed. “Recognize me at all?”

“...Sort of?” Yuno tilted his head. He took the second as the other laughed to take a seat on the other end of the almost too-large couch. 

“Sugawara Ryo?”

“Should…I know you?” His brow furrowed. 

“Guess not? Mizuo didn’t. But after Shiro did, and…” A grimace formed on his face. “The next one. He sure did. Kinda thought we were trending in that direction. Of just. Knowing.”

A blank stare. Another laugh. 

“Alright, alright. Jeez. It’s really weird you’re here, then.” Ryo shifted up, grabbing a remote from the coffee table and turning a TV on. The image was distorted, fuzzy…though not something he could call foreign. Especially not when it was his own face, plain as day. His face, smiling, right alongside–

“...What’s wrong with Katsuragi’s…eyes?” Yuno leaned forward, fascination outweighing anxiety. Her turquoise had been replaced with bright, blood red. 

“They’re all gonna look like that, so save your questions till the end. This is you, right, doctor?”

“...Yes.”

“And this was me!” Ryo smiled, pressing some button to reveal another image of himself and a fiery redhead with even redder eyes. “And my Eri.” The smile fell. Yuno nearly spoke up. “Anyway! Moving on!” He pressed again. Chestnut hair and bright green eyes. The bare minimum of a smile, though fondness was apparent in his gaze, fixated on a cloud of platinum white fluff and those same red eyes. “Mizuo and Kaede…she had it pretty rough. Er. They both did, really.” A guilty smile crossed his face. “...My fault. He won’t even look at me.”

Yuno glanced at Ryo. Ryo did not glance back. He took the opportunity to gauge the statement, the guilt behind it–guilt that plastered itself in ways Yuno was wholly unable to comprehend. 

“These guys, though. Shiro and Izumi? Really great stuff. I’m so jealous of him. I think everyone is jealous of him. Everyone. And it super went to his head. Alive and dead, he’s…” 

Yuno directed his attention back to the screen. The white blonde was the man this time, adorned in tattoos and a grin wider than any Yuno had ever been capable of making in his life. The red eyed girl he held in his arms–clearly, his world. Without question. 

“I was gonna say he’s got…a god complex. He does, but I kind of don’t want to eat my words right away.”

Yuno nearly piped up. Ryo held up his index finger. And promptly switched the image. 

The redhead on the screen scared him. Visibly. Yuno swallowed, averting his eyes in much the same way Ryo did. The girl in the image…

He could not look at her. 

The deeply profound sadness he felt when he looked at Katsuragi Tsumi felt like a mere blip on his radar beside the overwhelming ache that choked him the second his eyes crossed to the brunette on screen. Ryo pressed at the remote, removing the image. 

“So, that’s…part of why I’m showing you this. If you wake up here, and you ever see him, you…” Ryo frowned, contemplating as he leaned back on the couch. “I don’t know how to like…get out of here. But you’re gonna have to figure that one out, doctor. I’m dead serious. Like. As serious as a dead guy can ever get. I doubt he’s gonna be alone, either. So this…” He chewed at his lip, tapping his foot in some anxious thought. “This one is gonna freak you out, probably. So if you panic yourself awake, that’s fine. Probably for the best. Just. For the love of anything you hold dear, don’t let that redhead—or especially this guy–get a hold of you. Cause if you really are alive, and here, it just seems…” He rubbed at the back of his head, exhaling as he pressed the remote again. “I dunno. Guess there’s no precedent, but I think it’d probably be a pretty big problem for you and your life. By that I mean…”

Yuno couldn’t make out the rest of his words. The blue eyes on the screen were an exact reflection of his own. The soft blond hair framing his impossibly perfect features, complemented by an extraordinary red eyed Venus whose arms draped around his shoulders like marble. With purpose. He had never seen two beings more beautiful and meant to exist together, intertwined as they were, in his life. The echoes of them held through each iteration, yet had not quite captured the allure of the two that threatened to fully infatuate him. 

“Listen, I haven’t said his name and I didn’t wanna say the other’s either cause I don’t wanna risk their attention. I’m telling you to avoid them, okay? You got that, Yuno?”

He wasn’t sure if he managed a reply before the alarm he had set for work went off. Yuno was quick to silence it, and spent the next several moments sitting upright in bed with his eyes on Katsuragi’s sleeping figure. He wondered what the dream had been about. 

And he wondered why the normal melancholic pain he felt upon looking at her had faded to a barely dull throb.

[sassyhobbits]

rowaelin with their first child and they get into that stranger anxiety phase and cry with everyone except when they're in their mothers arms and it's exhausting but also adorable but rowan sometimes feels like a bad dad because his kid doesn't want to be held by him so aelin has to reassure him and then some day this phase is finally over - prompt 😢🥺

