#the pain of a sibling walking in front of you and detaching fucking ALL of it???

[motions1ckness]

hi, I’m not sure if you’re taking requests atm but could you please write something angsty with shiv? maybe an argument or a secret relationship exposed or something. Your writing for Roman is amazing btw 💕

^thank you so much! and ty for the request it got me out of my slump (literally thought i was gonna have to take a few more days)

“Loving you is painful enough.”

Summary: A leaked photo of you and Shiv comes out and you’ve had enough of being her secret.

Content: f!reader, secret relationship, so angsty, implied abuse, homophobia, (possible) internalized homophobia, suppressing emotions, cheating, suppressed sexuality, unrequited(?) love, neglecting partner, a crumb of fluff

(there’s sm references to songs and shows i love in this i wonder if anyone will catch a few)

You squeezed Shiv’s hand standing in front of the doors. She smiled back before dropping your hand and detaching from you. This had been going on for months, and her withdrawals consistently added salt to the wound.

Shiv asked you to be her assistant, which helped reduce suspicion. Tom appreciated you. He would always joke that you were her work wife and thanked you for making Shiv less stressed. As the night continued, you two reunited. Roman joined, snickering with his phone in hand.

“What the fuck is this all about?” He showed you two a photo of you walking around New York, hands intertwined and leaning on each other. Fuck.

Assistant or not, it looked like more than a platonic relationship. You felt your face turn red as your heart began racing. You waited for Shiv’s response, she seemed baffled, hesitant to speak.

“Rome are you kidding? Y/n and I aren’t sneaking around, Jesus.” She scoffed. She turned to you, waiting for you to back her.

You felt a lump in your throat as your mouth went dry. “We’re not together, no. Not dating.” You say with a compelling enough smile as you look down at your feet. You didn’t lie. You two weren’t dating.

You loved Shiv, you did. But she’s never expressed it back. The first time you said it was after she spent the night and she made you coffee. She looked so effortlessly pretty. Her hair was naturally wavy, no makeup, and she wore one of your shirts. You blurted out that you loved her, and after a few moments, she gave you a brief smile and began checking her emails.

“It looks like you two are fucking. Dad’s gonna lose his shit when he sees this.” He teases and wanders off.

“Why did you-” She didn’t let you finish. She caught your wrist and tugged you to the terrace with just enough privacy. It was risky being seen alone together but standing in that room would’ve been more harmful.

“Y/n, I know how this looks. I know,” she reassured. You could tell she was attempting to retain herself.

“No Shiv what the fuck was that?” Your voice grew, “You’re like a different person. It’s so- why am I just a secret to you?”

Shiv looked at you with a pained expression, “You know why. Fuck sake, I can’t keep defending myself to you.” She was trying to keep her voice steady.

You did know why. Not just Tom or the fact she was having an affair with her assistant, she would have to come out. Shiv never saw orientation as something significant. None of her siblings dared to talk regarding that. When it got out that Roman was hooking up with his trainer, he never heard the end of it from Logan. Shiv feared her coming out would cause her to seem more weak.

“I just want you to love me, Shiv. I just want to be with you. God, can't you fucking see that? I gave up my job to work for you. I fucking love you and you can’t even stomach saying it back.” Your voice started breaking. You began crying during your rant too.

Shiv stepped back, unable to give you the support you needed. She simply looked at you, her eyes full of sorrow. “I care about you y/n, I do,” you scoffed as you began pacing. She couldn’t say it. “But you’re asking me drop everything for this.” She raised her voice as she began stepping toward you. Grabbing your wrist to stop your pacing.

You paused and met her eyes. She had tears streaming down her face. This was breaking her too. Shiv held onto you tightly.

“It isn’t enough.” You answered truthfully, tearing away from her. “This is exhausting, Shiv. Loving you is exhausting.” Her face sank, and you felt the tears getting more heavy. “I just can't. I-I can’t keep doing this. Not if you can’t actually admit you love me.”

The air grew thicker. Neither of you knew what to say. She remembered Tom saying something similar to her before. She never anticipated going through that again.

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m sorry that I’m not fucking perfect.” She sniffled, flinging her arms out. “But some of us aren’t equipped with fucking support to fall back on. Did you remember all the shit Roman had to deal with?” She crossed her arms to hold herself, “I can’t. I fucking can’t.” She started crying harder, just embracing herself.

Her hair was now messy, her makeup smudged and she got tear stains onto your dress. She merely looked at you, unable to speak from shame and various other emotions. You held her face before wiping her tears and fixing her hair and makeup. Shiv scarcely smiled at your gentleness and remorse for her. She didn't understand how you could still help her after this.

“Y/n I do l-” you cut her off her another hug. You knew what she was trying to say, but you didn’t want her to feel obligated.

“Convince yourself first.” you voiced softly into her hair. You did believe she loved you. Every morning she got you coffee from the spot she wasn’t fond of but knew you liked it. She changed all the soaps in her house to pumpkin because she knows you love that scent. On work days, she quit using heat on her hair because you always tell her you love how it looks natural. You knew she loved you. But she needed to accept that she did first.

She pulled away, remaining silent. She examined you before barely laughing. You couldn’t help but do the same.

Shiv leaned forward, giving you a short kiss. She wanted to convey her love. But she remained aware of her circumstance.

Before returning to the party, she squeezed your hand. “I’m telling Tom it’s over tonight.”

#shiv roy #shiv roy x reader #roman roy #succession #succession fanfic #wlw #wlw fiction #shiv roy angst #shiv roy fanfic #siobhan roy #siobhan roy x reader #roy siblings #succession hbo #shiv roy fluff

[audioletter]

Day Twenty-Eight: Confession (Kendall Roy) (One of Two)

For what good will it do a person if he gains the whole world, but forfeits his soul? - Matthew 16:26

He walks. And walks and walks and walks; Colin trailing behind him like a puppy. Kendall supposes he treats him like one - adopting him after his dad died like a rescue, but he's grateful for the friendly constant shadow in a swarm of unfriendly constant shadows.

Kendall lost. That's how he sees it. Tom won. Shiv won by default; Roman - he can't think on Roman because he's always made his own path, as deceptive as it often could be. Tom won, a game they'd been playing longer than Tom had been a part of the family, and Kendall keeps walking. Walking, walking, his Ferragamos beginning to squeak and give him blisters but he presses his toes and ankles against them to feel the pain.

Time doesn't feel like death, but a knell has rung. What now? Riva had texted, and Kendall ignored her. Are you okay? from Jess, a traitor he couldn't fault for being so. Nothing from his siblings, because they'd been waiting for him to fall as much as they were waiting to catch him in the end.

He reaches the church before he even realises it, and Colin's in front of him suddenly. "Are you wanting to go in, sir?"

Kendall hesitates, noting the confession hours aligning with whatever time it was now (time was a construct now, he was a rich man with little to show for it but scars of betrayal and loss), and he nods, leading Colin through the ornate Catholic arches and through the pews.

The confession box is empty, and Kendall swallows heavily before climbing inside. It's uncomfortable, the seat, the constricting nature of the enclosure, but Kendall is sure it's a Catholic punishment of some kind - the little he remembers from his Catholic school education - and he wonders how his Mum is. Fuck her, I love her, he thinks, and he startles a little when the partition slides open to reveal the shadowy figure of the Father.

Kendall sits in silence, although he knows the lingo. It's heavy, his head a mush (Tom won), and he wonders what the priests get out of flogging themselves in face of God. His God was dead, but the one of the house he currently sat in perhaps was not, so he sighs and plays another game.

"Forgive me Father for I have sinned."

"Speak, my son."

"I…" He freezes, because he's not sure how to even begin or what he wants to say. He can't even confess to himself, let alone a religious stranger in a box, so he sighs and powers through. "I have not been true to myself and my family."

"In what way, my son?"

"I - lied a lot. I did some bad, untruthful things. I betrayed them. I…" he trails off, feeling his phone buzz but he ignores it. "I betrayed myself."

"Betraying yourself is the first place to start, because it is usually where the rest stems from," the Father states, and Kendall hears him move slightly. Everything seems heightened inside this box - I betrayed myself - and he suddenly can't breathe.

"Father, I - I have to -" he stumbles out of the box, almost falling to the ground if not for Colin, breathing deep breaths like he was dying. Betrayal of self leads to betrayal of others, and he's his father's son after all.

"I lost, Colin," he chokes out. Colin frowns, helping Kendall to his feet and wiping his coat in a detached way.

"No one won, sir," and Kendall almost starts crying as Colin leads him out of the church, the dusk beautiful against the skyline as they stop on the sidewalk.

Kendall remembers his phone - one message from Shiv. I love you, is all it says, and Kendall does begin to cry, Colin averting his gaze.

I love you too, he replies, then sends a similar sentiment to Roman - he couldn't repair himself without them, and small steps lead to bigger ones. Start again, begin again; he nudges Colin and smiles wanly, not bothering to wipe his tears.

"Let's go home. Let's…go home."

#audiolettertober fic #succession #kendall roy #my horrible tv boyfriend #i have siblings and kendall feels

[dirt-grub]

ive never played battle for bikini bottom actually but ive heard great things about it and ive got my laptop back... so....

#connor talks #im gonna finally get a usb so i can actually use my fuckening controllers lol #gamecube mechanics with a keyboard is ass #i played that one playstation one game when i was a kid... and maybe actually that one too at a cousins house like ONCE? #i cant remember i know it was spongebob and 3D tho #the 2d playstation 1 game was hard as fuck i remember not getting ANYWHERE #GOD what was it that my cousins had... man i miss that. going into someones basement and finding a PS2 #game consoles dont hit like they used to #i miss wired controllers and i SHOULDNT!!!! they suck and theyre a pain in the ass but theres something so lovely about them... #remember all the uncomfortable positions at the end of the couch trying to reach??? remember falling off the edge of your bed??? #the pain of a sibling walking in front of you and detaching fucking ALL of it??? #literally im going to kill my brother if he ever throws out the ps2 i dont think he will but like #my siblings do this thing where theyre like. no you dont have claim over this communal thing from our childhood #but also i dont want it so im gonna give it away without asking you if you want it #i almost strangled my dad when he said oh yeah we had an n64 but i got rid of it when you were like 4 #W H Y???????????????? #my sister almost tossed a dozen wii games moving into her new place like NO! #im gonna hide the gamecube... we dont have a memory card and like only have one game rn #because all the stuff we had was at my moms and well yknow #but if someone gets rid of it ill scream my head off

[whumperooni]

Hii!! If you're up for it, could you write something about Katsuki-nii? I just wanna be his wittle wife, stealing his clothes, being bred full of his cum, constantly hanging of his arm and talking about how much I love him. People might think we're too close for siblings, but they know better than to say anything, just like i know better than to be anything but Katsuki-nii's good little sister-wife.👉👈💕

Despite being one of my favorite characters, I haven’t written Katsuki before so please be gentle! o( _ _ )o

tags/warnings: tw incest, a smidge of jealousy and possessiveness and insecurity, aged up characters 

You hear the whispers. You always do.

“She’s here again?”

“What kind of adult woman still makes lunch for her older brother?”

“Isn’t it kind of weird? I mean...why is she always over him like that? And the way she dresses...it’s like...”

“Don’t they live with each other? That’s a bit strange, right?”

They whisper. They whisper, but they never really give voice to the uncomfortable thoughts and suspicions clouding their minds and filling their drum, dull days with the scandals they crave.

They whisper and you? You don’t listen.

You don’t need to listen- they don’t matter, their opinions don’t matter, the stares and gossip and mindless speculation don’t matter.

The only person who matters is Katsuki and, to a lesser degree, yourself.

Why should you care about others when your shining light- your sun, your heart, your darling big brother- is there to eclipse them with all his love and adoration?

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺

“Don’t you think they’re a little too close?”

More whispers, more gossip, more nosy busybodies trying to forget their own troubles by trying to bury themselves in you and your brother’s life.

It’s sad, really.

You ignore the raised brows and mouths hidden by hands and snuggle a little closer to your nii-san. He rolls his eyes, huffs, but his arm wraps around your waist a bit more firmly and his hand squeezes your waist, his fingers dig into your hip with a little flex.

“Nii-san, should I make curry or yakisoba tonight?”

“Mabo Dofu.”

You hum and you nod, mentally tack on the chore of going to the grocery store after you’re done here. You need to pick up his dry cleaning, too, and you need to remember to press Katsuki’s suit for his meeting with the hero commission in the morning.

Oh, and you need to lay out your dress for the dinner with the Todoroki’s tomorrow night.