ok i adored writing this one. dad rowan is so much fun to work with. i hope everyone enjoys!!

~~~

In his over 300 years, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius had been awoken by many different things. Whether it was a call to battle while sleeping in a war tent, a summons from his queen late at night, or a lover trying unsuccessfully to disappear quietly before dawn. Yet, none of these manners of waking up had filled him with as much dread as he felt currently.

He was woken in the middle of the night by a shrill shriek coming from the room that adjoined the one he shared with Aelin. In the recent months, what had once been a leisure room had been converted to a nursery for their new baby girl.

It took three years after Aelin’s coronation before they decided to start trying to have a child. It took another year before they were successful. Rowan counted his blessings. He had seen plenty of Fae couples take decades before they finally conceived.

Eliora was four months old now, which meant four months of troubled sleep for both him and his mate.

Rowan was instantly on alert at the sound of his daughter’s cries. He knew that they were no more than a normal babe’s troubles, but his instincts made him tense anyways. He quickly sat up, looking down at his wife quickly to see if she had woken up. Luckily, she still slept, likely beyond exhausted from the mix of raising a child and ruling a kingdom. If Rowan was successful, she wouldn’t have to wake up at all.

He got out of bed and swiftly stepped into the nursery, coming before Eliora’s crib. Her tiny face was pinched up in dainty outrage, small limbs flailing as she cried. Rowan took a deep breath, sending a prayer up to the gods more out of habit than faith at this point, and picked his daughter from the crib. Hopefully, this would be the time he could get her to stop crying.

The little princess shrieked and protested whenever she was in anyone’s arms besides her mother’s. Rowan’s included.

“I’ve got you, my little light,” Rowan whispered to his daughter, cradling her tiny body to his bare chest and lowering himself onto the rocking chair they kept beside her crib. “Everything’s alright.”

Despite his soothing words, Eliora still continued to cry. It broke Rowan’s heart to hear, broke it even more to know that nothing he did could seem to calm her down.

“Please stop crying, love,” Rowan pleaded, threading his fingers through the fine, silvery-blonde hair growing on his daughter’s head. “Your mother is so tired and needs her sleep.”

Unfortunately, even begging didn’t seem to work.

Over the sounds of Eliora’s cries, he heard the door hinges creek, and the sound of bare feet scuffing over stone. Rowan glanced over, finding Aelin walking towards him. Exhaustion weighed down her beautiful face, but her eyes were still full of fondness at the sight of the two of them.

Rowan looked to her apologetically before his face crumpled in defeat. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I’m so sorry, Fireheart.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, love,” she whispered, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his hair. “Give her to me.”

Rowan handed the squirming bundle of blankets to his wife. Aelin situated their daughter in her arms before she lowered herself on Rowan’s lap, allowing him to wrap his arms around her waist, press a kiss to her shoulder, and begin to rock them.

Quickly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away. Her face unscrewed, looking at Aelin with those wide, Ashryver eyes that she had.

Aelin began to sing a low, Terrasenian lullaby as he continued to rock the three of them. It never ceased to amaze him how good she was with their daughter, how quickly she was able to sooth her temper. He only wished that he could do the same, that Eliora would look at him the same way she looked at Aelin and not scream and scream and scream.

Rowan’s heart was full of love as he watched Eliora’s eyes begin to droop shut at the soothing rocking motion and the sound of her mother’s voice. It wasn’t long before she was once again asleep, the night perfectly silent.

Rowan helped Aelin stand, keeping a hand against her back as she brought their daughter back to her crib and laid her down. Perfect. She truly was perfect.

A gentle hand on his arm drew his attention away from the slumbering babe. Aelin nodded her head towards their room and Rowan dutifully followed, shutting the door quietly behind them.

“I’m sorry, Fireheart,” Rowan said again, drawing Aelin into his arms and kissing her forehead. “I know you’re exhausted.”

“No more so than you.”

Rowan could only sigh, pressing his lips together tightly. His emotions were troubled, and he should have known that Aelin was going to notice. She leaned back slightly, peering up at his face.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rowan, and you’re wrong,” she said matter-of-factly.

Rowan wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t help but ask, “What am I doing wrong?”

He had faced many challenges over his years. Wars and battles and tortures. He had survived them all and came out victorious. And yet, the thing that brought him to his knees, was the fact that he couldn’t bring comfort to his own daughter when she needed it. A baby had finally defeated him.

“You know you’re not doing anything wrong,” Aelin said firmly. “The nurses said this happens sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

Rowan had heard this what felt like a thousand times. It did little to soothe his troubles.

Rowan was good at many things. He was a warrior and a general, had stepped confidently into the role of king consort. His hands could kill and heal and build, but they couldn’t get Eliora to stop crying. He couldn’t help but feel that, perhaps, being a father… wasn’t something that he was made for.

It broke his heart to think. He remembered how excited he was when they found out Aelin was finally pregnant, how they cried and kissed and clung to each other, whispering about the future. He had been ecstatic, but also terrified. He knew Aedion, who had welcomed his own son into the world a year before Aelin got pregnant, had felt the same before he was born. But, Aedion hadn’t had the troubles Rowan did. He had stepped into fatherhood gracefully, and his son loved him immensely.

“Hey,” Aelin said, a bit snappily. She put her hand on Rowan’s cheek and urged him to look at her. In those eyes was a familiar fire. “Stop that. I know what’s going through your head. You’re a wonderful father.”

Rowan sighed and hung his head, pressing Aelin’s hand more firmly against his cheek. “How can I be a good father if I have no idea what I’m doing?”

“Do you think I’m a bad mother?”

“What? Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t know what I’m doing either,” Aelin said. “Neither did Aedion or Lysandra. No new parent has any idea what they’re doing. It’s part of the job.”

She made it sound so easy. Aelin had always had a knack for that.

“I wonder if there’s some secret behind it,” Rowan mused as Aelin tucked herself back into his chest and wrapped her arms around his torso.

He felt his wife shrug. “I don’t know… but if there was, I think it would be to love them. To support them. To do everything in our power to make sure they’re happy.”

“I love Eliora more than life. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.”

“I know, love.” Aelin rolled on the tips of her toes and brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s mouth. “Now, all you need to do is have patience.”

He chuckled. “Look at you. Who would have ever guessed that Aelin Galathynius would be lecturing me on patience.”

Her grin was a slash of white in the dark. “I’ve been told I’m wise beyond my years.”

“Who the hell has ever told you that?”

“People. Now, will you come back to bed with me?”

“Of course, Fireheart.”

They climbed back under the covers, pressing their bodies close. Aelin fell back asleep almost comically quickly. Rowan wasn’t far behind, holding his wife tightly throughout the night.

…

Another month went by and little changed. Both Rowan and his wife were getting little sleep during the night, leading to some groggy mornings. He had seen Aelin taking short naps at her desk or dozing off when an advisor spoke for too long. She would, of course, deny it if Rowan ever brought it up, so he wisely stayed silent.

Eliora still abhorred being held by anyone except Aelin. The fact that it wasn’t just him brought Rowan a bit of solace. His daughter cried when held by Lysandra or Fenrys or Elide. She had a particularly nasty meltdown last time Lorcan had held her.

“I know, sweet girl,” Aelin had murmured, taking Eliora from Lorcan. “I wouldn’t want to be that close to him either.”

Still, Eliora’s reactions didn’t deter Rowan from trying to hold and soothe her, though he had not yet been victorious. Patience, Aelin had said. It was easier said than done.

The sun had set below the Staghorns hours ago. Eliora was asleep in the nursery, Aelin was treating herself to a long soak in the tub, and Rowan sat in one of the plush armchairs they kept in their room, sharpening and polishing some of his blades.

It was an easy practice to get lost in. The simple, repetitive movements were a welcome distraction. A good way to cool down before bed.

However, his hands froze when he heard a tiny whimper sound from the nursery that quickly morphed into a shrill cry. Eliora.

Rowan placed his blades down on the low table before him, pushing to his feet and quickly striding into the nursery.

Eliora was wiggling as she wailed. Rowan wished he could read her mind so he knew exactly what was bothering her and how he could help. But, all he could do was take a deep, bracing breath and scoop his daughter into his arms.

“What’s wrong, little light?” Rowan whispered, carrying her over to the rocking chair. “What is it?”

Eliora’s only response was to continue crying.

Rowan sighed, wondering how much longer he had before Aelin got out of the bath and came in to calm Eliora down. He had seen Aelin do it countless times. She would take Eliora into her arms, smile down at her, start to whisper nonsense or sing a low lullaby. She made it seem so easy.

“Everything’s alright, Eliora,” Rowan murmured, switching to the Old Language. “I’ve got you. I’ll never let anything happen to you, little love.”

And then, something amazing happened.

Slowly, Eliora’s cries began to fade away to a whimper and then, to nothing at all. Rowan held his breath, worrying that one wrong move would put her back into a fit of hysterics. His daughter slowly opened her eyes and peered up at him.

Rowan smiled down at her. “You’re just as lovely as your mother. Just as stubborn, too.”

And then, as if she understood his little joke, Eliora flashed him a gummy smile. The shift in expression floored him. She had never given him a smile before.

Rowan felt his throat tighten and his eyes begin to burn, but he smiled back at the tears welled up. A tiny laugh escaped his throat. Finally, finally, he had done it.

Eliora’s chubby arms reached up. Rowan held out a finger, letting her wrap a tiny hand around it. He always forgot just how small she was.

“I love you more than you could possibly know, Eliora.”

He was too distracted by his daughter and the little grip she had on his finger to notice that Aelin had entered the nursery until she was almost upon them. Rowan looked up at his wife, knowing that his eyes were still watery and there were likely tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. Regardless, he beamed.

“It would seem, once again, that I was right,” Aelin said with a triumphant smirk.

“As you often are, my love.”

She laughed and dropped a kiss to his forehead before draping her arms over his shoulders, leaning over and watching their daughter, who was studying them with wide eyes. Once again, Eliora smiled. Rowan would never tire of the sight.

“She looks like you when she smiles,” Aelin mused.

“You think?”

She nodded slowly, reaching out and running her knuckles along the smooth curve of Eliora’s cheek. “I still can’t believe she’s ours. She’s just so… perfect.”

“Like her mother.”

Aelin snorted. “Kiss ass.”

“Maybe a little.”

They faded into silence, simply standing there, wrapped up in their little, blossoming family. They stood there until Eliora’s eyes fluttered shut once more and she drifted off into a peaceful sleep. One she enjoyed for the entirety of the night.

Rowan didn’t know what he had done to deserve such bliss, but he knew it must have been something good.

#every time i write a baby fic im like #is it obvious that i know next to nothing about babies #rowaelin #my writing #tog

[songbirdstyles]

white wedding.

summary: your estranged aunt leaves you her estate in her will with the stipulation that you have to be married to receive your inheritance. luckily, harry is more than willing to help.

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader

warnings: fluff, smut, angst if you squint.

song inspo.: white wedding - billy idol

word count: 13.4k

You weren’t too close to your Aunt Alice for the entirety of your life - there’s a picture, you think, hung in your parents’ house of her and some of your other family members, crowding around your bassinet when you were just a baby, her face turned up into a scowl amid everyone else’s gleaming grins, and it was a lovely foreshadow into your relationship with her. She sent you $10 on your birthdays and Christmas (an amount that your father had always scoffed at when he thought you weren’t listening - ‘she’s a goddamn millionaire,’ he’d hiss to your mother, ‘and the most she can spare her only niece is $10?’)  and you could remember, when you were 9, seeing her at a family reunion where she sat at a table pressed into a back corner and nursed glasses of wine during the entire event.

It goes without saying, you suppose, that she wasn’t the kindest lady. Your mother had told you how Aunt Alice cut off your father for some reason nobody could quite discern and, so, she never held a much larger place in your life than a mere branch on your second grade family tree project -