Ah, tomorrow is going to be busy.

“Oh my gosh is that Dynamight?!”

Fingers dig into your hip again and you know that your big brother is irritated without having to look. He’s tired today- annoyed- and you know that the squealing call of a fangirl is not exactly what he wants to hear.

Poor nii-san- it must be tough having to deal with so much attention sometimes.

(Though, he does deserve the attention- he’s such a good hero; strong and handsome and eye catching without even having to try.

He’s perfect.)

“Dynamight! Dynamight! Will you sign my planner?!”

Two girls pop up right in front of- eyes sparkling and wonder on their faces, their proximity much too close. They don’t seem to notice you at first, but that’s okay- nii-san is the one who deserves the attention after all.

“Oh my gosh, I just love you so much! You’re so- oh.”

Ah, and now there’s disappointment on both their faces- expressions falling and pouts pushing rouged lips out, something almost irritated crossing over them.

Again, that’s okay- you’re used to it.

One of them- clearly the bolder of the two- eyes you without restraint. Her head cocks and her arms fold across her chest, her brows furrow.

“Is this- I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.”

Girlfriend? Oh, that’s cute.

You’re much more than a girlfriend.

Before your big brother’s temper can snap, you fix a sweet smile on your face- head resting on Katsuki’s shoulder and a giggle slipping from you.

“Oh, no- I’m his sister!”

“Sister...?” the other one asks, brows knitting together to match her friend’s.

Her eyes dart to the strong arm keeping you firmly against your big brother and you let your smile grow when she looks back up at you, give her a nod.

“Yep! Dynamight’s one and only little sister,” you chirp.

Katsuki snorts and you have to stifle a giggle when the girls exchange a look between them. Before they can say anything else, you nudge your big brother- smile softening when you feel him pull you just a little bit closer.

“Katsuki, sign her planner!” you urge him. You smile at the girl who hadn’t asked for any autographs and she seems to startle a little, flush whenever you prompt her with, “Do you have anything you want signed?”

She hesitates before giving a small nod and you watch as she starts digging around in her purse, detach yourself gently from your brother so he can carry out his duty to his fans.

He does so, with some grumbles and huffs, and the girls are aware enough not to push for a photo- scurry away with eyes lit up once again and excited squeals leaving them. You watch them with a smile and then reward your brother with a kiss to his cheek.

That gets him relaxing, just slightly, but you make a mental note of being extra attentive to him once he gets home from work.

“Nii-san,” you murmur, “I’m going to head off, okay? I need to pick up groceries.”

“Fine,” he grunts. “Just make sure to get some sansho.”

“I know, nii-san,” you huff, fondly. Another press of your lips to his cheek and then you squeeze his hand, smile at him with all the warm love you have. “I love you.”

“...love you.”

It’s rough, quiet, but it still has you beaming all the same.

You flounce off to run your errands- mind swirling with all the ways you can make your big brother happy.

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺

It’s not too big of a surprise whenever you run into Sero at the store- he works in the same city as your big brother and you do run into him every once in a while.

What is a surprise is the way he rubs his neck sheepishly in the middle of chatting, when he smiles at you with a spark of hope in his eyes and a nervousness you’re not quite used to from him.

“Hey, I was wondering- are you free on Saturday? I thought maybe we could grab dinner or something...”

Your head tilts and you blink at him- surprised by the question.

Is he asking you out on a date?

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sero- on Saturday Katsuki and I are going to the movies. And we have a lunch with Kirishima planned.”

For a moment, Sero looks a little dejected. But then he’s smiling again and nodding.

“Oh, yeah, I get that. What about Sunday?” he asks- persistent but not quite pushy.

You smile at him and it’s guilty, a little apologetic.

Sero is nice. Friendly. You’re sure he’d make for a great date.

Maybe in another life...

No, in another life you’d still find your way back to Katsuki.

You shake your head, fingers flexing on your shopping cart and your expression softens even when his own smile wanes.

“Sunday we’re having lunch with the family. And Katsuki promised he’d take me shopping...”

“Ah...”

It’s quiet for a moment, awkward. Sero scratches his cheek and he forces his lips back up, rubs the back of his neck again in a way that seems a little...frustrated.

“You, uh, you spend a lot of time with your brother,” he says, words coming out in a near mumble. “Don’t you ever have time to yourself? Time for a boyfriend or anything?”

A boyfriend?

You almost huff, but you just smile instead- big and sweet as you shake your head with a soft laugh.

“Why would I need a boyfriend when I have my nii-chan?”

And, with that, Sero’s face falls completely- features distorting with something that you can’t quite name, something that almost almost has you feeling ashamed.

“Right...”

More awkwardness after that. Sero makes his excuses to leave and he detracts himself- a frown on his face as he leaves you all alone with your shopping cart and a faint, quiet sadness that you quickly push away.

You shake your head and clear your thoughts, look down at your shopping list.

Right, you still need to get the sansho. And you should pick up some beer for Katsuki, too.

With a hum, you continue your shopping- the exchange forgotten for thoughts of domesticity and all the plans you have with your big brother instead.

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺

“Fuck.”

Your lips quirk into a smile at Katsuki’s groan and you wander over to him with a beer in hand, press a doting kiss to his cheek before sliding into his lap.

“Long day?” you ask in a murmur, hands running over his chest.

You get a grunt in response- Katsuki’s head lolling back with another groan whenever your hands begin to knead at his shoulders, soothe tight knots.

“Fuckin’ reporters got the jump on me,” he huffs. “And goddamn Deku wouldn’t stop talkin’ to ‘em.”

You make a sympathetic little noise and run a hand up until you can stroke your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. Something close to a sigh leaves him when you begin to massage there and you feel your heart melting a little as you watch the tension so very slowly begin to bleed from him.

“I’m sorry, nii-san,” you tell him- sincere, voice soft. “That sounds like a pain.”

Another grunt and you hum, drape your arms over your big brother’s shoulders and press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“You need to relax, nii-san,” you mumble, pressing closer when his hands grip your waist. “I wanna help...”

“Then help.”

It comes out as a growl and you shiver from it, rock yourself against your big brother and slot your lips against his.

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

You blink and look over your shoulder at your big brother, look down at your dress.

It’s simple- form fitting, yes, but not overly tight. A pretty dress with pretty flaring pleats and a cute sweetheart neckline, heels and stockings to match. You’re wearing one of the necklaces Katsuki has bought you- a copper choker with an o-ring in the middle, tiny and shining rubies dotting along the copper band.

It’s one of your favorites- something he had bought you when he first started the agency. The dress is new, but it’s a favorite, too.

“You don’t like it?” you ask him, frowning just a tiny bit.

Katsuki huffs and he walks over to you, wraps his arms around your waist and rests his chin on top of your head with a scowl.

“I like it,” he grumbles. “I’m sure Icyhot will like it too.”

Ah, now you see what the problem is.

A sigh leaves you and you gently place your hands over his, look him over in the mirror.

Slacks, a button up that’s not quite buttoned up. Simple and not his style, but something that makes him look so very handsome. You love it when he’s dressed up a little and you know that he likes it when you dress up, too.

“Nii-san,” you murmur. “I don’t care if Shoto likes it or not- I only care if you do.”

It’s true- it really is.

The words have Katsuki’s scowl softening, just a little, and you turn your head so you can press a kiss to his jawline, hum whenever he tilts his head back so you can lay another on his neck.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he huffs- still so grumpy, his arms tightening around you. “Don’t like the way fuckin’ Natsuo looks at you either.”

“Katsuki...”

You turn around before he can grumble any more and you cup his face, kiss him and try to show him just how much you care for him and no one else.

“Nii-san,” you tell him, soft and adoring and sincere as can be, “it doesn’t matter if they look at me. I don’t care. I love you. You’re all that matters to me.”

Katsuki’s expression flickers with something fond, with something near vulnerable. It’s gone in a second, though, and then you’re backed against the wall, your brother’s lips are meeting yours.

“You’re mine,” he breathes against you, fingers digging into your hips and your dress bunching up underneath them. “Mine.”

His lips find your neck and you’re left mewling, clinging to him and rocking against a thick thigh whenever he slips it between yours.

“Yours,” you gasp out- Katsuki’s teeth nipping at you, his hands dragging you up and down his leg. “I’m- oh- I’m all yours!”

Katsuki grunts and then one of his hands are gone, then there’s the sound of a zipper being pulled down. He lifts you and you moan at the display of strength, wrap your legs around him when his cock ruts against you. It takes just a quick second for him to push your panties to the side and you shudder when you feel him pressing against your entrance, cling to him and claw your nails into his back.

“So fucking wet.”

You are- you really are. How can you not be when you’re held up like this- your big brother lifting you like you weigh nothing, vermilion gaze burning as he takes in how quick your cheeks flushed and how fast your face falls needy and hazy? How can you not be when he looks at you as if you’re everything- a beautiful bounty, a delicious treat, a darling little sister, a perfect wife?

“Please, nii-san,” you mewl, beg. “Please- I need you!”

A growl and then your big brother is sliding into you- stretching you open with his big cock and making you moan, whine his name.

“Gonna fuckin’- shit- gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he grunts- no time wasted as he starts to thrust, sends your head spinning as he fucks you against the wall. “Fill up my girl’s cunt.”

It’s a promise as strong and sure as anything. You whimper, nod, and press a needy, clumsy kiss to his lips, clench around his cock at the thought.

“Gonna rip off these panties,” he growls- near snarls. “Fuckin’ drip my cum all over the Todoroki’s house- show them who you belong to!”

Oh, fuck.

The thought of that has you keening and you nod along to the words, gasp and hold onto him desperately as heat sears through you- as overwhelming pleasure has you choking up, almost sobbing.

“Yes! Nii-san, please! I’m- please- show them-”

Katsuki moans and it’s hot against your neck, broken up by an open mouthed kiss and his lips sucking a deep bruise over your flesh. You start to come- lashes fluttering and a sob slipping past your lips- and his teeth dig in deeper to your throat, the snapping of his hips gets faster, harder.

“Good- fuck- good girl. My good girl- comin’ on nii-san’s cock like a good lil slut- you’re so fuckin’- shit- say you’re- say you’re-”

“I’m yours, nii-san! Yours! Yours! I love you!”

A growl, a groan, a slam of his hips and then Katsuki is coming coming coming- filling you up to the brim and over it. You’re pushed over the edge and then you’re coming with him- mewling and clawing at him, pressing desperate and frantic kisses to him.

You only stop when his hips slow down, when he’s finished humping his seed into you. You’re both left panting then- his forehead pressed against yours and his cock softening inside of you, his eyes muddied and soft as they look over your dreamy, fucked out expression.

He slips out of you and he sets you on your feet- big hands landing on your waist to keep you steady and his lips finding yours in a slow, gentle kiss. Katsuki straightens your dress for you and he swipes smeared mascara out from under your eyes, presses a kiss to your forehead and has you sighing, letting out a soft and sweet noise of contentment.

“Mmm, I love you, nii-san...I love you so much...”

Katsuki huffs and he kisses you again- hand cupping your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek and you’re graced with a mumble in return- a quiet little “I love you too.”

➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺➺

Twenty minutes later you’re sitting in the Todoroki’s living room- your big brother’s arm thrown over your shoulder, your panties stuffed in his pocket, his cum drying on your thighs and the last of his seed slowly oozing out of your cunt as you sit there and smile, lean against Katsuki.

You love your brother, you do.

You’ll always love your brother. You’ll always be his.

#rooni's shit #tw incest #i think i made him too soft but oh well #Anonymous

[thefanficmonster]

Breathing In

Sequel to: “In Too Deep”

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing, Cheating (Past), Mentions of toxic relationships

Genre: Romance, Angst

Summary: It’s not just about leaving a person behind, it’s about leaving behind what feels to be a separate world, one you want to detach from yet you still want to hold onto for the twisted comfort it gives you, the familiarity of it all. But then again, you’ve been drowning in the deep too long to still want to hold on, and all you want is to swim up to the surface and breathe in.

Requested by the lovely readers who showed the first fic “In Too Deep” so much love and support. I’m so glad to be writing a sequel for this piece because I enjoyed writing it so much! I love the storyline and I can’t express how grateful I am the Anon who sent in the request for it in the first place. Love you all, Vy ❤ 

A romantic relationship should never be a responsibility. A person should never be another person’s responsibility. One cannot be a pillar and stand strong while the other is falling apart, leaning on them and depending on them for everything in their life. That’s not love, it’s hell. It’s a job you get paid for with nothing but exhaustion, pain and emptiness. Your mind’s constantly flooded by images of all those times you could’ve experienced had those ‘what if’s happened.

What if she didn’t turn up to class late that day? What if she didn’t need anyone to distract the professor for her to get in the classroom undetected? What if when Kaylor asked for sex as a repayment she refused and slapped him across the face?

Well, things would be different. She wouldn’t be living like this, that’s for sure. She’d be working her ass off, just like she’s wanted to all her life. Coming from a family of drunks and bums, she’s always wanted to prove her worth, not to others but to herself. To prove that ‘the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’ doesn’t always apply. She’s always been terrified of that saying, never wanting to become like her parents and older siblings. Never wanting to become like Kaylor who started off as her acquaintance, proceeded to become a guy she regularly hooked up with and then became her boyfriend. And then, the worst decision among all she’s ever made, she allowed him to slip that ring onto her finger and a few months later exchange vows with her in front of an altar. Had her phone not died the night prior to meeting him, none of this would’ve happened. She’d have several normal jobs instead of one barely-paying one and one she didn’t know she ever even signed up for - taking care of Kaylor.

She’s been drowning in the deep for so long, she can barely remember. Long enough to forget how breathing in feels.

However, she’s not the only one.

He has his own fulfilled ‘what if’s as well: what if he hadn’t left his apartment that night? What if he had stopped after the second beer like he originally intended to? What if he didn’t choose exactly that night to socialize with the stranger who sat down on the bar stool next to him. What if he simply paid for his drinks and left?

But he didn’t, he didn’t do any of that. Didn’t manage to preserve himself, didn’t manage to keep it in his pants or hide the lust in his eyes. Still, the hook-up on its own wouldn’t have been so horrible had it not led to what it did afterwards. Had it not led to a relationship with one very fragile girl. A girl much like him, too much like him. Constantly insecure, fearful, paranoid, dependent, distrusting. A girl always in need of a firm grip on her hand and an external voice telling her it would all be alright because her internal voice is never optimistic. Her own mind doesn’t like her, she can barely stand it, and he got caught in that crossfire.

He can’t really picture what he would be doing with his life if it wasn’t for Ida, he’s that sucked in. He’s that deep into this mess. It’s not water he’s drowning in, it’s quicksand, the type that’s taken form with his regret and self-hatred as a base. Breathing in would result in sand-filled lungs but at this point his only wish is to breathe in, no matter the consequences. After all, if it doesn’t save him it’ll kill him and he can live with that.

Still, it hasn’t all been dark for our broken lovers. There are several ‘what if’s Corpse and Y/N don’t ever wanna imagine or know the outcome of. Such as, for example: What if the two of them never met? What if they didn’t strike up the relationship question? What if they didn’t share that kiss in that parking lot that night. That single contact between their lips was the only thing they didn’t regret that night. What they regret the most, however, is walking away from one another, spiraling their situation out of control, turning it into a twisted, sticky spiderweb, laced with the sin of cheating on a significant other. 

If it were as simple as people make it out to be - break up with the other person instead of cheating - they would’ve done it so long ago. They would’ve been far from here. Very far from this fucking place and these fucking problems had they been the ones holding the leash of their fate rather than let the current of events manipulate them.

Maybe they’re a little late with the grasp of this realization, but that’s not what matters. What’s important is the here and now, the events that are about to occur or not occur. The actions that will or won’t be taken. Y/N and Corpse have been a will they/won’t they pair from the very start, always leaning more towards won’t because of how impossible it all felt. How hopeless the spiraling hell they were in made them feel.

But now the tables have turned.

Corpse was the first to leave his hell-cell. He did so by cutting things off with Ida a week ago. He did so rather gently and caringly, promising he’s always a phone call away whenever she needs him. It took a lot of preparation and guts he didn’t have but had to develop in order to execute such a delicate operation and make it a successful one. The response he got from her was rather surprising.

“I was hoping you’d call it off.“ She said with a small smile, shocking him to the point of letting out a small gasp, “I mean, you know me, I could’ve never done it. But I hated what I was doing to you and I hated myself even more for not being able to stop and...“ she trailed off, her lips pressing in a thin line, eyes glistening with tears, “...I’m so glad you did it. You’re saving both of us, trust me.“

As he was packing his stuff, he overheard Ida’s phone call with her parents, telling them she wanted to move back in with them for a little while but refused to answer any further questions, at least not over the phone. That was the biggest relief, a whole-ass boulder lifted off him, allowing him to finally breathe in. But he wasn’t breathing in at full lung capacity, he still isn’t even no as he stands outside a gas station, leaning on the side of his car which is loaded with all his belongings which he doesn’t have many of, thankfully. He’s waiting for her - the half of this relationship that’s still swaying between will it/won’t it. Corpse is all will, all in, ready for a new, fresh start, ready to be able to breathe the air of the real world, feel the breeze of a real life finally. Whereas Y/N is not as certain, not as prepared and a lot more emotionally attached. It’s understandable, she’s leaving behind a husband, not just a boyfriend.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Corpse. I won’t be able to live if something happens to him. I’ll forever feel guilty, I’ll hate myself forever. You gotta understand.“ She told him the same night him and Ida had their break-up. He called her, telling her he had some big news to share. His excitement was quickly shot down when she gave him this response, eyes glossy with sorrowful tears.

He understood.

She asked for time. He gave it to her.

He gave her an ultimatum. She gave dubious agreement.

The ultimatum? : meet him at this gas station, with her belongings, right at sunset, prepared for the adventure filled with struggles, the whole experience of starting new.

And so he waits, watching as the sun goes lower and lower, leaving the scene to be taken over by the moon and now dark and starry sky - just like his hopefulness is stepping aside for his depression and dread to take over.

She’s not here. She hasn’t tried to reach out to tell him anything. Even a rejection would’ve been better than to let him wait here, his heart breaking a bit more with each passing minute. All this time he’s been trying to convince himself he’ll move on without her if she doesn’t show up. He’ll skip town like the two of them planned to do together. He’ll leave and leave it all behind, Y/N included. But now, looking from this standpoint, being barely a minute away from having to put his foot down on the gas pedal and drive out of the city, pass the sign that’ll tell him he’s passed the threshold, he finds it brings him almost physical pain.

He’s not sure he can do it.

With a heavy sigh he spares the horizon one final glance to see there are only faint traces of the sun he was observing just minutes prior, the final reminder that he has to go now, has to stay true to himself and respect the ultimatum he posed, no matter how much it hurts emotionally, mentally or physically.

Just as he’s about to enter his car, he hears what sounds to be footsteps, but before he can even look up to check where they’re coming from a loud, cheery yell startles him.

“HEY! Look what I got!“ He’d recognize that voice anywhere and no matter what words it says, it’ll always grab his full attention just like it did just now.

Corpse whirls around to face the direction of the voice to see her, Y/N beaming at him brighter than the sun he just watched set. Over one shoulder she has a duffel bag and in the opposite arm she’s dragging a suitcase and if that isn’t confirmation enough, in her free hand she proudly wields what looks to be a document. When she gets closer, his eyes widen at the realization of what she’s holding - divorce papers.

“H-how?“ He stutters in disbelief, his jaw hanging, his heart beating like crazy, his eyes brimming with tears of joy that’s just exploded throughout his chest like a firework.

She rolls her eyes, dropping the papers, suitcase and duffel bag in the dust, “You talk too much.“ With that, she rushes over to him, throwing her arms and legs around him, her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent.

Breathing in, they’re both breathing in, with full lung capacity at that - something they never thought they’d have the chance to do, but here they are. Here they stand, shamelessly in each other’s tight , loving embrace that they never want to have to let go of again, afraid of the wrong eyes seeing it.

They are finally free, finally out of the deep end and back to being afloat, floating towards the nearest island to make it their own. And on that note...

“Let’s get out of here.“ Y/N whispers in Corpse’s ear, her fingers tightening the hold of his shirt at his shoulder blades.

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

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[marlahey]

under the same roof part two: an old friend

a harry styles rpf part two of six  ratings/warnings: the stalking comes to an alarming head via chase, suggestion of violent intent, aggressive emotions, fuck the patriarchy notes: things get serious, intimacy occurs, we all suffer. moments were edited or cut to reinforce the utter lack of actual romance in a real stalking situation, but I promise we’ve made up for it in later parts!  fun fact: on a lighter note, this series should probably just be titled: sweet things that have actually occurred to annie that she forgot she wrote in and so suffers in every edit session. 

masterlist | part one | part three (14.12.2020) ... • friday, 4th january 8:34 pm • Blood roars in your ears as you sprint through the parking garage, but the sound isn’t loud enough to drown out the pounding footfalls that aren’t your own. Every gulp of air burns your throat but you can’t stop, you can’t even slow down. The hum of industrial ceiling lights overhead is the only other sound. No one would hear you scream.