But, still. It’s rather difficult to regard the dead in such a negative manner so you try and focus on the good parts of your late aunt. Twice, she wrote ‘love u’ in your Christmas card. And, at said family reunion, when you walked over to her table to say goodbye before you left, she delivered a sloppy, strangely wet kiss to the side of your face that smelled distinctly of chardonnay (a scent you hadn’t quite been able to place until years later.) And - 

“Are you alright?”

Harry’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, gazing out the rain-streaked car window at the night sky with an odd air of sadness surrounding you. You had been trying to hide the slight dash of sadness you feel at the memory of your aunt by disguising it with a mask of sleepiness that has you leaning your forehead against the cold window, eyes squeezed shut. But Harry can read you like a goddamn book - like the back of his hand. It’s what best friends are for, you suppose.

“I’m fine,” you tell him, tilting your head away from the window to glance at him in the driver’s seat. And, the truth is, you are fine. It’s not as though you’re entirely too saddened with the news of Aunt Alice’s passing. She’d always had health issues, according to your parents, and you’re not sure what, exactly, has sealed her fate - you’re simply more confused by it all. “Well - when we were leaving the movies, I got a call from my dad. My aunt died.”

You can hear Harry’s sharp intake of breath and there’s a brief hesitation where you know he’s trying to gauge how you feel about it. “Oh,” he settles on, turning to look at you in the eye when the car rolls to a stop at a red light. “M’sorry, love.”

You shrug, glancing down to squint at your fingernails in the darkness of Harry’s car. You’d begun to pick at the baby blue nail polish he’d delicately applied the night before (they matched his, naturally) and it really is a nervous habit you should work on, but you can’t be bothered right now. “We weren’t close,” you admit, leaning back against the headrest. “It’s just weird, is all.”

“Are y’sad about it?”

“Not quite,” and it’s the truth. “She was wealthy, though. I think she wrote novels or plays or something - I’m not sure. And I was, apparently, her closest living relative that she didn’t despise.”

He clicks his tongue softly, making a left when the light finally switches to green, and his eyes shift back towards the road. “Left y’somethin’ in her will, did she?”

“Her countryside estate,” you confess, voice soft - it’s not the climax of your story but it certainly sounds like it should be, and you can see the confused crease in Harry’s eyebrows when you look up at him. “I looked the address up online, Har - it’s gorgeous, 6 beds and 7 bathrooms. I guess we had similar tastes in that regard.”

“Y’don’t sound too thrilled, for someone who jus’ got their dream house handed to ‘em on a platter.”

“There’s a stipulation in the will.”

“Ah.”

You smile tightly. “I’ll only inherit the house if I’m married.”

It’s something you’ll never understand. Aunt Alice never married and lived in that grand old house (your dream house) all by herself, and if you’d known about your role in her will perhaps you’d have argued it with her in person - the hypocrisy of it all, how goddamn unfair it was. And it’ll kill you - truly kill you - to see that house go to whoever her next closest living relative is who she doesn’t hate. Probably some third cousin twice removed, considering how great she was at cutting people off.

And Harry sits for a moment in silence, considering it. “Seems very - very - can’t think of the word.”

“Sexist? Unfair? Dumb?”

“All true,” he agrees, giving you a sympathetic smile, and it makes you feel the tiniest bit better, even if it’s just for a moment. “Barbaric, maybe.”

“I hate her,” you declare, crossing your arms over your hoodie-clad chest, and you most certainly don’t, but you’re angry enough to mean it in the moment. When your father had told you, you hadn’t thought about it too much - besides being confused by the entire thing, being left a house by a relative you hardly knew - but saying it out loud makes you angrier, squeezing your eyes shut. “Would you know she never married? How does that make sense?” “It doesn’t,” Harry repeats, and you glance out the window, lifting your palm to wipe at the cloudy stain your forehead had made against the glass - you’re just less a minute away from your apartment building, and you rip your phone from Harry’s charger and shove it into the pocket of your hoodie. “She left you time, right? T’get married? Tha’ seems only fair.”

You snort, ignoring the way his lips turn up into a smile at the noise. “She gave me a year. I mean, I’m 23 - I wasn’t intending on settling down for another couple of years.”

If you were less distracted, perhaps you’d see his responding silence for what it is - time to think, gears grinding in his head, as he pulls into the parking lot of your apartment building and leans over the center console to wrap you in a hug. Harry’s a talkative person and he’s only really quiet when he’s got something on his mind, but you’ve got something on yours too (probably more than he does) so you ignore it. And his soft murmur into your hair of ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow for breakfast’ sounds every bit as distracted as you feel so you simply pay it no mind.

It’s easier that way, for now.

 --

 “I’ve been thinkin’ about your situation.”

You raise your eyebrows at Harry, bent over his plate of French toast as though he hadn’t spoken at all. His sunglasses are perched at the end of his nose so you can see his eyes - which, in your opinion, defeats the purpose of even wearing the stupid things in public. But, whenever you two go out together, he insists on wearing them, along with a grey beanie protecting his infamous head of curls from any wandering eyes, and the bizarre attempt at a disguise always makes you feel like you’re having breakfast with a burglar. 

“Not much to think about,” you shrug, popping a forkful of omelet into your mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “I was just mad about it last night, you know. Heat of the moment, sort of thing.”

“I’d be mad, too,” Harry tells you, and it’s getting more difficult to ignore the way his words send heat creeping up your neck, and you glance down at your plate of eggs with a small smile gracing your face. “Not jus’ heat of the moment, either. Really mad. S’bullshit.”

A second of silence passes, and you let his reassurance settle over you - simply having him agree with you on the stupidity of the entire situation makes you feel a thousand times better. Even if you don’t get the house (and you’ve already progressed into the last stage of grief over almost certainly losing it - acceptance) at least you’ll always have Harry, and maybe that’s enough.

But the house would be nice, too.

“What were you thinking about?” You question, lifting your eyes back up to meet his through his tinted glasses, and if there wasn’t the barrier between your gazes you’d be able to note the nearly shameful glint in his eyes as he digs into his stack of sugary sweet toast, doused with maple syrup and towered high with fruit. “About the situation, I mean.”

Harry begins to speak once more just as you reach over with your fork to nab a piece of banana, and he swats at your wrist as you pop the slice of fruit into your mouth. “Don’ steal my banana, babe,” he tells you, eyes narrowing in mock anger, and you roll your eyes at the name. “Anyway. S’not totally crazy, that you could get married in less than a year.”

Yes, it is, you want to reply back, but you can tell he’s ramping up to something important, so you rest your fork on your plate and furrow your eyebrows at him pointedly. Truthfully, even if the love of your life happened to be sitting in front of you, you’re not sure you could go through with marrying them, anyway. It’s such a heavy commitment and, God, you thought you’d have more time. Time to explore and experiment and not settle down (in your dream house) just for the sake of it.

“What if we got married?”

And that - is not what you were expecting him to say.

You’re not sure if he’s kidding or not so you give it a minute before responding in any capacity. Just stare at him, and he makes a point of hooking his pinkie in the center of his sunglasses and tugging them down his nose just a bit so you can see the absolute lack of amusement in his eyes. He’s all business, goddammit, as if he hadn’t just basically proposed to you in the middle of eating your fucking omelet.

But you can’t be sure he’s serious, and you also can’t be sure that the way your stomach flipped wasn’t because of a particularly egregious sip of chocolate milk and not the prospect of marrying your best friend. So you lean back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Are you kidding?”

Harry just shakes his head, grey beanie sliding up just a bit for one chocolate coloured lock of hair to escape the confines of the dumb hat. “M’being dead serious, babe. I’ll get down on one knee an’ prove it, too.”

“Don’t do that,” you beg him, reaching out to grab at his wrist when he makes to push himself out of his chair, and his wide grin only sends your stomach into another set of somersaults. “Jesus, Har.”

“Horrible idea?”

You don’t respond right away, grabbing your glass of chocolate milk and wrapping your lips around the straw. It’s a few seconds to process the request in all its glory - marrying your best friend, even if it’s just for show, is a lot. Sure, all you’d really have to do is head down to a courthouse (you could do it today, even - if you wanted to, and you’re not sure you do.) It’d be easier than searching hopelessly for the love of your life and arrange a wedding in less than a year, and you’d be able to walk the halls of your aunt’s gorgeous estate, decorate it how you please, and - ideally - your relationship with Harry wouldn’t quiver in the slightest.

Well, maybe that’s why you’re hesitant to begin with. Because it would quiver - or because it wouldn’t - or because it’s plain weird to marry your best friend. Even if it’s for a good cause (your dream home) and even if he suggested it in the first place, because he cares about you and wants you to be happy.

That’s sweet.

Maybe it would be a glorious fuck you to Aunt Alice in death. It isn’t as though anyone would know about the inauthenticity of the union but you would, and that’s all the revenge you need for her adding such a silly stipulation to her will, anyway. A marriage born not out of love, but out of need - sure, it’s not exactly how you wanted your life to go, but it’s better than watching the estate go to someone you’d never met before. You could get married and get divorced in the time frame she’d given you to find love in the first place and it would hardly be a blip in your life plans, and certainly not in Harry’s. It isn’t as though he’d suggest it if the marriage would ruin anything for him. 

Sure, you’d prance around family parties with him on your arm to sell your faux romance to your family. Only one or two, though, his arm around your waist, and it wasn’t as if your parents hadn’t already begun to question whether your close friendship with Harry ventured into something further. And, when it’s all said and done, when the house is officially in your name and you can begin shopping for furniture to make it your own, it’ll be easy to sell the divorce - he’s touring, you’d tearfully proclaim, and the stress was just too much on our relationship. And then you’d both be happy, right? For the most part, anyway. Still best friends with no hassle at all, and you get your house and he gets the popstar life without the settling down part.

When you’ve swallowed your gulp of chocolate milk, it’s nearly worrying how much you’ve thought about the proposal.

“It’s not a horrible idea,” you begin, eyes diverting downward to where Harry’s fingers are fiddling with a straw wrapper. “I mean, it could be pretty easy.”

“Very easy.”

“We just elope -”

“Could do it today, even -”

“I haven’t agreed yet, Mr. Styles - but we would elope, and then I’d get the house, and maybe I’d bring you to a family reunion, just to sell it, and then we’re divorced.”

He raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding further down the bridge of his nose until their purpose has been completely obliterated, and his eyes are on display for the goddamn world to see. “Unless we fall in love an’ live happily ever after - no divorce necessary, m’love.”

Bastard. Your stomach flips again but you just roll your eyes, picking up your fork and lifting a shaky bite of eggs up to your mouth. “Shut up.”

You’re almost certain you’ve made up your mind but you still make a show of thinking about it, slowly chewing on your omelet and focusing your gaze on a paper napkin resting on the ground beside Harry’s chair. It’s almost too easy, the entire process, and maybe that should make you nervous, just a little bit, that the idea of marrying him feels so relaxing. But - well - if you had to choose anyone in the world to marry in order to fulfill a stipulation in your aunt’s will, it would have to be Harry.

He’s looking at you eagerly when you look back up at him, and you’re not sure why he’s so excited about it - not like there’s anything in it for him - but it’s something you’ll think about later.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” you tell him, watching the way his grin spreads across his face like wildfire, and you can’t help yourself from smiling, too, “but I am.”

In seconds, Harry’s reaching across the table, grabbing your hand in his larger one, and just the way your heart jumps at the feeling of your palms pressed together should certainly have you rethinking your enthusiastic yes. But then he’s picking up the straw wrapper he’d been fiddling with, and it’s twisted into a makeshift wedding ring, and he’s sliding it onto your ring finger with a wide smile like a fucking puppy -