You’d heard the second car door after yours, and the initial footsteps. A quick turn of your head was your worst fear realized: the blue-eyed man beelining towards you, so quickly you’d barely had a chance to try and outpace him. A heavy hand landed on your shoulder as the man grabbed a fistful of your cardigan before yanking back on the fabric. Twisting desperately against his hold, you’d heard a faint pop-pop-pop as the stitching around your collar snapped and gave. You’d practically fallen away from him before scrambling upright, sliding with little traction on the dusty concrete beneath your feet, and bolting towards the open center of the lot. Your breath pours out into the air. There are no security cameras. Why are there no security cameras? A white, hot panic inside your head makes it hard to think, but you must. You can’t take the lift as it leads to a dead end, so it’ll have to be the stairs. The torn neck of your sweater leaves one of your shoulders naked to the cold. You came so close to draping a scarf around your shoulders before you left your apartment this morning. Had you kept it on, you could have been dead by now. You tear through the door to the stairwell at the other end of the garage and take the steps by two. At any moment an obstacle could arise—a locked door, a dead phone battery, a hard fall on the stairs—and that would be it for you. You’d be a gruesome headline or a face on a milk carton. You would never see your siblings, or India, or Chowder, or your parents ever again. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes. On the last flight of stairs before the lobby, the sound of the stairwell door slamming echoes up the passageway. You look instinctively. A black, gloved hand is making its way up the railing. You almost lose your balance bursting through to the lobby, and even though your legs are screaming, you do what all the brochures have ever told you to do and break into another full-fledged run to the lift around the corner. You wish you’d chosen a building with a doorman or security desk—some kind of human checkpoint. “No, no, no,” you beg under your breath, launching an arm between the closing doors. You stumble, half expecting it to be empty, and find yourself face to face with Harry.  His eyes skim you over, widening from behind his glasses. You’re still clinging to the doors of the lift. Down the hall and around the bend, the door to the stairwell bangs open again; you wince. Harry’s eyebrows knit together. Thinking on your feet, you lurch inside and drag your hand along the keypad, illuminating just about every random floor up to the penthouses in the twenties, but not eight, and nothing before it. Harry’s eyes dart between yours and the doors. The footsteps in the hall behind you grow louder. You smash the close door button a dozen times, but something in you knows it’s a lost effort. You rush forward and tuck yourself into Harry’s side, tearing his name tag off and stuffing it in your bag. He startles, twisting to look at you, but you stick to your guns and slip your arm around his back. A moment later your eyes meet in the vaguely distorted metallic reflection above the keypad. Harry’s eyes are full of questions; a plea is in yours. For a second time, the doors of the lift begin to close but are stopped by an interjecting hand. A third body enters. It is him. That yellow-grey hair, the wrinkles and the scar on his lip, the worn, leathery skin… Immediately, the man turns to stare at you, and scoffs. You jump, your hand instinctively grasping the back of Harry’s jacket. You will your knees to be still. The lift doors close. It is silent until the car lurches upward. Suddenly you feel a warm, heavy pressure across your shoulders. In the reflection of the doors, you watch Harry’s arm wrap around you. He squeezes once. Your frantic gaze is pinned down by his much more fixed one. He feels so solid pressed into your side, and his eyes are solemn behind his glasses. More serious, maybe, than you’ve ever seen in the last year.  Harry’s lips quirk—the suggestion of a smile—before he looks down at his feet: a ruse of casual nonchalance. Your stomach twists.  The blue-eyed man sighs impatiently. Harry moves his hand to your waist and pulls you even tighter into his side. The car bounces to a stop on the sixth floor with a ding. As the doors glide open, it dawns on you that you had not thought this all the way through to the end. Do you go with Harry? What if you put Sylvia in danger? What if the man follows you? Harry’s arm drops from your shoulders.  The same white hot panic from the garage sears behind your eyes. Is this it? Is Harry about to leave you alone to your fate?  You almost miss his hand reaching back for you, like it’s something he does all the time. Harry squeezes, hard enough to nearly be painful. It starts you into motion. Your legs feel stiff and inflexible like they can’t remember how to walk as he pulls you along, keeping himself between you and the blue-eyed man. You’re off.  The doors close.  Harry glances over his shoulder, your hand still tight in his. He gently guides you to walk in front of him, and you shudder at the thought of the man still watching. You do not hear a third pair of footsteps trailing you, and you do not dare turn around to check. There’s something eerie in walking down a hall identical to your own but knowing that none of these doors are yours.  “This is me.” Harry’s voice is low around the jingle of his keys as he nods to the only door in the hallway hung with a wreath. You say nothing as he steps aside to let you through. He peers into the hall one last time once you’re both inside before locking the door, deadbolt, and chain guard. You lean your back against the wall with your arms across your chest, clutching your sides. He looks over at you slowly, hesitates, and takes a step toward you. His Adam's apple bobs. Suddenly the air leaves your lungs entirely and you begin to heave. You feel as though you’d been sprinting on a treadmill for an hour and then stopped immediately, which keeps you from realizing that Harry has been saying your name. Tears gather in your eyes again; if you allowed yourself to blink, they would spill over. You begin to sink against the wall. Harry catches your elbows in his hands, but you keep sinking anyway. He follows you all the way down to the floor. “Sorry,” you gasp. “You’re safe.” Harry just shakes his head. “I’ve got you.” You nod and try to send a few deep breaths to the pit of your stomach, then clear your throat. “Call the police.” Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s on his feet, flicking on light switches and digging his phone from out of his bag. You hear, “Yes, hello. I’d like to report… following my neighbor.” Your mind reels.  Harry’s voice sounds almost distorted, like you’re underwater. “In my apartment with me.” You catch, “...followed her into the lift,” as well as “Yes,” and “No,” to a series of questions before he reappears with a concentrated frown, watching you. “She’s safe.”  You pick yourself up off the floor and Harry gestures to the small two-person dining table. He angles his cellphone down to his chest as he’s pulling the chair out for you. “Do you want to speak with them?” he whispers. You take a deep breath and nod, holding out your hand. Your fingers tremble, so you place it face up on the table instead and turn on the speaker. He may as well find out now; you can’t imagine having to explain all this a second time.  “Hello?” “Hello, my name’s Officer Warren. We hear you’ve had quite a scare tonight. I know it’s hard, but try to stay as calm as possible and just answer a few questions for me as best you can.”  The fact that the dispatcher is a woman comforts you. “Okay.” “Are you injured?” “No.” “Can you just confirm your full name for me? And your address?”  You rattle off your details, noting with strange detachment that you and Harry live precisely two floors apart. His flat is 6F; yours is 8F. “How long have you lived there?” “Almost a year.” “And how long have you been in the UK?” “About two and a half years. I’m a student at UCL.” “I understand you’re with a neighbor. Do you feel as though you’re in immediate danger?” You look up at Harry before your eyes dart to his front door, hesitating for longer than you want to. “No.” “Can you tell me what’s happened?” You close your eyes. “A man tried to grab me in the parking garage.” “Was this a man you’ve met before?” “He’s been following me since June. I see him everywhere I go. It happened the first few times in public places like on my walk home or when I go jogging, but then I started seeing him everywhere.” Your eyes open again. “Like, I’ve seen him on campus and in restaurants where I was eating. He was walking behind me the first time I ever went to Ilford for work, which is completely out of my way. He took the same tube as me once and tried to grab my hand.” You hear Harry’s knuckles crack across the table from you. “And how long ago was that?” “December twentieth.” “Have you ever come to the police with this information?” “Yes. I filed a report at the Lavender Hill station on the first of October and we went through some headshots but none of them were him.” You hear a series of keystrokes. “Yes, I see your file here. And can you describe what happened today?” “I was picking up some archives at the Ilford Historical Society–” “For school?” “Yes. I’m a research assistant. They have a postbox under my advisor’s name. I usually pick up the archives for the week on Thursdays, but I didn’t get around to it until a few hours ago. It’s usually just three or four storage boxes but today there was a sealed yellow envelope—” Your voice runs higher, choked. You turn away from Harry as you swallow another wave of emotion, but your voice is hardly any different when you begin speaking again. When you turn back, Harry’s hand is a little closer to yours on the table. “Today there was this big yellow envelope with my name handwritten on it and I figured it was just something from my advisor, so after I carried everything to the car, I opened it, and it… there were all these pictures of me.” “Are you able to tell where these photos were taken? What you were doing in them?” Your bag sits half open on the table beside you; you can tell without looking that Harry’s followed your eyes to the mustard yellow envelope poking out the top. You don’t want to open it again. You don’t have to. The images are burned behind your eyelids. “There’s one of me on the tube looking at my phone. Another one of me leaving the shops. There’s a few at the gym.” You sniffle. “Most of them are taken through the window of my flat. They must’ve been across the street because you can see me through the blinds and I’m—when I don’t…” You stare at the edge of the table. “When I’m undressing.”  You lean your forehead into your hand. Harry is stock still across from you. The pause before the officer speaks again feels like it stretches forever. “Can you tell when the most recent photo was taken?” It takes a beat to admit, “It’s from two nights ago,” and the words taste bitter in your mouth. The clack of a keyboard is audible again through the phone.  “You said you’ve been to the Lavender Hill station before? Have you reported these photos yet?” You gather your thoughts. “I was going to go straight there, but I wrote these long descriptions of all the past times I’d seen him. The officer I spoke to the first time I went in, she told me to write down absolutely everything I remembered, so I did—the times of day I’d seen him, where I was, what I was wearing… She said having my own record would help my chances of opening an investigation. I keep all of that at home in my flat, so I decided to go home and grab my notes to bring with me to the station, along with the pictures. I borrow my best friend’s car to commute to Ilford, so I drove straight home.” “And what happened when you got home? In the car park?” You take a deep breath. And then another. Your eyes squeeze shut again. “Take all the time you need.” “I turned into the car park… I pulled into my usual spot. I took off my jacket and left it in the passenger seat, thinking I would come back to it in a minute. I got out of the car and locked it… ” You swallow dryly. “I heard a car door shut behind me. I turned around and saw the man—I recognized him.” “Do you remember what he was wearing?” “He was wearing, um, black gloves, a grey sweater, black jeans, and I think his shoes were black too.” You frown at your hands. “I could hear how quickly he was walking up behind me. I tried to get away, and he—” You swallow. “He grabbed me. Or at least, he tried. He tore the seam of my sweater and I managed to like, pull away. And then I just ran. I was too scared to try the lift so I just took the stairs all the way up to the lobby. But he followed me.”  Your eyes flicker up to Harry absently before you go on. “Harry was in the lift—the—my neighbor, so I ran over and put my arm around him to make it seem like I wasn’t alone.” Harry nods at you from across the table.  “And the man was able to follow you into the lift?” The tips of your fingers ache at the memory of slamming desperately into the close door button. “Yes.” “Did he try to communicate with you in any way?” You shake your head and then remember she can’t see you. “No. He was just staring at me.” “Has he ever approached you or tried to make contact before?” “Just the one time on the tube and the pictures.” “Were you followed out of the lift?” “No.” “And you’re in your neighbor’s flat now, is that right?” “Yeah.” You run your sleeve beneath your nose with a sniffle. “And the man knows which floor you got off at?” ”Correct.” “Do the windows in both of your flats face out on the same street?” Your stomach drops. “Yes… They do.” “I want you to remain calm and stay on the line, can you do that for me?” It’s deadly quiet as you and Harry look at each other. You feel eerily as though you’ve wound up in a Hitchcock film. “Yes.” “Move away from the windows and find a place in the flat that’s not visible from the street—” The legs of Harry’s chair are scraping the floor before you get the chance to react. “...and do not turn out any lights or change the way any of the blinds are positioned.” “C’mere.” Harry’s voice is gravely urgent. He leads you to the kitchen with a hand between your shoulder blades, and brushes past you to lower the blinds of a small window above the sink. Your eyes widen as your hand reaches toward him. “Harry—” He glances back, too late. “Don’t… ” You stumble. “Don’t fix any more of those.” He nods once.  “Yes, don’t touch the blinds. Don’t change anything that would make it look out of the ordinary. If someone has been staking out your building from the same place across the street every night, you could give yourself away and put you both at risk.” “Okay.” Harry leans against the sink with his arms crossed, and you mirror him.  “Since you already have a file on record and the whereabouts of this man are still uncertain, it might do more harm than good to have you come in again for questioning at this hour. But we’ll need you to come by first thing in the morning. You absolutely cannot go back to your flat tonight. He knows very well which unit is yours, and he’s clearly found access into the building somehow. Do not turn on the lights, do not fuss with the blinds, do not go to retrieve any belongings. If it’s something dire, an officer can escort you.” “Okay.” “And don’t leave the building, either. If you need a place to stay, there’s a section of the precinct that can hold you till morning. An officer will have to drive you there, too.” “Okay,” you parrot. “Listen carefully. It’s not forever, but right now we need you to keep yourself absolutely out of sight. Anything that could result in your being followed… Well, we would strongly advise against your taking unnecessary risks. We obviously want to keep you and anyone else involved as safe as possible.” “I understand.” “A patrol officer is en route to your address. He’ll stay posted outside the building for a few hours. If something happens, don’t hesitate to call. Is this a number we can redial if need be?” You look up to Harry; he nods fiercely. “Yes.” “Try to get some rest. You’re safe now, and we’ll see you first thing in the morning.” “Thank you, officer.” You pass Harry’s phone back to him before digging through your bag to retrieve your own. The dial tone rings in your ear as you turn to face the living room. You’re sent to voicemail. “Uh… hi, Mom. It’s me. Just give me a call back when you get this, okay? I—um… Everything’s fine I should just… give you an update, so. Anyways. Talk soon. Love you.” You set your phone down on the counter, but can’t manage to meet his eyes. Some part of you had been worried that he would judge you—or worse, pity you. He doesn’t speak, nor does he try to touch you. Your eyes are pulled towards two sets of rainbow-painted handprints stuck to Harry’s fridge—one large, one tiny. A wave of nausea washes over you at the imposition you’ve entitled yourself to, the risk involved, the implications.  “Thank you.” Harry jumps at the sound of your voice. “For everything. I should—” you loop an arm through the strap of your bag— “I should go.” “Woah, woah, woah… ” Harry catches your arm before you can take three steps. You freeze. He releases you immediately. “And go where? You heard the officer, yeah?” He’s shaking his head slowly. “You can’t go back to your flat.” “I did hear her,” you counter. It comes out more curt than you had meant it. “There’s a safe place for me to sleep at the precinct… Thank you again, I can show myself out.” “That’s ridiculous—” You turn away and he says your name, once, imploring. It’s more of a plea than a demand, keeping you still. You still have your eyes on the door, but since you’re no longer moving, Harry goes on.  “You can stay here, it’s fine. I’ve got a spare bed n’ all. You can sleep in Vi’s room.” Your resolve wavers. His voice is a pitch softer as he asks, “What is it?” Your mouth hangs open a moment before you can find the right words. “I don’t—we don’t…” We don’t know each other seems far too accusatory with everything that’s transpired between you, especially after tonight. You grind your teeth, reeling the words back. Harry’s fingers touch your elbow, hesitating, and when you don’t pull away he wraps his hand gently around your arm. Tears well up in your eyes and you can’t blame them on the guilt, fear, or relief alone… all of it at once leaves you itching to escape.  “We’re practically strangers,” you settle on finally. “I put you in danger, and I put your family in danger—” Harry’s thumb rotates in tiny circles in the crook of your arm, a touch so light you can barely feel it. You think unbidden of the lift on New Year’s Eve, and the brush of his lips over yours. You want to fall headlong back into that memory—to abate what is shaping up to be one of the worst nights of your life. “I’m Harry.”  You blink. “What?” He smiles at you—a quick, sanguine flicker of a thing. “I’m Harry… Styles. I’m twenty-six. I graduated from Kings with a Bachelors in Art History and Psychology. I’m an Administrative Assistant to the Director of the National Gallery—” his smile is real now, wider— “But sometimes I pick up shifts keepin’ an eye on the gallery for the extra few quid… I have a daughter named Sylvia. She’s almost five. I get her every other week. I grew up in Cheshire. I have a sister named Gemma and my mum’s name is Anne.” You sniffle. “Why are you telling me all this?” “So you and I aren’t strangers anymore.” You have no idea how to respond. “You’ve never been here before,” Harry continues. “If someone’s been keeping close tabs on our building, then maybe this is the safest place for you right now. If I felt you were putting my daughter in harm’s way—” you open your mouth to speak and he raises a finger— “I would ask you to leave… As it is, if you go now, I feel that I would be putting you in harm’s way… And I don’t want to.” The two of you stand at a stalemate. “Please don’t make me.” Harry lets go of your arm and eventually backs up to lean against the sink again. You could leave if you wanted to. Eventually you sigh and drop your bag down to the kitchen floor with a thud. “Are you hungry?” Harry asks. “I was gonna fix something for myself anyway.” You shake your head. “I don’t think I could eat anything right now.” The more powerful urge is to erase this night from memory, to scrub away the feeling of a rough hand on your shoulder. You absently rub your thumb into the sleeve of your shirt where the grime from the door to the stairwell had smeared. Your shoulder is still bare from the gaping hole. Harry tilts his head, as if he’s going to say something more, but you blurt, “Could I use your shower actually?” “Of course.” He leads you to the end of a brief hallway with three adjacent doors, only one of which is open. “Be back in a sec.” Harry emerges moments later with two folded towels, then flicks on the light as you trail behind him. Your eyes are immediately drawn to Harry in the broad mirror that covers the entire wall above the sink. His bathroom is virtually identical to yours, but it’s striking to see his familiar reflection somewhere outside of the lift.  Harry pushes aside the curtain to the shower. “Fuck.”  He sets the towels down on the toilet seat and hastily gathers up the army of rainbow rubber ducks lined along the rim of the tub, before yanking off a plastic water wheel suction cupped to the faucet. Clear synthetic stickers in the shape of cartoon rocket ships and planets cling to the shower wall which Harry peels off in a stack before scooping out a myriad of other colorful knick-knacks from the bottom of the tub. “Harry, you don’t have to do that.” “I’m just now realizing how mad this must look to someone who isn’t the parent of a four-year-old—” “Harry, please. You’re already doing so much for me. You don’t need to remodel your bathroom.” “Alright, well… ” Harry rises, brushing his hands down the front of his suit trousers with flushed cheeks and glasses halfway down his nose. He cards his fingers through his hair. “Just be careful not to step on those little sparkly buggers. They’re the most painful by far.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” You have to suppress an laugh at the image of him having stepped on every last toy in the tub enough to compare. “So, like, the red is hot and obviously the blue is cold but it’s very sensitive so I find it’s best to just leave it at about three o’clock—wait you…” Harry shakes his head with a frown. “You probably have the same one, don’t you?” You nod, wringing your hands. “Do you have a shirt or something I could borrow for after?” “Of course,” he almost cuts you off, disappearing into the hallway. You perch on the edge of the tub and run the faucet to adjust the temperature. There’s three raps on the door. “Come in!” you call. Harry squeezes through the door and you catch his eyes in the mirror. “Let me know if these fit.” You watch his reflection lift the clean towels, put down the bundle of clothes, and restack the linens on top with the ease of someone who’s clearly used to taking care of someone else. “Thank you, I’m sure they’ll be fine.” He nods and closes the door firmly behind him. Sylvia’s bath wrap, bright yellow and embroidered with her initials, hangs by its duck shaped hood on a hook next to the door. Steam is starting to rise from the shower. You take a deep lungful and step in carefully. Although childrens’ soaps and clutter are unfamiliar, the water pressure is the same as the shower in your apartment, if not better. It pounds down against your back and shoulders, and for a minute you let yourself just stand in the hot spray. It takes several seconds of inner coaxing before you can close your eyes and tilt your head back beneath the water. A hardened blue stare flashes in your mind’s eye, but you push it back determinedly. You think of Harry’s clear, level gaze. You think of the way he’d looked as he pinned a poppy to your chest—as he’d drank from that half-empty bottle of Prosecco.  So you turn your attention to the soap instead. It’s strange to see the source of several of the mingling scents you’ve picked up from him in the lift over so many months, and even more strange to pick the bottles up and use them on yourself. But there’s something cathartic in the act of scrubbing yourself raw, especially the spot on your shoulder where you had to wrench yourself away from that painful grip. By the time the last of the shampoo and soap are swirling down the drain, buoying a tiny rubber duck that Harry had missed, you finally feel a bit more like yourself again.  The towels are in easy reach. You wrap your hair in one, wind the other around your body, and tiptoe across the bathmat, wading through a junkyard of toys. A hotel toothbrush packaged in plastic lays atop the pile of clothes Harry had left, so you quickly brush your teeth before giving the bathroom a cursory tidy. You have to roll up the cuffs of his sweatpants to your ankles. You can barely see your own reflection, so you crack open the door to air out the steam a bit. Somewhere a kettle shrieks. You creep into the hall, clutching a neat bundle of your clothes and set your things down on the chest table in the entryway before joining him in the kitchen. Harry has changed out of his work suit and into a plain white tee shirt and grey sweatpants. Sundry, mismatched tattoos are scattered all along his left arm and it catches you by surprise. No rings. You have no idea what to do with yourself, faced with the reality that you’re standing in Harry’s flat, wearing his clothes, smelling like him. You lean gingerly against the counter, sort of surprising yourself as you blurt out, “I thought you said you were hungry?” Harry freezes, like he is both realizing you’re there, and also that he contradicted himself. “Lost my appetite I guess. Tea?” “I’d love some, yeah. If there’s enough water. Thanks.” “Sure.” You watch as Harry pulls down a veritable armada of teabags. “Gotta be prepared,” he says with a vaguely self-deprecating smile. “We take our tea seriously over here. These—” Harry gestures—  “haven’t got caffeine.”  Something tells you that an entire bottle of cold medicine couldn’t knock you out tonight. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” Your phone vibrates against your hip and you pull it out to skim the text from your mom. Hi honey. Sorry I missed your call, hope everything is alright… It’s late for you now so I’ll try back in the morning. Hugs. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth as guilt taps you on the shoulder. You’re drained and it would be lovely not to rehash tonight’s events for a second time when you know it would do nothing but worry her. Since you’re in reasonably good hands, you lock your phone and shove it back into the pocket of Harry’s sweats. “How do you take it?” Harry murmurs. “With a little bit of milk, if you don’t mind.” He places your tea on the counter beside you before adding the milk. “I don’t mind,” he mocks your accent gently, and it bothers you how good he is at it. Harry passes you the mug. You raise it to your nose and inhale the steam. “Thank you, Harry, for being so… okay with all of this, and for just like, making me feel… ” You trail off, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t have thought it was possible to have, like, an ounce of normalcy tonight after all that.”  You tuck a strand of wet hair behind your ear. Harry pushes his glasses up his nose with his thumb and idly plays with the tag hanging by a string over the side of his mug. “I’ve heard you take responsibility a dozen times tonight for the danger that someone else put you in,” he says after a minute. His eyes are vaguely unfocused, and trained on the blinds. “Tonight was not your fault. Like, you were smart, brave and all that, but you shouldn’t have had to be.” He takes a sip. “I’m glad I was there.” Harry doesn’t say anything else. It’s cathartic in a way you wouldn’t have expected, to hear him state it back to you so plainly and without nuance. There’s not a thing you could say to that in defense of the argument that you are indeed to blame. But there were other choices I could have made. I shouldn’t have gone running that morning. I should have known to be more vigilant, buying those groceries. It was reckless of me to choose sheer curtains. I should have apparated to class instead of taking the tube. The logic sounds absurd to you in a new way when held up to the light. You absently stir your tea; there’s an orange tabby painted on the ceramic. “Chowder!” Harry’s eyebrows fly up. “Sorry?” “My cat! He’s all on his own in my apartment.” “Does he have water?” “Yeah, and food. And he's a few years old so he’ll be fine. I just feel awful, he’s never spent the night alone.” You shake your head. “Sorry for making you jump, it just crossed my mind.” “No, it’s okay… Do you want—should I go up and check on him for you?” “No, no. That’s not necessary. I’m just, you know, a terrible cat mom.”  “Ha!” Harry barks. It’s the loudest sound you’ve ever heard him make. “You don’t even want to… Oh Christ,” he shakes his head, creasing with laughter, “You have no idea.” “What?” You ask after a minute, unable to help yourself from joining in his laughter. His face is turning pink. “Do you have any idea how many nappies I’ve put on backwards? How many haircuts I’ve botched? I mean with my real, human child. I assembled both of Sylvia’s cribs upside down because the instructions were in Japanese. One after the other. It was the same fucking crib.” He deadpans your name at you. “Sylvia’s first word was fuck because Daddy couldn’t shake the habit of saying it all the fucking time.” “Oh my god.” “Yeah. We thought she was just a quiet kid, but then we were getting concerned that she wasn’t speaking by her second birthday. We took her to a speech therapist. So imagine you’re me, watching your daughter in her little highchair with her mum right up in her face, going, “Vi can you say ma-ma? And the child throws her binkie… and yells, Fuck!” You’re laughing so hard it’s completely silent.  “Didn’t say it.” He swipes a tear from the corner of his eye, and it bumps up his glasses a little. “Yelled it. Not a thing wrong with her… Oh,” Harry sighs. “Annie wouldn't speak to me for a week.” He shakes his head. “That’s incredible.” “So, like, newsflash… ” He takes a sip of his tea. “Nobody has any idea what they’re doing. There’s no such thing as a perfect parent or, um—cat mum as you said.” “So…” you venture after a pause. “Annie?” Harry laughs once through his nose, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright. Fair.” He sets his tea down on the counter. “Thought maybe we’d get to have this conversation over Prosecco,” he says, chuckling dryly. “Sylvia was definitely… unexpected… ” Harry begins delicately. “But she’s, like the funniest person I know and also my favorite person on the planet. So… I dunno. It worked out.” He clears his throat. “She was conceived on the night I met her mum at a pub in Essex and that was that. Haven’t really looked back. Annie—Vi’s mum—is an amazing person. We were never in love or anythin’ even close, but she’s the best co-parent I could ever dream of.”  “Vi’s a cute nickname.” “S’her first name, actually.” Harry smiles over the rim of his mug. “Lanh Vi.” His voice dips low and elongates the first syllable. “Lanh means gentle, happy. Vi is a family name. Annie wanted to give that to her parents, a proper Vietnamese name on her birth certificate. Sylvia’s sort of a good compromise for when she goes to school.”  Harry stares at some middle distance, smiling like he isn’t even aware he’s doing it. “Annie’s parents took a little convincing that any of this was going to work out—mine too—but I love our unconventional little family, and I’m really looking forward to her wedding. Sylvia’s in store for two really incredible mums.” He looks back at you and shrugs. “It’s not such a bad life. Sometimes I wish there was a more exciting answer.” “That doesn’t seem like a bad life at all.” The corners of Harry’s lips drop a little the moment you open your mouth. His head is tilted slightly as though he’s trying to gauge your reaction. You try to mirror the same, reassuring smile he’d given you earlier, then cover a yawn with your hand. “What time is it?” you ask. Harry checks his phone. “Half ten—or just gone.” “No it’s not,” you frown, but he holds up his phone to show you. “Oh god…” “Time flies when you’re talking about parenthood.” He takes your empty mugs, setting them carefully in the sink. “Thank you.” Without turning around Harry announces, “I think I’m gonna have you sleep in my bed and I’ll take the air mattress in Sylvia’s room.” “No.” You shake your head. “Harry I swear if you insist on that, I’m calling a taxi to the police station.” “No, honestly… They’re the only two rooms in the flat with the blinds consistently drawn, and her room’s empty most nights anyway since I’m such a pushover.” It takes a moment for that comment to sink in and when it does you feel your heart melt a little. “You’ll sleep much better in my bed than on my inherited air mattress from the nineties.” “I won’t,” you lie seamlessly. “I don’t sleep well in new places anyway, so at least one of us should get a good night’s rest.” “Whatever makes you most comfortable,” he relents. You’re glad you don’t have to argue about it. “Thank you.” Harry leads you to the linen cabinet in the hallway and removes a cardboard box from the very top shelf. An enormous dust cloud falls like an avalanche down his shirt and he coughs hysterically, scrunching his nose. “Last chance to change your mind,” Harry croaks, wiping his glasses on the front of his shirt. You shake your head and he turns to the door across from his, where his bed is half visible in shadow. The two of you shuffle into a cubby of a room, and Harry drops the box onto the plush pile rug with a thud.  Your neck cranes as you look around the tiny space, about as roomy as the lift. The walls are painted navy blue with silver and gold stars exploding in a galaxy across the walls, and your hand floats to your chest in memory of when Sylvia had pointed at you with a tiny finger, recognizing the shape at the end of the chain hung around your neck. Her bed frame is painted a deep, forest green and the two small pillows upon it are shaped like rain clouds. Plastic dinosaurs of all different sizes and colors line her windowsill. A small, homemade bookshelf is aligned by the bed. “You mind helping me spread it?” Harry’s voice brings you back down to earth, and you grab two corners of the plastic to lay out the mattress like a picnic blanket on the floor. It’s a tight squeeze, but at least it’s a queen. You look down at it with your hands on your hips, and Harry tilts his head, running a hand over his stubble. Harry steps back out into the hallway, ducking into his bedroom. You hear the creak of a closet door and shifting fabric as the beam of light from his room slants across the hall into Sylvia’s, illuminating a diagonal path right up through the wooden slats of her toybox. There’s a small, familiar shadow outline on top. You crouch down to pick up Jojo and his mother in one hand, running your fingers over the soft velvet of their floppy ears. It feels a little odd, to be so comforted by a child’s toy that doesn't even belong to you, but here you are. “I see you’ve found an old friend.”  Harry leans against the doorframe, watching you. His arms are full with a clean sheet, spare pillow, and quilt. The fondness in his voice is hard to miss, but you wonder if it’s for his daughter, for the toy, or for you. “I would’ve thought Sylvia brought him to her mom’s, too.” Harry’s lips twitch with amusement before he puts the pillow and quilt on top of Sylvia’s dresser. “She used to take him everywhere.” He visits every corner of the mattress to tuck the sheet around. “Here, let me help you with—” “No, no, it’s always easier like this before you blow it up.” Harry steps into the corners of the room that aren’t completely swallowed up by the giant, deflated bed. He removes a paper lantern night light with constellation cutouts from its outlet, replacing it with the motor to the air mattress. “This part always takes a bit.” The small plastic box sputters into a whine and the mattress begins to inflate. “Just give it a few minutes… S’ old.” Soft whirring fills the room before he speaks over it. “We almost lost him on a trip to Brighton once—” he nods at Jojo, still in your hands— “Vi was inconsolable until we found him wedged between the bed and the wall in the hotel. Managed to convince her that leaving him at home—or at least only to Bridget’s on the first floor while I’m at work—was the best way to keep him safe.” He steals a glance at you and unfolds the massive quilt on top of the bed as it rises, before fluffing the pillow and tossing it to one of the long ends. “Then she started insisting on leaving him here on the weeks she spends at her mum’s.” “How come?” Harry’s smile is somewhere between pointedly self-deprecating and unbelievably loving. “Says she doesn’t want me to be lonely while she’s gone.”  Before you can fully process all the ways your heart is both warmed and a little broken, Harry is disappearing into the hall again, returning with a throw blanket and fanning it out over the quilt. “Okay.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “That should do it. Do you want another pillow?” He turns to you suddenly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder. “I have a couple more on my—” “No, no. This is more than enough… Thank you again, Harry,” You reassure him with the understanding that this is goodnight. Harry runs a hand through his hair and a little puff of dust is drawn out. “If you, um—If you need anything, I’ll be… my bedroom’s just there.” He twists around to point. “Don’t hesitate to like… yeah, wake me up if you need—if you feel… ” He laughs once at himself, exasperated. “Sorry, I’m tired.” You shake your head and smile sympathetically. “So am I.” “Goodnight, then.” Harry backs out into the hallway. He pauses in Sylvia’s doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. At that exact moment, the motor clicks off and the sudden silence feels unbearably loud.  “I want you to feel safe here.” The room is so still that you see the shadow against Harry’s neck bob as he swallows in the yellow light of the hall. His eyes are steady and clear. You take a breath in, and nod. “I do,” you say, steadfast. “I promise… Goodnight, Harry.” He shuts the door behind him. • saturday, 5th january 12:46 am •

There had been a knock, of that much you are sure. One solitary rap jolts you from sleep, followed by the raucous succession of a dozen more as you sit up on the air mattress. It stops for a moment. Then starts up again. “Harry?” you whisper into the blackness, your heart suddenly pounding. In your groggy trance, you weren’t sure the first time you heard it if someone was knocking on the door to Sylvia’s room, but by the time your eyes adjust, you’re sure it’s coming from farther away. It stops. You’re still for a minute, careful not to rustle the quilt. There is no sound apart from a faint siren in the distance. You unplug your phone from where it charges beneath the nightlight, squinting at its bright little face. 12:46. Perhaps it’s a police officer? Surely they would have announced themselves, wouldn’t they? You slide down the mattress and creep up to the door, pressing an ear against the wood. There is nothing but the echo of your own blood rushing in your ear. You have to close your eyes and count to three before turning the doorknob. Harry is already in the hall, the door to his bedroom left gaping. He turns to you and immediately brings a finger to his lips. The sound of an open hand smacking against the front door is unmistakable. Harry inches towards the noise. He freezes suddenly, then twists to look at you, reaching his hand back with fingers outspread. Stay here. Harry rounds the corner out of sight until it becomes unbearable to stand there a moment longer. You tiptoe in his wake, and move at the same time he does. The only light in the flat spills from his open bedroom. Here in hall, the shadows are long and dark and Harry’s expression is harder to make out until he glances over his shoulder. He nods at you once before training his eyes on the door again. Your feet move of their own accord, as though they have unilaterally decided that the safest place for you is as close to Harry as possible. It seems jarring to you, that this man in a tee shirt and boxers is the same man who, not a week ago, seemed like a piece of art with his burgundy suit and damp curls; the memory of loose limbs and laughter clashes against the image of him fraught before you. Harry peers through the peephole. Your eyes are cemented to the back of his head and you begin to feel dizzy, only just realizing you’ve been holding your breath. He tenses. In a freezing rush of dread, you suddenly know exactly who is on the other side of that door. You know you shouldn’t panic. Harry raises a finger to his lips again in another soundless imperative and you know—from a place that feels somewhere outside your body—that the last thing you should be doing is opening your mouth. But this is a terror hurtling beyond fight or flight. Your primary functions are in a deadlock with a searing hysteria clamoring for you to scream, and something desperately carnal that believes you could only survive this moment if you were silent enough.  Harry is still gesturing at you to keep quiet. He turns his back to the door and approaches you, the weight of his gaze keeping you motionless. He reaches forward and presses his palm firmly against your parted lips. All of a sudden you’re just as close as you were in the lift four nights ago when he tasted like brandy and the beginning of something new. The look he had given you on New Year’s was playful and wanting. In this moment, however, a pair of hard and urgent eyes bore into yours, igniting the pit of your stomach with a different kind of fear. Harry wraps his free hand around your wrist. You blink and blink. Beneath the steel resolve in his face, a desperate question forms: Do you trust me? You want to answer but you don’t know how. So you just keep staring. He pushes you backwards, gently, leading you around the corner and down the hall, his hand cupped to your mouth all the while. Even if you’d wanted to glance at the front door, Harry’s gaze is a magnet to your eyes. He walks you all the way into his bedroom, until you feel the mattress on the backs of your knees. You’d fall if not for Harry letting go of your wrist to guide you down with a hand on your waist. His lips move soundlessly around the words, stay here, and you manage to nod. Only then does he release your mouth. Your eyes can only focus on the closet door directly in front of you. It takes every ounce of your concentration to just keep breathing so you don’t pass out as Harry doubles back out into the hall, leaving you on the edge of his bed. You can feel an outbreak of sweat around your temple and on the back of your neck. You know you’re shaking but that feels distant, too.  You have no idea how long Harry is gone, you just know he closes the door upon his return. You’re still trying to pace your breathing as he crouches down in front of you. He has his phone to his ear. You can only catch a few of his words at a time.  “My name is Harry Styles… previously reported an, um, incident involving… yes… no… returned… knocked on the door. No, he’s gone now… I waited, to be sure. But I—” There’s a pause. “I think he’s knocking on every door on this floor.” You hear something like a choked gasp. Only when Harry’s eyes dart to yours do you realize it was you.  You have put the entire building in danger.  “Yes, she’s still here.” His free hand reaches up to your knee as he listens to the dispatcher, but he seems to think better of it at the last moment, worrying the edge of the duvet between his fingers instead. “Right, yes. I understand. I will. Thank you.”  Faint ringing replaces the feeling of water in your ears.  “They’re sending someone,” he murmurs after hanging up. “He’s gone.” You hear that broken gasp again. “He’s gone, I promise.” Your shoulders cave inward when you feel the full, painful heave of your sob. Tears stream down your cheeks as you cover your face. Harry’s hand lifts again. You shrink away and he immediately moves from you to stand. “I’ll be—”  You seize at the first part of him you can reach, grasping a weak fistful of his soft cotton tee. Harry is completely still beneath your trembling fingers. He doesn’t pull away or move closer. He just hovers there, steady. “Please…” You want to ask him to stay. You want to ask for help. You want him to touch you so you know that you’re real—that you’re not in fact still trapped alone in the most terrifying part of a nightmare, but the words are unbearable.  The sound of your name in Harry’s mouth undoes something inside you. Through your tears you finally lift your head to find his eyes. His expression seems torn, like he wants to comfort you but doesn’t know how. You’re not sure which one of you bridges the gap, but your forehead lands in the warm slope between his neck and shoulder and that seems to be all the confirmation Harry needs.  His hands slide up your back to hold you as you all but collapse into him, crying with enough force that Harry draws you off the bed and onto the floor with him. He smooths one hand up and down the length of your spine as the other wraps so far around your back that you can feel his fingertips hooked over your hip. “S’ok,” he murmurs, his lips pressing into your temple like he intends to seal the words to your skin. Harry doesn’t try to shush you. “S’gonna be alright. ‘M here… I’ve got you. You’re safe… I’ve got you.”  When your wracking sobs give way to hiccups and finally to something halfway controllable, he stops talking and just holds you, rocking ever so slightly in a sort of motion that only a parent can do. You have no idea how long you sit like that, a tangle of limbs and soaked collars and cheeks, until you’re finally able to speak.  “I’m sorry,” you choke out. “You—”  “None of that,” Harry says immediately. You feel his nose dig into your hair, his breath warm as he sighs. “I mean it, alright? No more apologizing for any of this. Might have to make you a jar like the one Annie has for me in her flat.” The thought is strange enough to pull you, however briefly, out of your current misery. “You have an apology jar?”  He exhales sharply. “Swear jar, actually.”  Your laugh bursts out unexpectedly, sort of wet and weak, but there nonetheless. You feel the soft stroke of his thumb on the back of your head. “That’s more like it.”  You draw back and Harry’s grip tightens, just for a moment, before he releases you. He brushes your damp cheeks with the side of his palm before you can do it yourself. You see the same concentration he wore when he’d pinned that Remembrance Day poppy to your jacket. It takes effort to silence the instinct to be ashamed and keep his eyes.  “They said it might be a bit before an officer can get up here,” he says, searching your face. “They’re puttin’ together a couple patrol teams to canvas the building and stay outside the rest of the night.” All you can think to do is nod. “Can I get you anything? Water?” “Please,” you reply, grateful. “I should—” you make a vague gesture at yourself— “clean myself up a bit.” Harry opens his mouth like he wants to comment, but just nods instead. You use his shoulder to push yourself to your feet; his hand covers yours and you feel his thumb running across your knuckles.  You say, “Thank you,” but it’s not nearly enough. He squeezes gently, staring up at you and saying nothing. You walk on unsteady legs to the bathroom. You can feel his eyes on you even when you close the door. Lacing your fingers atop your head, you sigh at the tearstained, swollen-eyed version of yourself staring back at you in the mirror. After blowing your nose and splashing a few handfuls of water across your face, you join him on his side of the bed. His phone is in his hands. He finishes sending off a long, blue bubble of text before looking up and passing you a water from the nightstand. He runs the tip of his index finger around the rim of his own glass.