God. You’re in too deep already, and you’ve only just agreed.

 --

 For the record, you’d rethought your decision many, many times since agreeing.

You’d drafted out the text for Harry for when you inevitably will change your mind - a block of words confessing to him that you’d reacted too quickly and you think it would be best if you simply forfeit your inheritance, but you can never quite gather the guts to do it. And every time you copy and paste the note from your notes to your text thread with your best friend, something always stops you -

The photos of the house from the real estate website you’d seen it on.

Harry’s wide grin as you accepted his offer.

FIngers delicately sliding on an engagement ring made of a paper straw wrapper, and the next day when he’d shown up at your door with an actual, real engagement ring.

Naturally, you hadn’t sent it. You’d deleted the note entirely, too, embarrassed with even looking at your words of defeat sprawled on your phone screen. Sometimes, though, you wish you had fucking sent it. Nearly two weeks after accepting the proposal that still hasn’t progressed from feeling like an absolute fever dream, you’re sitting with Harry at Aunt Alice’s funeral, his arm hooked around the back of your chair and the other clutching a glass of wine that he’s hardly taken two sips of.

You’re on your second glass already, and it’s barely been an hour. You’d signed the guestbook and hooked your arm with Harry’s and introduced him as your fiance to exactly one of your great-aunts, and you’d been so nervous that Aunt Shirley could see right through your faux-engagement that you’d practically downed your glass the second her back turned. 

“This is so weird,” you confess to Harry, shifting closer to him so no one else around you can hear. Not that there is, per se, anyone else around you - not many other people are sitting down, but you and Harry were one of the first people to arrive, so you’ve given yourselves a pass to sit down for a while. “Isn’t it weird, Har?”

“S’only weird if you make it weird,” he murmurs back, and you would roll your eyes at how maddeningly calm he is if you weren’t desperate to keep up your pretense as loving fiance to the funeral goers whose wandering eyes may turn to you two. “And, babe, you’re makin’ it weird.”

Your lips spread into a smile and you lift your glass of wine to your lips, taking a small sip before bringing it back down to your lap. No matter how many times you scream at yourself, internally, that nobody knows you’re not engaged and to calm the fuck down, you can’t stop your leg from bouncing up and down, showcasing your nerves in the most outward way you possibly could. “Wonder when my parents are getting here - should’ve texted them and told them separately. Did you tell your mum?”

“Told her the truth,” Harry tells you, tilting his head into yours in a way that feels so natural you swear you could stay this way forever. “You’re not tellin’ your parents the truth?”

“Bless my mum,” you sigh, “but she can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

Harry exhales a soft laugh, eyes darting around the room full of people before landing back on yours, and your gazes lock for just the briefest of seconds before he’s glancing down at your lap. “Y’don’t have t’do this if you’re uncomfortable, y’know. We can jus’ say - the pressure of m’job was too much.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you tell him, which is true. You’re nervous, for sure, but he could never make you uncomfortable. “And, ironically enough, that’s my excuse for when we divorce.”

Your voice drops to a near breath on the last word and Harry’s head drops back with a bark of laughter that’s entirely too loud for the setting you’re at but you can’t bring yourself to reprimand him. “Always talkin’ ‘bout our divorce,” Harry breathes, tilting his head closer to yours so his mouth is close enough to your ear that you can feel his breath, hot against your skin. “What if we fall in love, babe? No divorce then. Don’ y’want us t’live happily ever after?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” you roll your eyes, even if you’re almost positive you will (or already have) and shake your head at Harry’s resulting chuckle. “Been best friends for nearly five years, haven’t we? If we were going to fall in love, I reckon it would’ve happened already, Har.” 

“You’re right,” he agrees, voice oddly soft and sounding just sentimental enough for you to narrow your eyes suspiciously at him - but before you can question him further, his eyes dart down to where your leg is still frantically bouncing up and down. “Bloody hell, love - bouncin’ your leg so much. Y’look like a nervous wreck.”

“Thanks,” you begin, and whatever else you’d been meaning to say dies in your throat as Harry’s arm shifts from around the back of your chair and his hand comes down firm on your leg. His fingertips brush your knee and his palm lays soft against your thigh, just high enough to gently brush the end of your black dress and you wish you could control the way your stomach flips again and again like a fucking gymnast.

It’s to keep up appearances, you tell yourself. So people don’t think I’m so nervous. But it feels so nice, so natural in a way you hadn’t expected, feeling his hand resting on your thigh like it belongs there, fingertips drumming against your knee which most certainly isn’t bouncing anymore.

Your eyes flit up to his, narrowing them ever so slightly as if to sniff out his intentions, and out of the corner of your eye you can see two familiar figures walking in the high arched doors of Aunt Alice’s service. Your parents break off from each other nearly the second they enter, your father skirting off to greet some of his cousins and your mother’s eyes scan the room filled with relatives before landing on you and Harry.

“Mum’s here,” you tell Harry, pushing yourself to stand, and the feeling of his hand dropping off your thigh is a sensation you absolutely despise. He stands soon after you, adjusting the cuffs of his black button down shirt, and for the first time since the funeral began, you can see the beginnings of nervousness creeping upon him. A light pink flush works its way up his neck to his cheeks and he brings his hand up to run through his hair, inhaling a shaky breath. “You look nervous, Har. You’ve met my mum before.”

“S’different. Now we’re engaged.”

“Not too different.” You hook your arm with Harry’s, patting his hand with yours, and he gives you one grateful fleeting grin before you begin walking over to your mother. She’s bent over the guestbook, scribbling her name with the feather pen resting beside the log. You stop walking when you’re just a couple paces behind her, waiting for her to turn around and see you two - and your voice drops to a hushed tone as you reassure Harry. “I think she already sort of thought we were dating anyway - so she won’t care too much.”

“Wait - she did?”

“Hey, mum!”

 --

 You’re getting married in a week.

And, sure, you’d known that the entire process would move quicker than you could imagine but it still feels surreal and you still reckon you haven’t thought it through enough. It’s worsened (or, in some way, bettered) by the absolute adoration your family had immediately adopted towards Harry after meeting him just a few days ago, your aunts pulling you aside at the funeral and the repast that occurred after and whispering in your ear about what a handsome man he is! 

Well, they’ll certainly be disappointed when, in a month or two, you pop in to the next family gathering and announce that you two had gotten divorced as quickly as you’d been wed. Harry will be your ex husband and, at that point, surely people would be suspicious at the speed of which everything had happened but - hey - you’ll have your house and your best friend and that’s all you really need, isn’t it.

Yeah.

Slowly but surely, you’re coming to peace with it, and Harry’s certainly making it easier by being so zen about it all. His nerves at the funeral had been just about eradicated because your mum loves him, which you knew, and your father had seemed positively overjoyed at the news of your engagement, but they’d both seemed rather disappointed at your decision to elope instead of spending the time planning a big white wedding. And you’d expected that, but you figure that, by the time your second marriage inevitably rolls around, it’ll be real (realer than whatever you’re feeling for Harry, because you’re still not sure) and your father will walk you down the aisle and you’ll be able to go shopping for a big gorgeous wedding dress like you’d always dreamt of wearing.

You haven't even bought a dress. The one you’re wearing now, staring at yourself in the floor length mirror propped against your bedroom wall, is one you’d purchased for your college graduation to wear beneath your gown - simple and flowy, falling to just about your mid-thigh, and the only redeeming quality for even being considered a wedding dress is its white color. Still - it isn’t as though it’s a real wedding, in the traditional sense, so it doesn’t make sense for you to spend too much on a gown you’ll don for a trip to the courthouse and then get sad whenever you look at it again, post-divorce.

No, you don’t think you like it. You’d liked it for your graduation but for a wedding (your wedding) you wish you had something just a bit nicer, and you want to strip out of it and change back into your jeans but Harry’s sitting in your living room, waiting for you to model the stupid thing for him, and you’d hate to disappoint him. So you inhale softly, run your hand down the fabric, soft beneath your fingers, and reach for the door.

Harry’s on his phone when you step out of your bedroom, slowly shutting the door behind you, his body looking strangely large where he’s perched on the small loveseat in your living room. Everything in your apartment seems too small for him - or just too small in general - and it’ll be a nice change to live in a house where you can hold gatherings of more than 5 people without feeling like sardines in a can.

“Har,” you call, reaching down to tug the ends of your dress just a bit further down your thighs as you step further into the living room, bare feet padding against the plush rug your parents had gotten you as a Christmas gift the year prior. “What do you think of the dress?” You can hear the click of his phone as he turns it off, dropping it on the cushion beside him, and heat creeps up your cheeks as his gaze turns to you - you should feel self conscious, the way his eyes roll up and down your body, drinking in every bit of your dress, but you fucking love it. Love the way his lips part into a small o and upturn into a grin, how he pushes himself to stand and close the distance between you two until he’s hardly two inches away from you, how he reaches down to pick up the end of your dress as though examining the fabric.

“Do you like it?” You question as Harry drops your dress, letting the fabric fall back down around your thighs. “Wasn’t sure if I did.”

“I love it,” he tells you, immediate and forceful and you can tell he means it with his whole chest - maybe you love it, too. “Y’look beautiful.”

“You don’t think it’s too simple, do you?” Maybe you’re fishing for more compliments but you allow yourself to do it shamelessly. “It was my graduation dress - remember?”

“I do remember,” Harry grins, tugging at the bottom of your dress, and keeping his hands busy is a nervous habit of his that you’ve grown to recognize from a hundred miles away, but you can’t think of why, exactly, he’d be nervous now. “Looked so pretty, walkin’ across tha’ stage. I was so proud.”

You smile, gaze dropping down to where his fingers are fiddling with the skirt of your dress, and you think you’ll wear this dress every single goddamn day if he reacts as positively to it as he is now. “You sound like my dad.”

His nose scrunches when you look back up at him, and your heart twists inside your chest. “Don’ make it gross.” You simply shrug, bringing your fingers up to drum against his shoulders through the fabric of his Fleetwood Mac shirt, his muscles flexing ever so slightly beneath your touch. “M’being serious, though. I love the dress. Y’make the prettiest bride on the planet - m’a lucky man, aren’t I.”

From the moment you walked out of your room you’ve been feeling heat burning your cheeks but it doesn’t stop you from gently smacking his shoulder. “Stop it - you’re gonna make me blush.”

“Looks like y’already are, Mrs. Styles.”

Should that name make your stomach as topsy-turvy as it does? 

You shake your head, smoothing your palms over the front of your dress to both eradicate the wrinkles that adorn the fabric and to wipe off the sweat cropping up on your hands. You don’t think you’ve ever been so nervous around Harry before and you can’t quite place your finger on why, but it’s getting more difficult to look him in the eye with your heart pounding as fast as it is. “I’m not gonna be Mrs. Styles for another week.” 

Harry exhales softly, fingertips tapping against your hip and you hadn’t even realized how close his hands were to that spot of your body - but it feels comforting, his touch on an oddly intimate part of you. “I can’t wait,” he says, and you can’t, either. “Makin’ me a very lucky groom, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe could make you go crazy if you focus on it for too long, so you don’t - and it’s hard to focus on much other than Harry himself as his head drops down, forehead pressed to yours, and oh God you can smell his fucking gum, and if you tilt your head up ever so slightly -

Is he going to kiss you? You think your heart will explode but you’ve never wanted anything more so you tilt your head up, just a bit, grip tightening on his shoulder, and you can feel his breath growing warmer against your face -