You bring the drink to your lips, then lower it immediately; the glass clacks against your teeth with the tremor of your hand. You can feel Harry’s eyes on you even though he doesn’t turn his head. Again, you try taking a sip with the same result and sigh. “I think I’m gonna try my parents again.” “Sure.” You set your water on the nightstand and head to Sylvia’s room, shutting the door behind you. You take a deep breath before collapsing back on the mattress. The stars rotating on the ceiling like a merry-go-round make you nauseous so you unplug the nightlight before dialing. Your mom answers after the first ring, emphasizing your name like a scolding. “Hi, Mom.” “What are you doing up? It’s the middle of the night in England. Is everything alright?” “That’s actually what I need to talk to you about.” You hardly get a sentence in before you hear her rushing to get your dad and the three of you have an hour-long, emotional crash-course on the last five hours of your life. There isn’t too much to fill in as you’ve kept them more or less updated on the blue-eyed man and your previous trips to the police department. You assure them that you’re in one piece and that you couldn’t have wound up with a more generous host, but that doesn’t assuage your mom from insisting on speaking with the police herself. She makes you promise to stay on the line until the authorities arrive. Before long, you hear a light rap on your door. “Yes?” Harry cracks it open without peeking his head inside. “Police are here—take your time. I’ll go out and speak with them.” “Thanks, Harry… Mom, some officers just arrived I think.” You pinch your phone between your cheek and shoulder, softly close the door behind you. “I’ll call you back once we’re done with everything.” You rush through a quick goodbye and meet Harry in the entryway. He’s thrown on some gym pants and a sweater and his arms are folded across his chest. The fully-uniformed men seem bulky and out of place in the sixth-floor hallway, as though they couldn’t squeeze in Harry’s modest apartment. It’s not like you’re the one in trouble, but your heart skips a little anyway. “… every floor of the building and searched the surrounding perimeter with no sign of anyone matching the description, and from the security footage we seized, we can see that he pulled out of the car park about forty-five minutes ago.” “Okay.” Harry nods, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Alright. Great.” The officer who had been speaking turns to you. “And you must be the young woman who—” “Yes.” You jerk your head quickly. It’s more like an anxious spasm than a nod.  “That’s me.” “We were just filling your neighbor in that we were unable to find the culprit, but the building and surrounding area seem to be clear. If at all possible, we think it would be best for you to stay here just for the night, then come straight to the station in the morning to make a plan.”  You simply nod again. “I will.” “You’re flat 8F, is that right?” “That’s correct.” “Were any of these marks on your door before this evening?” The officer pulls a cell phone out of his pocket, unlocking it to reveal the last few pictures in the camera roll. Your stomach drops. He flips through several photos of a long, black streak above the handle of your front door, and a sizable ding in the wood by the door jam. The impact was hard enough to scratch the paint. “No,” you manage. “I don’t recognize those. Did he, um…” “The door didn’t give,” the officer says. It’s just reassuring enough to keep your knees from buckling. He turns to face Harry again. “And you’re certain that the man showed no signs of knowledge that she—that the two of you were in this particular flat?” “Yeah. I watched him make his way down, knocking on a couple more doors.”  “Was he stopping by every door?”  Harry takes a moment to think. “No,” he replies. “It seemed a bit random if I’m honest.” “Right. Well, keep an eye out for any unusual activity in the next few days, especially on this floor. Don’t hesitate to let us know if anything changes.” The officer looks to you again. “In the meantime, we’ll see you at the station tomorrow?” “Yes, um… ” You clear your throat as your cheeks warm. “I’m sorry. Would one of you be willing to speak with my parents on the phone? They’re a bit worried and want to talk to a professional.” You hold up your cell. “Of course.” After dialing for him, you hand the officer your phone and he begins to engage your mom in what sounds like a very animated, reassuring dialogue. You and Harry are leaned against opposite walls in the hallway, spaced out in exhaustion. You cover a yawn with your hand and catch him doing the same. Do you dare check the time? Your hands absently pat your front and back pockets, and you frown in trying to recall where you’d last set your phone. You roll your eyes in glancing up at the officer pacing in the entryway on the phone with your mother. “S’ just gone two,” Harry mumbles. You make a light noise in the back of your throat. “I’m sorry, Harry.” “That’s a tenner in the apology jar.” You breathe a laugh without humor, shaking your head back and forth against the wall. “I just can’t wait for this day to be over,” you whisper. “Would you like to speak with her again?” The officer’s voice clips into your half-conscious conversation. You hold out your hand and tuck the phone between your cheek and shoulder again as Harry thanks the officers one last time before showing them out.  Apparently satisfied with the conversation she’d had with the police, your mother circles back to the matter of your current state of limbo. “You’re sure you’re comfortable staying with this neighbor? Where are you sleeping?” You can practically hear the alarm bells from across the Atlantic. “It’s fine, Mom. We’re friends… sort of.” Friends that drunkenly make out in the lift. “He has a spare mattress. I’m staying in his guest room.” She digests this information in silence. “I’m alright, I promise. It’s just for tonight.”  There’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “I want you to call us, alright? No matter what time it is here or there, I want you to check in with us every day until we know for sure you’re absolutely safe.”  “I will,” you vow. “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? I’m exhausted.”  “Right yes, go get some rest. We love you.”  You swallow with a little difficulty. “Love you too.”  Harry’s idling by the sink with your empty glasses.  “Sorry about that,” you say, and then wince when he gives you a sidelong look. “They can be a bit protective.” He shakes his head, his expression somehow more grave than you were expecting. “I know exactly how they feel.” Harry rubs his eyes under his glasses. “I’m sorry,” he says into his palms. “I’m knackered.” “Yeah, of course… Get some sleep.” You hesitate. “You sure there’s not anything else I can get you?” “I’m sure.” He pinches softly just above your elbow. “See you in the morning.” Harry disappears into the hall. You listen to the sound of his bedroom door click shut before tilting your head to the ceiling and letting your eyelids close, literally twenty feet below your own apartment. You could probably throw a basketball higher than that. You sigh and look back down at your phone on the counter, quickly drafting a text to India and then deleting it. For a minute you stay like that, a statue in the pale light of Harry’s kitchen—the relic of a girl who woke up this morning unscathed. It’s probably for the best that you get some sleep tonight, but standing in front of the nursery with your hand on the doorknob, you can’t bring yourself to face the pitiful air mattress again. You turn to Harry’s bedroom door in defeat. Who on earth are you trying to fool? Heart hammering, you swallow your pride and crack open the door to Harry’s bedroom, stepping gingerly inside. It shuts behind you with a delayed click-click, impossibly loud. Nothing apart from blackness is visible before you, but suddenly comes the sound of a long breath in from somewhere in the room. Blankets rustle. Your fingers tighten on the doorknob behind you. With a tink, soft, yellow light spills over every surface in Harry’s bedroom. His nose scrunches and eyes squint. His hand flounders once against the nightstand before he locates his glasses, pushing them swiftly onto his face. Harry’s expression relaxes as he props himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. Your face stings with heat, but you hold your ground. His eyes are soft, careful, yet strangely unaffected. Without a word, or the slightest suggestion of ambivalence, Harry reaches out an arm to the opposite side of the mattress, and tosses the corner of the duvet halfway down the bed before meeting your gaze from across the room. It feels like a weakness, to cave and accept his offer. You want to explain yourself, suddenly, but there are no words for this time of night and the chasm you’re hanging over by your fingertips. So you approach the bed in silence and slide beneath his covers.  Backs turned to each other, you curl up so far from Harry that your knees hang over the edge of the bed. You hear the cool sliding of blankets once more before absolute stillness. The last image of your day is the dim, golden glow of Harry’s lamp vanishing on the ceiling. • saturday, 5th january 4:07 am • It’s disorienting, adjusting to a room you can immediately tell isn’t your own, momentarily teetering between asleep and awake. It’s even more disorienting when you realize that you are not alone. There’s a knee between yours and a heavy arm slung over your waist. You’ve migrated to the center of the bed somehow during the night, flipped on your back. But what draws your attention the most is the warm breath in the curve of your neck. “Harry?”  It was the asleep-half of your brain that had thought to croak his name. You don’t know what kind of reply you’re expecting to receive in this blue, small morning hour. Perhaps you won’t get one at all. Perhaps you’re dreaming. You stare up at the ceiling.  If you close your eyes now, would you even remember this come dawn? But the grip around your waist tightens, just for a moment, before you feel his body slide up against yours, a sigh fanning over your cheek.  “Yeah.” Harry’s voice is low and gravelly, but unmistakable. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest through the fine cotton of the shirt he’d loaned you, and he sounds surprisingly alert. A small silence lingers. “Alright?” Your eyes stay trained on the ceiling. Are you?  Part of you wants him to clarify the question: are you alright after everything that happened tonight? Are you alright… with this? “Yeah,” you breathe.  Harry doesn’t say anything else. For a moment you think he’s fallen back asleep but then he shifts closer to you. You watch as the shadow of his arm reaches over your body for your hand—you had left it open and maybe a little vulnerable beside your head on the pillow. You can feel the calluses on Harry’s fingertips as they slide up your palm and find the space between yours. You don’t dare turn your head because there is a question in your eyes that you realize you can no longer ignore, and you are afraid of his answer. So you close your fingers around his and do not speak. Harry exhales. You’re hyper aware of the way his body relaxes as he squeezes your hand. You take a deep breath. You know it’s no use wondering whether or not Harry is going to remember this in the morning. Even if this is a dream, you cannot deny that you’re warm and you’re safe and that you will remember, possibly forever, regardless of whatever happens or doesn’t happen between you. It’s a vaguely scary thought.  You close your eyes.

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction

[louiseleblancdiggory]

Halloween tales

31 Days of Spooktober

Day 12/31

-Present day-

Aelin laughed, resting her back against her husband’s shoulders.

It was Halloween night, and despite the fact that both of them maybe were too old for this, Aelin and Rowan were celebrating the night as they always had.

The movie was already set up on the television, and both were just going to the kitchen to grab the candy, popcorn and beers when they heard the front door opening and closing.

“Mom? Dad?” The unmistakable voice of their eldest son sounded through the house, and Aelin half turned her face to Rowan, raising an eyebrow.

“In the kitchen, Nino.” Rowan shouted back, hugging Aelin as they waited for Nino to come to them. It was surprising Nino was visiting them at that time at night, specially on Halloween night when he should be enjoying some party with his friends and fiancée.

The surprise only got bigger when they saw all of their kids walking in, none dressed up as anything or even hinting that they planned on celebrating Halloween. Aelin knew her kids well enough to know that they adored Halloween, so whatever this was, it was serious.

Rowan must have noticed too, because he hugged Aelin tighter. “What happened?”

Aurora and Kiara crossed their arms, and Theo simply rested against the fridge, looking at his older brother. Nino’s face was grave, and Aelin took a step forward, coming out of Rowan’s arms, to place her hands on Nino’s face. “What happened, baby?”

“Nino wants to talk.” Aurora explained.

“We gathered as much, Auro.” Rowan said, brows creasing as he looked at Aelin and Nino. “Specifying about what would be good, though.”

Nino sighed, forcing a smile to Aelin and then raising his eyes to Rowan. “Can we sit down?”

Aelin turned her head to stare at Rowan, brows high. None of them seemed hurt, but she couldn’t feel calm until she listened to what he wanted to say. Even after years being carefree and chill most of the time, Aelin had learned a long time ago that her kids’ wellbeing was a fast way to change that.

Rowan put his hands on Aelin’s hips, guiding her to the living room as their kids followed right behind them.

“Whatever it is, it’s gonna be ok.” Rowan whispered on her ear as they sat down on the love seat facing the bigger sofa. Nino was he first one to sit down, followed them by Aurora. Despite the few years in between them, the two had always been extremely close to each other. It was no surprise she was here to support him with whatever it was. Then, the twins sat down. Kiara was by Aurora’s side, Theo occupying the last seat on the sofa.

After a few moments of silence, Theo cleared his throat. “So, is anyone gonna say something and end the awkward?”

Kiara hit him in the back of the head, mumbling for him to shut up. If the situation was different, Aelin would have laughed. Nino had been a calm and easy to deal, and although Aurora was the most energetic, she wasn’t bad either. Kiara was more like Nino, delicate and calm, but Theo was just… Different. He was the troublemaker of the family, the one who always wanted the last say.

Too much like Aelin, Rowan would always say.

She’d always grin in return.

Nino sighed, placing his face on his hands before looking at his parents. “I’m engaged.”

Despite the situation, Rowan snorted. “Yeah, for seven months.”

Nino looked at his siblings, a pained expression overtaking his face when he looked back at his parents.