The sound of Harry’s phone ringing in his pocket snaps you out of your haze.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands dropping off your hips, and your head drops downwards with a soft groan. It was so close. You could feel his breath against your face and how did that fucking opportunity pass you by? - “S’my mum. Fuck - m’sorry.” And you’re not sure if he’s apologizing for the call or what had (or, rather, had not) happened but it doesn’t matter.

One glance at the phone he’s tugged out of his pocket shows that he’s right - Anne’s contact photo smiles up at you and you give Harry a small nod, faking the smile you’re not feeling, before taking a step back against your plush carpet as he turns around, back to you, phone pressed to his ear.

“I’m gonna change,” you whisper to no one in particular. Harry’s head turns just a bit so you can catch the apologetic look on his face before he’s loudly greeting Anne, and you’ve never liked eavesdropping on their calls. So you turn and head to your bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind you and turning to stare at yourself, wide-eyed, in your mirror.

He almost kissed you.

He didn’t - but would he have? If Anne hadn’t rung him - would he have leaned down, breathing shaky, like how it always is when he’s nervous, and ever so gently pressed his lips to yours? And you would’ve known exactly how it feels to be kissed by him, whether it would be as dream-like as all the times you’ve dreamt of it. His hands on your hips, yours on his shoulders, bodies slotted together until your hands are roaming and you’re pushing him on to the couch, sliding into his lap and his hands would roam to your thighs -

It doesn’t do well to think about it now. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up about it - that doesn’t do anyone much good - and you don’t want to take too long to change. So you inhale a soft breath, smooth your clammy palms back over the front of your wedding dress, and you allow yourself one final glance in the mirror at the attire you’ll be donning in a week’s time before reaching around to your back, fiddling with the zipper until you can begin to tug it down.

 --

 You and Harry haven’t talked too much since you showed him your dress, and it’s probably not very great etiquette for an engaged couple, but you two have never been normal anyway.

He sent you a picture of the suit he’s wearing and it’s as every bit unconventional as your excuse of a wedding dress, and you told him that - how you would be a pair for the books, the opposite of what a regular married couple looks like. And you texted him just yesterday and asked if he would make you two a reservation at your favourite restaurant for dinner after the elopement (he always tended to get the nicer tables, and you don’t pretend not to know why) and he sent you back two thumbs-up emojis in response.

You’re getting married in three days, though. It would probably be best to talk about it with him before you cross that bridge but it’s never been one of your stronger areas, so you leave it be for now.

“Are you alright?” Your friend questions, tilting her head in so you can hear her against the thumping music of the club. Your friends had insisted on dragging you out for a bachelorette party the second they hard of your engagement and it would be out of character for you to refuse a night of drinks on them - even if you’d rather stay home and think about Harry and all the things you should’ve done when he was at your apartment. Getting drunk out of your mind does seem preferable to wallowing, though, now that you’re out and about and well on your way to getting smashed - so you turn to Olivia and nod once, a simple jerk of your head.

“I’m fine,” you tell her, reaching over to grab the cocktail Amy had gotten for you and bringing the straw to your lips. “Just thinking about Harry.”

Amy snorts from her spot across the booth, dipping her finger into her empty shot glass and licking up the droplet she collected. “Can’t believe it took you two so long to get together.”

“And I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about it,” interjects Olivia, reaching over to grab your glass out of your hand and taking a sip of your drink. “How long have you two been together again?”

Fuck. You’re in the grey area between being tipsy and being drunk and you can’t remember how long you and Harry had claimed to be together. Was it a year or two years? You think it’s a year - you’d wanted to go as low as possible with your answer. Did we say six months? That seems too low. “I’ve liked him since I’ve known him,” you answer instead, which is absolutely the truth, and Amy and Olivia are both too drunk to ponder about your evasion of the question. “Loved him, even.”

Your fingers brush against your phone, sitting on the table face down, as your friends playfully swoon - the last time you’d texted Harry was to tell him you were going to the club, and you hadn’t checked to see if he responded. It’s always been a habit between the two of you to text where you’re going, in case something happens, which seems oddly barbaric at times but you’ve always appreciated it.

“You’re so lucky,” Amy informs you, reaching across the booth to intertwine your fingers. She gets sappy when she’s drunk and you can tell from the distinct crack in her voice that she’s mere seconds away from bursting into tears and professing how much she loves you and Olivia - you don’t ever quite enjoy being around to see that. “I mean, really. You and Harry - we always knew it would happen -”

“I should call him real quick,” you mumble, watching as her eyes water over, and Olivia rolls her eyes with a grin as she scoots around the other side of the booth so Amy can throw her arms around her. You grab your phone and push yourself out of the booth, maneuvering through the crowd of people until you’ve reached the bathroom.

It's a single stall and the club is small enough that you only have to wait a minute or two before a thoroughly shitfaced woman stumbles out of the bathroom, a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoes, but she’s gone before you can point it out to her. You brush it off with a shrug and shut the door behind you once you’re inside the bathroom - it smells like Febreze and mint soap, and the scent of the mint reminds you of Harry’s breath and you really need to call him, don’t you.

You’re scrolling through your call log before you can wonder if calling your best friend who you’re in love with while you may be quite drunk is a bad idea - the phone is ringing just as you begin to - and he’s picked it up just when you realize you’ve made a mistake.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says from the other end, voice crackling with the poor reception in the club. He sounds groggy and raspy and you can tell you’ve either woken him up or he’s trying to go to sleep, and you don’t actually know what time it is, you realize. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m at a club,” you tell him, and you can hear his soft exhale of air and you can practically picture the slow smile spreading across his lips. “I’m out with Amy and Olivia - they wanted to take me out for a bachelorette party or something - s’kinda dumb, I dunno -”

“Are y’drunk? S’just, you’re slurrin’ a lot -”

“I’m tipsy,” as you sit back on the closed toilet seat, fingernails digging into your thigh. You don’t actually know what you’d called him to say but four days without talking to Harry seems like it’s setting some sort of record and you hate it. “Just wanted to call because - um - well, I miss you.”

For a second you think the call may have broken up - you can’t hear much beside his soft breathing, and you pull the phone away to check if it’s still connected. But then he sighs softly, and you’re quick to press your phone back to your ear. “I miss y’too, m’love - ‘course I do.”

“That’s sweet.” You hum softly, kicking your toes against the tiled bathroom floor. “I thought you might be mad at me.”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Dunno,” you shrug. “That’s why I was confused. But you haven’t texted me much.”

You can fucking sense him rolling his eyes. “Well, y’didn’t text me either. I thought you were mad at me -”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about what happened the other day,” you interject, and you know you wouldn’t be telling him this if you weren’t teetering more towards being drunk instead of tipsy, “and I really wanted to kiss you, you know. I mean, I thought you were going to - and then it didn’t happen.”

“Well, m’mum called.”

“Would you have done it if she didn’t?”

There’s a pause for only the briefest of seconds before Harry says, “‘Course I would have.”

Your heart flutters inside your chest and you lean your head back against the wall, nails digging further into your thigh and it’s difficult to hold back the grin that threatens to split your goddamn face in two. God, he would have. He would have kissed you - does he love you like how you love him? It seems fucking unreal, like something you’d dream up in your deepest sleep. You’d never thought Harry would ever feel the same way, even as you got a fucking marriage license together and planned out the dinner you’d eat after your elopement and -

You can’t think of a single other one of your friends who would fucking marry you for any reason, house or no house, life or death. And who would you do it for? Not Amy, not Olivia, even if they asked you nicely. It’s a commitment - a huge one - one that you wouldn’t be willing to do for anyone.

But you’d do it for Harry, in a heartbeat. You know you would. You’d have the fucking dress on before he could finish asking, and isn’t that what you had done, really? He hadn’t had to convince you much at all. You’d been willing from the get-go.

“Really?” Your voice is barely a breath, a soft exhale of air, reeking of the giddy joy you’re feeling at his proclamation. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Y’know I never lie to you.” Harry sounds nearly offended at the mere idea. “You are m’fiance. Comes with a code of conduct.”

You roll your eyes, and just then there’s a loud knock against the door - you jump violently, phone nearly slipping from your grasp. For a minute you’d forgotten you’re in a club bathroom and you know you’ve been here far too long to be appropriate - you’ll give yourself just one more minute to talk to Harry. “What about when we get divorced? Gonna lie to me then?”

“Always talkin’ about the divorce,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds so full of adoration that you’re nearly overwhelmed by it. “D’you have such little confidence about the strength of our relationship?”

If it were up to you, you’d be with Harry forever - but you can’t tell him that, not yet. “It’s not as though it’s a traditional relationship, you know. I don’t think most marriages that began for the sake of a house inheritance last too long,” you smile, feeling heat burning up your face even if he can’t see you. “Just generally speaking.”

“Hope y’got the statistics t’back that one up -”

Another louder knock shakes you again, and you jump up as though someone had set you aflame. Your phone nearly slips out of your clammy grasp once more and you clear your throat, lowering the device to your shoulder and calling, “Just a second!” to whoever’s waiting impatiently outside. You raise your phone back to your ear and clear your throat again. “I’ve gotta go, Har. I’m in the bathroom at the club - been in here a bit too long.”

“Aright,” Harry says, and you can hear soft shuffling from the other end, audio still crackled by the reception. “Breakfast tomorrow?”

You tilt your head to the side, scrunching your nose up before remembering he can’t see you. “I think it’s tradition for the bride and groom not to see each other before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Now you’re a stickler for tradition?”

“I’ll see you at the courthouse, Har,” you tell him, before pulling the phone from your ear and hanging up. For a second you can’t move, staring down at Harry’s contact in your phone with a giddy grin that surely makes you look like some child in a candy store - and, in a way, you are - and it’s only a third knock at the bathroom door that has you scrambling out the door, giving an apologetic grin to the girl waiting impatiently.

 --

 Being married - for the record - doesn’t feel too much different than before.

There’s a shiny ring on your finger that Harry had bought, and when you glance across the table where he’s sitting, clutching his menu, you can see the similar wedding ring on his left hand - it’s simplistic and small and contrasts with the rest of his clunky rings and it makes you feel strangely warm inside when you spend too long looking at it. And, even after you and Harry had talked at the club, your ‘post-elopement’ dinner doesn’t feel entirely different than all of the other dinner dates you’d shared before the entire situation began. It’s familiar and sweet and his ankle is hooked around yours under the table, forcing a permanent heat onto your cheeks.

Harry rests his menu on the table, fingertips drumming against the laminated paper, and you similarly drop yours to look at him. “Think m’gonna get the spaghetti.”

It’s a testament to the slight air of awkwardness surrounding you both that the only thing he can think to talk about is the food he’s getting - but you’ll play along. “I like the raviolis,” you tell him. “Think I’ll get those.”

He hums softly, pushing his menu further into the table. “Can y’believe tha’ we’re married? I can’t. Seems so weird.”

“Doesn’t feel that different,” you disagree, toes tapping against his ankle beneath the table. “It’s not like we didn’t go out for dinner together before we got hitched.”

“We’re playin’ footsies under the table, babe.”

You grin down at your napkin, resting on your lap on top of your wedding dress. “Be careful or I’ll kick you, Har.”

His ankle tightens just a bit around yours beneath the table and you could watch that small smile spreading across his face for the rest of your life. “Y’wouldn’t dare - don’t y’love me?”

Yes, you do, so you resist the urge to unhook your ankle from around his and deliver a swift kick to his calf - just rest your palms on the table, scratching lightly at the rustic wood of the table. It’s hard for you to even pretend to be mad at him when all you can think about is how much you want to climb over the table and straddle him - as his wife you suppose it isn’t an insane thought, and you’re nearly certain he’s feeling the same way. Hadn’t he told you he would have kissed you if he hadn’t been called by Anne? Maybe you’ll get a chance to do it again - later. You’ll never give up the opportunity again.

“When d’you get t’move into the house?” Harry questions, leaning in just a bit in his seat. 

“A few months, I think.” You shrug. “Reckon I’ll start redecorating before then, though. I’m already looking at furniture - I’ve gotta save up for most of it, though. Might sell my apartment before then.” There’s a pause, and then you shrug once more, picking at a crack in the table. “I’ll probably move back in with my parents.”

Harry’s eyebrows are raised when you glance up at him, fingers paused in their drumming on the menu. “Are y’kidding? We’re married. You can move in wit’ me.”

“I can’t ask you to do that -”

“Not asking, are you? Even if we didn’t just elope at a courthouse, you’re still m’best friend. Can’t have you moving in t’your mum’s basement.”

You smile softly, flattening your palms against the table and craning your neck to examine the ring - proof that it had really happened, that you’re really married. It still doesn’t feel quite real, no matter how many times you and Harry casually talk about it. “Was gonna live in her attic, actually.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ll pay f’the furniture, too. Don’t look at me like tha’ - s’our house. Needs t’be ready f’when we move in.”

You hesitate, trying poorly to conceal the way your grin is arching further upwards at the mere prospect of what he’s hinting at. Living with Harry? Jesus, even if you weren’t in love with him, living with him sounds like an absolute dream, only made better by your feelings for him. And picturing walking through an Ikea, searching for furniture, feeling his arm around your shoulders as you two look online for decorations - if heaven were a place on Earth, it would be your Aunt Alice’s estate, soon inhabited by you and your husband. “Well, we’ll talk about it, alright?” you land on as your response. 

For a moment, neither of you say anything, and the silence isn’t as stifling with awkwardness as it had been before. Then Harry reaches over, resting his hand overtop of yours, fingers instinctively intertwining, and your heart nearly splits itself in two - he initiated it, holding your hand, and maybe you shouldn’t feel so surprised but you can’t fucking help it. Your scalp is tingling and you swear your eyes are going to bubble over and his hand feels just as soft and beautiful as you’d expected - as you’d always dreamed of.

You’re not sure when, exactly, there would ever be a better time to tell him than now, so you clear your throat and squeeze his hand and confess, “I’ve liked you for a really long time, Har.”

Sharing your feelings isn’t necessarily your strongest spot but you’re feeling egged on by absolutely everything, and the way Harry brushes his thumb against your palm encourages you to continue. “I mean - since we met, basically - but I never told you. Never thought you would like me back.”

“I did,” he interjects, and you look up at him with furrowed brows. “Liked you back, I mean. Clearly - hope y’didn’t think I’d run off an’ marry anybody this fast.”

“I just thought you were being nice.”

“You’re silly, then.”

“A real idiot,” you proclaim, rubbing soft circles into the back of Harry’s hand, and you swear you’ll never let go unless someone fucking rips you away. “Guess I should’ve figured it out, then - seems like we did everything in the wrong order, right?”

Harry snorts, a noise that draws the slightest attention from an older couple sitting at a table beside you, but neither of you pay them any attention. “Get married first, fall in love second.”

“I was already in love,” and you’re not sure why, exactly, you had said that but it feels right and true falling off your tongue so you decide, pointedly, not to regret it.

There’s no hesitation when Harry responds, voice laced with the authenticity you’re so desperately craving - “Reckon I was, too.” You barely get a minute to process that and how it’s making your stomach do flips and turns like an Olympic medalist before he’s standing up, fingers still interlocked with yours to pull you up with him. “How d’you feel ‘bout a sleepover tonight?”

“A sleepover?”

He barely looks at you as he fishes through the pocket of his dress pants to pull out his wallet. “Not like we haven’t had them before.”

That’s true - you’ve slept over at Harry’s house so many times, it’s like a second home to you - but you have a distinct idea that, based off of your previous conversation and the wedding rings shining on both of your fingers, this sleepover will be just a bit different. 

“Skipping out on the reservation, then?” you question, squeezing Harry’s hand as he tosses a $50 onto the table - a significant overkill for your lemonade and his Coke but you suppose he’s feeling rather generous today. “I am rather hungry.”

“We’ll eat at my house,” he insists, leading you through the maze of tables with a grip that’s so tight, you wonder if he’s having the same qualms as you are about never letting go. “Y’like pizza, don’t you?”

 --

 You’ve been in Harry’s house more times than you can count, but it’s never been like this.

His hand is still firm in yours and it’s a feeling you adore - even if his palm has gotten clammier with every second, every step you took closer to his front door, and you can practically smell the nervousness rolling off of him. It’s not unlike the worry that’s overtaken you because you’re not quite sure what he’s expecting - only know what you want to happen and you pray to any god above that your desires align with his.

The sound of Harry shutting the door is the only crack of noise burning through the otherwise thick silence surrounding you. Neither of you had known what to say and the car ride was taken in comfortable silence, hands clasped and heads bobbing to soft music playing on the radio, but being in his house is different - there’s no music, no excuse for Harry to keep his eyes off of you, nowhere to lean your head and pretend to be resting your eyes while your heart uncontrollably thumps against your chest.

In ways, it’s better. Most ways, in fact.

Slowly, you turn to face Harry, fingers drumming against the back of his hand. His breathing is heavy and his eyes never leave yours, and you’re reminded remarkably of trying on your dress for the first time in front of him and your position hadn’t been too unlike this one - maybe now you can do it right.

It feels entirely natural, tilting your head up until you can easily slot your lips to Harry’s. They’re soft and plump and he kisses you back with a vigor you hadn’t quite expected - deepening it before you have the chance to react, his free hand that’s not clutching yours roaming to your neck and you can’t ignore the way your stomach flips at the feeling of his hand on your throat. But then his hand keeps moving up, palm pressing to your cheek in such a sweet gesture that doesn’t at all match the intensity with which he’s slipping his tongue into your mouth - your hand lands on his waist, gripping the flowy material of his dress shirt, pulling his body as close to yours as you can get.

You only pull away to catch your breath, grip tightening on his shirt to ensure he won’t move away - you need him close to you, need to feel his body against yours - the bulge near his thigh that you can feel against your pelvis, hardening with every second that passes.

“Why’d you move?” Harry questions, voice soft and vulnerable and you can’t help but lean up and land another kiss to his mouth. 

“Had to breathe, Har,” you murmur, smoothing your hands against his waist and the wrinkles you’ve surely created in the fabric. His fingers brush the edge of your jawline and you can feel your skin growing goosebumps beneath his touch.

He simply hums in response, ducking his head down to kiss you again. It’s sweeter this time, soft and fluffy but you don’t want that now - God, you want his hand around your neck and his knee between your thighs but perhaps that’ll have to wait for another time. You’re needy for just about anything you can get and if that’s sugary sweet kisses, a touch so gentle you could trick yourself into believing it isn’t there, then you’re more than grateful.

Harry’s teeth dig into your bottom lip, hard enough to have you moaning into his mouth and your nails dig into his through his shirt - the resulting whine into your mouth has you smirking against his lips, pushing your hips further into his. It’s the clearest way you can think of to tell him that you need him beyond kisses and touches.

“Jesus,” he breathes and you can feel his cock, twitching against your thigh and it’s a sensation you never thought you’d be able to experience outside of your deepest dreams - it feels twice as good as you’d imagined. “Gonna make me go crazy, babe.”

That’s exactly what you want.

“Hey,” and you pull away from him, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath still hot on your face, “don’t we have to fulfill the tradition of consummating the marriage?”

He laughs, a loud exhalation of air rather than his true barking laugh, but you smile anyway at the sound. “S’not the middle ages - no one’s expecting us to, if y’don’t want to.”

“Of course I want to.” Harry’s hand slides backwards into your hair, pulling the strands into a ponytail and tugging and your resulting moan has him smirking like a smug bastard against your lips. “God, Har. I really want to.”

It seems that that was the exact response he’d wanted - you get one last lingering kiss to your lips before Harry’s pulling away, hand falling away from your hair and other still interlocked with your own. You don’t have a second to question where, exactly, he’s leading you but then he’s tugging you through the foyer and down the halls and up the staircase you’ve grown to know so well - the trek to his bedroom has never seemed so viciously long until now, but by the time Harry swings open the door, you feel as though you’ve been walking for hours instead of barely a minute.

“On the bed, babe,” he directs you, all raspy tone and dominance lacing every last syllable and you can’t ignore the gush of arousal you can feel rushing straight to your core. It’s the stuff that makes up dreams, really, his fucking voice, and you know just the four simple words would be enough to get you off for years from now. “C’mon.”

You wouldn’t dream of disobeying - your footsteps are nearly completely silent on the carpet as you walk over to the end of Harry’s bed, pushing yourself up to sit on the plush duvet, sinking into the mattress that feels like an absolute cloud compared to the rock you’re used to sleeping on. For a brief second, he doesn’t move - just stands and stares at you, chest heaving through the baby blue dress shirt that your needy grasp had wrinkled. Then he moves, shutting the door with a barely perceptible click before making his way over to you, gazing up at him with heat blazing in your eyes.

Perhaps you’re expecting him to push you onto the bed, to fulfill the dominant tone he’d held before, so it is a bit of a surprise to see your best friend (your husband) dropping to his knees before you, fingertips ever so gently trailing up and down your calves.

The bedroom is so silent, save for your panting breaths and Harry’s shaky ones and you reckon he may be more nervous than you are - you’d expected him to handle all of the confidence between you two but his fingers are shaking as he pulls off your heels, resting them side by side on the carpet at the end of the bed. Chills crop up over your skin as his gentle touch roams up your legs, landing on your knee, and your breath hitches in your throat as the man you’ve loved for nearly 5 years leans in, lips landing a soft kiss to the top of your calf.

This isn’t what you had expected - him fucking worshipping you, on his knees - you’d never pictured it in a million years. And maybe it’s proof of the difference between him and the other guys you’d been with - your ex-boyfriends and flings had always been worried about their pleasure, never paying you any attention, and Harry couldn’t be closer to the end of the spectrum. Your entire body feels warm beneath his watchful gaze and touch, how he brings one hand up to snap firmly when your eyes flutter shut. 

“Look at me,” Harry directs, and despite the slight strain in his actions, his words still hold a never-faltering dominance that he’d had before. “C’mon, babe. I don’ want you to look away from me - can y’do that?”

It’s a task that’s easier said than done, but you nod anyway, swallowing thickly as Harry redirects his attention back to your legs. His hand, resting delicately on your left knee as though you’d break if he put too much pressure, slides down the length of your leg until he’s grasping your ankle, kneading the soft skin in his grasp while his lips linger at the top of your knee.

Using his grip on your ankle, Harry hoists your leg up onto the bed without warning, your toes digging into the end of the bed - uses his other hand to push your thigh outward so you’re on display for him like a goddamn feast and his smug grin proves that he can see just how wet you are, soaking through the white lace panties you’d chosen for the occasion. Heat blooms up your cheeks as he presses an open mouthed kiss to your thigh, teeth grazing your soft skin, and then he gives a dramatic inhale and - that’s -

You reach down, bracing both palms on the side of his face and forcing your husband (husband!) to look at you in the eye. He looks confused by your interjection and apologetic and that isn’t what you were going for but you hadn’t expected him to want to eat you out - most guys didn’t.

“You don’t have to do that, Har,” you murmur, giving a pointed glance to your lap that he’s been eyeing like it’s his dessert. “I won’t be mad.”

And Harry looks almost offended by the prospect of not wanting to, like you’d insulted him - “I want to. D’you not want me to?”

“Yes,” you reply, your voice hardly above a breath, and when he begins to pull away you continue. “No! I mean - yes, I want you to.”

He grins, wide and toothy and reminding you of exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place, and you settle back into your spot on the bed with your nerves almost completely eradicated. He wants to - he’s not doing it because he feels obligated - it’s already a step up from any other guy you’d ever been with.

Fingers trail up your thighs as Harry’s lips close around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, cheeks hollowing as he sucks a deep purple hickey, and you lift your hips just a bit so he can hook his fingers in the waistband of your panties and begin to tug them down. The crotch area is practically dripping with your arousal and it takes a bit more force to tug it away from your cunt but once they’re gone, Harry grabs your ankle again and straightens out your leg, making it easier for him to tug the offending material down your body and toss them away from the bed before resting your foot back on the edge.

You can hear his shaky breathing as he pulls his lips away from your thigh, thumb smoothing over the mark he’d left as if to prove it exists. You’d get it fucking tattooed if you could - to forever commemorate this experience - his mark in such a secretive place, just a breath away from where you need him most.

“Jus’ - jus’ tell me if y’want me t’stop,” Harry tells you, eyes interlocking with yours once more, and you jerk your head up and down once. “Lean back f’me, then - not too far, jus’ a bit - still need t’see you.”

So you lean back, propping yourself up on your arms, a barely reclined position from how you’d been sitting before. It’s easier to see him as he grabs the hem of your dress, tugs it up just a bit, but when you lift your hips so he can pull it out from under your ass he doesn’t comply - well, perhaps he has other plans with it, doesn’t want the dress to come off just yet, and you can respect that.

The time it takes for Harry to duck his head beneath your dress, tongue flicking against your overly sensitive folds, seems like fucking years even if it’s hardly a second, but when he does your hips instinctively jerk forward into his mouth. His eyes are flashing when he looks up at you and you breathe out a stream of apologies, heart thumping in your chest, fingernails digging into the comforter beneath you. “Don’ move,” he directs, and you nod again and again and you don’t stop until his lips close in around your clit.

Your head drops back with a low moan as Harry’s teeth graze your clit, cheeks hollowing as he sucks the sensitive nub like it’s what he was born to do. The bottom of your dress covers the top of his head so you can’t see what he’s doing - you have no idea what his next move is and it makes the pleasure rolling through your body that much better.

“Fuck - fuck, Har -” the only two words you can think to moan roll off your tongue like a mantra, your back arching upwards despite his warning not to move but he doesn’t mention it - just drags one hand up, fingertips light and dancing on your thighs until he can splay his forearm across your lower stomach, effectively pinning you to the bed. Your hand moves from digging into the sheets to digging into his scalp, tugging at the loose strands of hair that smell ever so slightly of gel and it makes your heart swell to imagine him putting product in his hair for the elopement - but before you have time to dwell on the sweetness of the sentiment, that talented tongue is licking a thin stripe up your folds before flicking your clit and you’re brought back to reality. “Fuck.”

“Feel good?” Harry mumbles, muffled where his face is pressed firm to your pussy and the vibrations of his words reverberate against your clit, sending a chill up your spine, and you let out a low whine at the sensation. 

“Yes,” you breathe in return, tugging at his hair just a bit, the strands forming a makeshift ponytail like he’d done to you before. “Feels so good, Harry, god -”

His head pulls back just a bit, hem of your dress dropping to just the tip of his nose so you can see his eyes - smug and glinting and you’re sure that, if you could see his mouth, those lips would be upturned into a smirk and practically dripping with your arousal - but he goes back in just as soon as he’d pulled out, burying his face in the apex of your thighs and you collapse back against the bed with a shout.

Whatever order he’d given you to maintain eye contact disappears. It isn’t as though you can see his eyes anyway, and you couldn’t stop yours from rolling back into your head if you tried. Ecstasy rolls through your body and, God, you know you’re close already, thighs tensing under where Harry’s palm kneads the soft skin, hard enough that you’re sure you’ll see bruises tomorrow. Your cunt clenches and flutters around the emptiness you’re yearning to get rid of and your back arches up again, Harry’s restraint on your torso not enough to stop it now, and you’re so fucking close.

“Harry -” you moan, digging your fingernails into Harry’s scalp and relishing in his responding moan to your clit - “gonna cum, Har -”

He doesn’t say anything - but you can feel his tongue continuing its work, up and down your folds and circling your clit and that’s response enough. Your hips jerk into his face, back arching as you grasp his hair tight enough that it has to fucking hurt but then you’re cumming and -

“Oh, fuck!”

Your voice is high pitched, cracked with a desperate sob right in the middle of your words before you’re holding Harry’s head to your pussy, his tongue working your clit like he was born for it, his low moans muffled against you. The hand previously holding down your torso slides up your body until he can shove his hand into the top of your dress, tugging it down so your chest is. He plucks at your nipple before grasping your tit, full in his palm, and the added stimulation prolongs your orgasm, hips rolling against Harry’s working mouth.

You can’t see straight when Harry pulls his head out from the bottom of your chest but when your vision focuses you’re beyond thankful. His chin is glistening with your arousal, tongue poking out to lap at the moisture on his lips and he dons that shit-eating grin you’ve grown to know so well. You usually see it when he wins a board game or when you’re celebrating something - seeing it on his face after he’s finished giving you the best orgasm you’ve ever gotten is certainly different but not unwelcome by anyone’s standards.

There’s a second where all you do is lie back and catch your breath - staring up at the ceiling above you, chest heaving as the aftershocks race through your body. Harry, meanwhile, pushes himself to his feet, muttering a small groan about God, m’fuckin knees and gettin’ too old for this, aren’t I?

Lazily you hold your hand out towards him, wiggling your fingers, and he reaches out to interlock your fingers again. “How was that?” he questions, voice soft and almost insecure and it’s a sharp contrast from the dominance he held before, but you know it’ll come back.

“I think you’re a natural at that, Mr. Styles,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in reassurance as you pull him closer to you until his knees hit the bed and he’s forced to collapse on top of you, grin cracking onto his face. “Gonna undress me?”

“‘Course,” Harry murmurs, leaning down to place a brief kiss to your lips, but before you can lift your head to deepen it he’s rolling off of you, shifting onto his side and shuffling upwards so his head rests on the stack of pillows. You raise your eyebrows at him - it isn’t as though he can take your dress off from that position - but, as though he can read your mind, he raises his hand and pats his lower stomach pointedly. “Climb up, babe.”

For what seems like the millionth time today, you can feel heat pulsing in your cheeks but you hope it doesn’t show - just sit up, swing your legs around so you’re straddling Harry, hands on his chest and gazing down at him like the God he seems to be. His hair is splayed out on the pillows beneath him, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, and you can’t help yourself - lean down to land your lips to his again, and this time both of you allow it to deepen. His hand starts at your cheek like it had before but you reach for it, fingers wrapping around his wrist and maneuvering it downwards until his palm is wrapped around the column of your throat, and he squeezes once experimentally.

You moan softly, hips rolling against the pointed bulge in his dress pants, and Harry’s eyebrows raise. “No fuckin’ way,” he breathes, squeezing again just to hear the way your breath catches. “Gonna be th’fuckin’ death f’me.”

You’re fine with that, and you reckon he is too.

You reach behind you, tapping along your back until you can reach the zipper. You’ve only tugged it down an inch or two before Harry’s free hand replaces yours, dragging the zipper down as far as it can go before reaching for the bottom of the dress. It’s gone in an instant - tossed off the edge of the bed, to be worried about later - and you can feel his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra before it comes undone, and then you’re naked.

You’d expected yourself to feel more embarrassed, or perhaps just nervous, and maybe it’s the effects of your previous orgasm but you’re feeling surprisingly calm - or maybe it’s how Harry looks up at you like you’re some sort of goddess sent from above, as though he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

It does wonders for your self esteem, truthfully.

“Gonna undress me, then?” Harry questions, hands smoothing up and down your thighs, eyes drinking in every bit of your exposed body on top of him.

You hum softly, pinching at the soft material of his shirt. “I don’t think so - want you to fuck me in your fancy clothes.”

“Well, if I’d known tha’ was an option -”

“Do you want me to put the dress back on?”

“No!”

You grin down at him before rolling your hips over his again, and it’s the last thing you manage to do before his grip lands on your hips and he’s flipping you over - your head lands dangerously close to hitting the headboard but it’s worth it, seeing him above you, fully clothed, pupils lust-blown and wide.

It hardly takes a second for Harry to undo the button to his pants and the sound of the zipper being undone is like music to your fucking ears - you spread your legs, letting him slot his body between them and oh, you can feel the tip of his fucking cock it’s right there and -

The first movement, Harry pushing himself inside of you, has you throwing your head back against the pillow, the moan coming from your throat mixing with a cry. He’s big - certainly bigger than you’d ever expected and bigger than any guy you’d been with - feels like he could split you in half if he wanted to but he stops, hands smoothing up and down your body, and you make a point of reaching for his hand and interlocking your fingers.

You’ll never grow tired of holding his hand, you think. Not for a while, anyway.

“How’re you doin’?” he questions, voice strained, and when your eyes shift back to him you can see the droplets of sweat beaded on his face. “Jus’ - jus’ tell me when, alright?”

“When,” you breathe almost immediately. You hadn’t needed too much time to adjust but you need him to move - you’re so pent up and you know it won’t take long to take you to your second orgasm but, God, he needs to fucking move. “Please, Har - please, fuck me.”

It doesn’t seem he needed much more encouragement than that. With one final move of wrapping his free hand firm around your neck and giving another small squeeze, Harry pulls out agonizingly slowly until just the tip of his cock remains in your heat. Just as you open your mouth to beg him to move again he slams back in with a force you hadn’t anticipated, your body rocking backwards of its own accord with the weight behind the thrust.

It’s exactly what you’d needed, though - fast and rough and his hand, cutting off your airflow just a bit, just enough to have you quivering beneath him. The low groan that rips out of his throat, reverberating through the humid bedroom has you pushing your hips up to his, trying to deepen where he’s buried inside of you to the hilt but you’re not sure how much deeper he could get. Feels like he could split you in half with every desperate thrust, every rut of his hips into yours and yours back into his.

“Oh - god - m’fuckin’ good girl, so tight around m’cock -”

Another rush of arousal gushes straight to your core with his filthy words and your head falls back into the pillow with a high whine, nails digging into the back of his hand as his other one tightens grip around your neck. It makes every desperate moan and cry that much airier and you can tell Harry likes it, staring down at you as his hips pound yours with absolutely no mercy and you don’t want any, anyway. It’s the subject of every single fantasy you’ve ever had about him, rough and hard and the sound of skin slapping skin overpowering your needy noises.

You’d never dreamt it would feel so good.

“Oh god, Harry!” Your eyes are rolling back into your head as your free hand trails down your stomach, shaking fingers focusing on your ignored clit and beginning tight circles around the nub. The jolts of pleasure that run through your body are - god, fucking amazing and you know you’re close, hardly need anything else to tip you over the edge. “Gonna - gonna cum, Har -”

It’s a testament to, perhaps, the long-growing tension between the two of you that his head drops backwards with a cry of me, too in a tone that’s so desperately vulnerable and it’s exactly what you’d needed - the reminder, in the midst of the rough thrusts and desperate moans, that this isn’t a one time thing. If you both allow it, it’s the rest of your life, just like this - and, God, you’ll allow it.

Your cunt clenches around your cock as you cum, eyes rolling back into your head and body spasming beneath him. In the midst of it Harry pulls out and you don’t get a second to question the sudden emptiness before you feel a familiar warmth hitting your lower stomach, and you open your eyes in time to see your husband, hand working at his cock as ribbons of cum spurt onto your stomach.

(You think you could cum again just from the sight but - well, you’ll hold back.)

His breathing is choppy and desperate, broken occasionally by a needy moan until he’s finished and he collapses on his back beside you, hands still intertwined with no intention of letting go. Nothing needs to be said - not yet - not for a little while, where you’ll talk about it more. 

A little while ends up merely being a minute or two before Harry swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hand still clasped in yours, and makes to stand up - it’s only your tightening grasp on his hand that forces him to stop, glancing behind him to look at you.

“Don’t,” you plead, throat already feeling sore and voice raspy. “Just - another minute, alright? Then clean up.”

He hums softly but you know he won’t resist the prospect of just a brief cuddle - one of the few things you hadn’t done often when you were just friends, because you knew that, if Harry held you as close to him as he is now, lips pressed to your forehead, you wouldn’t be able to resist telling him how you felt about him.

Doesn’t matter now, though. And his arms feel so warm around you, clammy palm still pressed to yours like a fucking couple in middle school but you wouldn’t dream of letting go. It’s all so - so peaceful, lying with him and listening to his heartbeat as you rest your head to his chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping as fast and hard as yours is.

And - well. Barely a month ago you were convinced your Aunt Alice was the worst woman in the world - a hypocrite and an asshole, set out to taunt you by lording your dream home over you and snatching it away when you couldn’t find a husband in time. But now? Feeling Harry, landing soft kisses again and again to your forehead, you figure she’s not so bad, after all.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #best friend!harry styles #loose ankles #lol #one of my fav things ive written #i got carried away during the smut.... sorry

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

Hey, you once mentioned something about Tom Riddle being a little suicidal. Your new post reminded of that and I wonder why you think that. It’s the complete opposite of what the books want you to think.

Alright, it’s time, let’s do this.

My standard disclaimer whenever we venture into the dark pit that is my thoughts on Tom Riddle: I’m going to say a lot of controversial stuff that fandom generally doesn’t agree with, I will say so much of this shit that I simply do not have time to explain it all, I expect 99% of you to disagree with me and the other 1% to be so horrifyingly offended that I dare to contemplate a world in which Tom isn’t always an overly competent psychopath that they leave me notes telling me to take this trash out of their character tags.

We good? Alright.

So, when I say a little suicidal, I mean that he is suicidal.

Not on the level that he’s going to kill himself tomorrow, or even has plans to kill himself, but in that he makes very strange decisions for someone who desperately wants to live.

And yes, I realize I speak blasphemy given that Tom Riddle’s entire m.o. is supposed to be his crippling fear of death.

Oh man, this one’s going to be so long.

So, my reasoning comes down to a few things:

The location of the horcruxes and the nature of their protections.

The events of Deathly Hallows and Tom’s final actions in the novel

The nature of horcruxes and what it means to not only be able to create one but what it does to you (caveat that I am going to headcanon hard here and speak utter blasphemy)

So, let’s start in order this time, because I think the first two are actually far easier for me to explain.

The Location and Nature of the Horcrux Protections and the Trouble with Backdoors in Security

So, first, the horcruxes are all conveniently located in Great Britain. Not even just in Great Britain, all in places that Albus Dumbledore and later Harry Potter can track down with relative ease, all fairly close to each other.

Now, part of this is undoubtedly attributable to Tom’s overly romantic nature. 

Yes, Tom Riddle is a giant romantic, though not necessarily in the traditional sense everyone thinks of. The film “Patton” and its treatment of Patton comes to mind. Tom Riddle is a man enamored by a sense of greatness, of being remembered in this world rather than fading into oblivion, by the significance of places and times in history not only of the world but of himself. He creates an entire, grand, persona for himself because to live an ordinary life for him is to be worthy of nothing.

So, given that, of course Tom places the horcruxes in sentimental locations that have personal meaning to him.

However, it also makes them perilously easy to find and collect.

By itself, this wouldn’t spark my notice.

The ability to destroy horcruxes are not easy to come by. There’s only one basilisk and it’s by chance/Lucius fucking up that Harry gains access to the necessary basilisk venom. Using Fyendfire is an incredibly dangerous thing to do and just as likely to blow up you and the next three towns over as it is to destroy a horcrux. And if there are other means of destroying a horcrux they’re just as hard to come by or just as dangerous.

It’s not quite throwing it into the fires of Mt. Doom from which it was forged but it’s pretty damn close.

So, really, without JKR’s convenient Deus Ex Machina giving both him and Dumbledore the means to actually destroy these things, Tom Riddle’s horcruxes are pretty damn safe no matter where we put them. As we see from the locket, which Regulus manages to collect but Kreacher cannot destroy even after several decades.

However, what does spark my notice, is that the horcruxes can be collected by someone other than Tom Riddle when it appears as if they were never intended to be. What do I mean by this?

From what we see, there’s no benefit to Tom if the original horcruxes are found by anyone. He doesn’t seek them out to restore his original body, they’re just anchor points that should be hidden at all costs. So, he’ll never need a Death Eater to go collect them for him should he be indisposed (indeed, to do so would require a tremendous amount of trust in people he has very little trust in). 

So, why hide them in such a way that others can access them? There are canon based options which would have prevented anyone else from reaching them. Given the existence of age lines, I imagine Tom Riddle could make some arbitrary barrier keyed only to himself. There are mokeskin pouches, such as the one Harry is given in the seventh book, which we know can only be accessed by whoever they’re keyed to. There’s the Fidelius Charm which, true requires a secret keeper which Tom would be very meh on, but options exist.

Tom Riddle could wipe the locations of his horcruxes off the face of the map. He chooses not to. Which leads me to believe that, at least on some unconscious level, he wants the horcruxes to be found.

Then we have the protections.

Specifically, I’m thinking of the locket here.

Yes, the protections are very formidable, but they’re also goddamn weird. 

Rather than make the horcrux simply inaccessible, kill all those intruding, instead the intruder has to go through a very “Saw” like puzzle in which they drown themselves in despair until they finally get the locket, at which point they likely suicide by zombie.

More, there’s no hint that there’s any other way to retrieve the locket. 

Backdoors in security are a very bad idea. What they do is weaken the security as a whole and, if you can take a short cut is, it means that someone who is clever enough and motivated enough can to. Dumbledore is both clever and motivated enough, and I imagine if there was a way to get the horcrux that involved not doing this ridiculous task he would have done it.

More, we’d be back to the land of Tom making sure only he can access the horcrux by requiring a password, keying it to his magical signature, or something so that no one else could get it.

Which means, that’s right, if Tom wants to get the locket he’s drinking the goddamn despair juice just like the rest of us.

What kind of a person would do any of this?

I’ve gone over this before, but I don’t think Tom Riddle’s crazy. Rather, in this case, I think he’s driven by an unbelievable amount of nihilist rage and is also quite depressed.

Tom goes to collect his horcrux, “Ah, it’s time to remember what a miserable life I’ve led and the sheer awfulness of my own existence. Good, I was starting to feel a little too happy. Let’s see if I get eaten by my undead, vengeful, victims today.” 

The Events of Deathly Hallows and Tom Riddle’s Death

I think Tom Riddle’s final death in the books was suicide.

Tom takes over the Wizarding World, finally, and it’s as miserable as ever.

He’s trapped in this sham, barely functional, probably very painful body. His Death Eaters are completely out of control and for all that he wanted society to burn it’s now burning and no one’s even learned anything from this. Children in Hogwarts are being routinely tortured and have now staged a rebellion in which he’s having to slaughter them (I have reasons to believe that this is not what Tom Riddle wanted, at all, but that’s best saved for another post), and then he learns his horcruxes have all been destroyed without him even noticing.

There’s so little left of him, he has accomplished nothing, and there’s Harry Potter back from the dead yet again, gloating at him that love conquers all and Tom Riddle will never understand.

And Harry’s right, Tom Riddle will never understand, the world is meaningless and flat to him now and he finally understand that there’s no point to it. I think Tom Riddle decides he’s done. He’s just done.

He enters in a duel with Harry Potter knowing the weird nature of their wands. Now, it can be assumed he used the Elder Wand, but we know they get locked in Priori Incatatum , and that makes no damn sense with the Elder Wand (well, wandlore in general is silly, but I’m working with what JKR gave me here). So I choose to take JKR at her somewhat established canon and say that, no matter what Harry thought, Voldemort was using his original wand.

He throws out the killing curse, despite having now witnessed Harry resurrecting twice to this thing, and within two seconds it rebounds and kills him.

Voldemort’s death is a lot like this scene from the recent, terrible, 2020 live action Mulan (10/10 do not recommend).  Now, we’re supposed to think that this scene is the witch saving Mulan’s life and thus showing her hope for the next generation. In actuality, the witch literally flies into an arrow she could have easily deflected from Mulan’s path. It’s a suicide that Mulan is too stupid to notice.

Tom chooses suicide in the most ridiculous, flamboyant, and easily written off manner one can and no one even notices. Instead Harry crows that he has personally defeated Voldemort, with the power of love no less, HUZZAH!

And the castle parties.

The Nature of Horcruxes

I almost don’t want to include this because it’s so... well, I’m really drifting far from canon and fandom now.

However, with horcruxes, there’s always an overriding question of why Tom is able to make so many when we don’t see anyone else with these things around (especially as it’s clear that murder doesn’t simply happen for those that now have horcruxes).

Usually, you have fic authors just sort of shrug and go, “Well, he’s that evil, I guess.” Sometimes you have them go, “No one else is crazy enough to keep going, and that’s why Voldemort’s cuckoo bananas.” 

One very good explanation I’ve seen is that it’s because most people, when they murder, feel remorse immediately. The soul split happens, but they’re haunted by the murder for the rest of their life, and thus the horcrux isn’t made. Voldemort, feeling nothing when he kills anyone, is thus able to make them even for when he’s only indirectly associated with the death in question.

However, to me that never really jived philosophically.

Mostly, I simply cannot imagine that tearing apart your very soul is an act of indifference. Here’s how I see it: to do something like that to yourself, you must care, you must care beyond all imagine and human endurance. Your soul literally cannot abide it and saws itself in half, purging what you cannot stand about yourself the most. 

The remorse part is, yes, remorse for the act and the victim but more to the point it is the ability to forgive and reaccept the worst part of yourself. That part of yourself that you purged and destroyed, which is nearly impossible to do and might very well destroy the fabric of who you are). 

In other words, while creating a horcrux is an abominable act of hatred, it is also one of profound self-hatred.

Tom Riddle loathes himself so much that he is able to do this over and over and over again. 

As Tom Riddle goes on he makes himself into less and less and less of himself until he probably doesn’t even know who he is anymore. He just knows, whatever is left of him, he loathes that too. 

And then, of course, he gives up, runs into the nearest flying arrow, and dies.

TL;DR: Tom Riddle’s is a miserable existence that ended in a miserable if unintentionally hilarious manner

#ask #anon #tom riddle #voldemort