Aelin knew that, whatever he was about to say, he was afraid it would disappoint Rowan. She knew it from the instant he looked back at them and his eyes fell solely on her. Throughout his whole life, Nino had done everything to get Rowan proud. Rowan wasn’t by any means a harsh or mean father, and Aelin could count in one hand the amount of times Rowan raised his voice at the four sitting in front of her. Even though Rowan had been the absolute best father anyone could ask for Nino, there was still something in her son that made him want to be even better in his father’s eyes.

It’s not that Nino didn’t care about Aelin’s opinion. She knew that he loved her unconditionally, but with Rowan it was… different. And so when Nino couldn’t even bear to look at his dad, Aelin knew that he was either afraid or ashamed of what he was about to say. Judging by the way Rowan squeezed Aelin’s shoulder, he had also noticed.

“I don’t know if I want to. I don’t know if I want to be engaged.” Nino said quietly, bitting his lower lip. “I just…”

Aurora and Kiara looked at Nino with pity on their faces, but Theo was staring straight at Aelin and Rowan. He raised his eyebrows minimally, jaw clenching. He was the spitting image of Rowan, and so Aelin had seen that expression a million times already to understand that, whatever Nino was going through, wasn’t a thing of the moment. He had thought this through for a while now, and that’s probably why all his siblings already knew.

Probably why she and Rowan were learning about it.

“Nino.” Rowan’s voice was grave and quiet, but also holding the natural gentleness it always possessed when talking to the people he loved. “Why?”

Nino rubbed his face, groaning quietly before replying. “I don’t know. I just… I’m just different. Or maybe Phedre is different? I don’t fucking know. I loved her so much, but now it’s… boring. It’s not exciting. And I know she feels the same, and I don’t know what to do. I talked to Auro first, a few weeks ago. I was feeling strange for a while and I thought I should ask for second opinion.”

Aelin turned to her first daughter. “And what did you say?”

She shrugged. “I said that he should talk to Phedre. I never had this problem with Emerson, and I didn’t want to fuck it up. He said he had done that already and that she said everything was fine. So we talked to Theo and Kiara. As we all know, Theo has the sentiments of a rock and Kiara is the most emotional person ever,” Kiara narrowed her eyes at her older sister while Theo simply smiled. “So no one came up with a solution.”

“So why not ask to the fairytale come real couple?” Theo asked, but despite the words, there was no sarcasm on his voice. He could be different from his siblings, but Theo appreciated his parents’ love just as much as the other three. “The two of you are a match made in Heaven, happily married for almost thirty years now. Share the knowledge.”

Normally, Aelin would have said something sarcastic to that question that would have made her kids groan and Rowan roll his eyes. She didn’t know what to say to this specific situation, though. She never imagined that Nino would have this type of issue with Phedre. Both had been in love since high school, perfect for each other.

She was saved from saying anything when Rowan decided to answer. “That’s normal.”

Nino raised his head to his father. “It is?”

“Of course it is, Nino.” Aelin said, a smile on her face.

“But I don’t think I love her anymore. I don’t know what to do.”

There was a beat of silence before Rowan relaxed against the loveseat. “Me and your mother almost got divorced once.”

“What?” All four heads snapped to them, voices variating in volume and incredulity.

“When?”

“How?”

“Why?”

“The fuck?”

Aelin snorted, resting her back against Rowan’s chest. “Your father could have been more delicate about it, but yes, we almost got a divorce. I was even living with aunt Lysandra for a while. You were around two, Nino, and the rest wasn’t even born yet.”

“Why?” Was all Nino replied.

Rowan shrugged. “It got boring. I didn’t know if I loved her anymore, she didn’t know if she loved me anymore.”

“But you guys are married still.” Kiara said cautiously.

Both Aelin and Rowan smiled. “Yes.”

Theo adjusted himself on the sofa, a grin playing on his lips. “I feel a Halloween story coming. I wanted to be at a frat party right now, but I think hearing about my parents almost divorce will do.”

Rowan smirked at Theo, and Aelin winked. “It’s not a Halloween story.”

“If it’s told on Halloween, it’s a Halloween story.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Mother and son through and through.” Rowan butted in.

“And the thought of mom and dad separated is scary enough to be a Halloween story.” Kiara sided with her twin.

Theo smiled smugly at his mom.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “But going back to your brother’s issue…”

“How did you fix it?” Nino asked almost disperately.

Aelin looked up at Rowan, eyebrows raised. He winked quickly at her, and both turned back to look at their kids.

“Well…”

——————

-Years before-

“And that should be all.” The divorce lawyer said, standing up. “So much easier dealing with a couple who doesn’t hate each other.”

Aelin tried to force a laugh out, but Rowan’s face didn’t change at all.

For a quick second, Aelin allowed herself to look at him, to look at the face of the man she had loved.

Rowan was breathtakingly beautiful. Defined jawline, high cheekbones and deep pine-green eyes, Aelin couldn’t deny that he was the most handsome man she had ever met. The only difference was that now he looked so cold, so distant. It was like when they had first met, but that had been years ago and Aelin didn’t know how to deal with his coldness anymore. He was still polite, still cordial but…

But he wasn’t the man she had married.

It was confusing, really. Both she and Rowan had come to an agreement regarding the separation. Things weren’t the same anymore, and stuff that usually made her heart beat faster was just pissing her off now. And she knew it was the same to him. They were getting the divorce because, it turns out, neither of them liked who they were anymore. Rowan couldn’t love the girl he had fallen in love with years before, and neither could Aelin. And yet, seeing this cold and detached Rowan made her want to punch a wall.

For the past month and a half, she had been trying to figure out her feelings. They hadn’t tried to fix anything, hadn’t tried to go to therapy together because there wasn’t anything broken in their relationship. It had just… died.

The man she thought she’d love forever just didn’t love her back. And so she stopped loving him too.

There wasn’t a specific moment, or a specific reason. Aelin didn’t hate Rowan, much less regretted him. To be honest, if it depended on her, they would have never fallen out of love.

But they had and now she was forced to hear a stupid divorce lawyer make jokes about something that was crushing her inside.

Aelin turned to Rowan giving him a polite smile. “How’s Nino?”

She had dropped off their son with him yesterday, and Nino was gonna spend the weekend with Rowan.

At the mention of their kid, Rowan smiled minimally. “Fine. I was thinking about taking him to see my mother tomorrow.”

Aelin maintained her polite smile as she got up. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

She internally counted to five, and when he didn’t add anything, she just gave a small wave and left.

Divorce was so exhausting.

Part of her wondered if she hated Rowan, everything wouldn’t be easier. But truth is, she didn’t and she also didn’t want to. She wanted to love him, and wanted for him to love her back. She wanted her perfect wedding back, but that was apparently out of the game.

There was also the fact that Aelin had a date.

The thought was so strange and foreign to her, that she didn’t really know what to think. Rowan had agreed that it was ok if they wanted to see other people while the divorce was happening, and the guy at the gallery seemed nice enough for her to accept having a coffee with him the following day. She was still thinking about it as she drove to Lysandra’s home.

It was strange, really, going through a divorce with the love of your life and having a date with a complete stranger at the same time. Aelin barely remembered what people were supposed to do in dates, and it was probably the fear of making an absolute fool of herself that made her go through her old college shit.

She had kept some journals throughout the four years she studied arts and human behavior, and so maybe something in there would give her an inkling in what to do tomorrow. For the past years, all her dates had been with the same guy.

She started looking through her shit, but quickly got lost in the memories. There were so many pictures that Aelin couldn’t help but take a moment and look at all of them. They were separated by categories. With the friend group, with her cousin, with Lysandra… and finally with Rowan. The pictures with Rowan were the thickest pile, and she set all the other ones down to take a look at them.

Rowan absolutely hated taking pictures, so Aelin let out a small laugh every time he looked absolutely pissed in the pictures. There was some of them in the sports games, a few from Halloween. A bunch from their spring breaks trips, the pictures of when they traveled together to Italy during junior year summer. Pictures of them in the lake house, Aelin wearing his enormous red hoodie while he hugged her from the back. Sitting around the fire during Christmas, kissing in New Year’s Eve, getting plastered on Saint Patrick’s. The pictures from her wedding day were the ones that shattered her heart, though. In none of them Rowan appeared anything other than beaming, always looking down at Aelin. Them dancing, cutting the cake, laughing, just hugging… The pictures then shifted for them in their first house, then pictures with Nino.

And then they stopped.

Because there was no more.

No more pictures.

For the first time since they mutually decided to get a divorce, Aelin felt a strong urge to cry. Her throat constricted and her eyes were watering uncontrollably. She had loved him so, so fucking much and it was over. And all she had were pictures.

Aelin wanted to love Rowan so bad. Sp, so bad. She wanted more pictures.

But there was no forcing love.

Not wanting to cry over something that was out of her control, Aelin put the pictures gently aside and picked up some of her old human behavior notebooks. Most of it were just notes almost impossible to read, drawings and scribbles around the pages, some sticky notes every now and then. Aelin smiled remembering her college years, how everything was so much easier.

She spent hours going over stuff she didn’t even remember she had learned, and when she picked up the last notebook, it was almost dinner time.

The last one had been for one of her favorite classes, and she could notice that just by how the handwriting was ten times better in this one. She read over the words carefully, taking her time to remember everything she shouldn’t have forgotten.

She closed the notebook, holding it forcefully as she got up.

As she grabbed her car keys.

As she left home.

——

“Ace?”

“You know what this is?” She raised her notebook, shaking it.

Rowan’s green eyes appeared confused after the glasses. “A notebook?”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

Rowan leaned against the doorway, rolling his eyes. “What’s on the notebook?”

Aelin felt suddenly nervous, and she dropped her hand, bitting her lower lip as she decided what she should do. “Can I come in?”

Rowan eyed her strangely before taking a step back, letting her enter what once had been her house. Rowan said she didn’t need to move out, that he could go somewhere else, but Lys had offered and she needed her best friend, not an empty home.

She looked around awkwardly, fidgeting with he notebook edges. “Is Nino sleeping?”

“Yeah.” Rowan said from behind her, voice low. “What happened, Ace?”

She sighed, walking to the couch. She sat down, crossing her legs and playing with the pants soft and loose fabric. She could feel her eyes watering, and when she looked up at Rowan, his expression immediately softened. He walked up to her, sitting down on the sofa. She shifted to stare at him, sniffing a little.

“I wanted to love you forever.”

“I know.” Rowan said, a sad smile on his face. “I wanted that too.”

“Did you know that most people fall out of love for the same reason they fall in love?” Aelin asked, closing her eyes when she felt Rowan’s thumb brushing away a tear. “That once you thought that me being carefree was cute, but now it’s just careless. That when I loved you for being always quiet, it just became hard to always guess what you were thinking.”

Rowan didn’t say anything, just stared at her. He didn’t take his hand from her face, and so Aelin continued.

“I don’t know. It’s kinda sad and tragic, isn’t it? Losing love because of the things that made you gain it. Sounds like a fucking cosmic joke.”

She laughed, but it wasn’t funny at all. Rowan’s face morphed into sadness. “Ace…”

“But,” she said, trying to give him a somewhat hopeful smile. “It got me thinking.”

Rowan adjusted himself on the couch, smiling softly at her. “Yeah? What?”

“It’s because people change. I’m not college Aelin anymore, so of course I don’t love exactly what she does.”

“And so I’m not college Rowan anymore?” He asked, trying to go along the lines of what she was saying even though he seemed kinda lost.

“Yeah, that’s why it doesn’t work. But…” She took a deep breath. “But we could try. I think love is a choice. I don’t think it’s absolutely out of our power, and I don’t want to lose you, Ro. I never wanted, and if I have to start it all over again, to love you all over again, then I’m willing to at least try. I can’t love what college Aelin loved, and you can’t love what college Rowan loved, but if we grow together, I think we can fall in love everyday with whoever we are then.”

Rowan sighed, passing an arm around Aelin’s shoulders and pulling her to his lap. Aelin curled herself into a ball, resting her face on the crook of his neck. Rowan petted her hair, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I love you. It’s not like before, but a part of me will always love you.”

Aelin nodded, eyes watering again. “I know. I understand.”

Rowan kissed the top of her head, still playing with her hair. “If you want to try, I’ll try with you. For as long as you want to try, fireheart.”

Aelin sniffled loudly, smiling against Rowan’s skin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She could feel his smile on his voice. “I’ll always do anything for you, Ace. And if you want to stop the divorce and try to figure this all out, I’d be honored to fall in love with you everyday. Even though I just know some versions are gonna be a pain in my ass.”

Aelin laughed, raising her head. Aelin’s eyes were puffy, a few tears streaming down her cheeks. She loved Rowan, she really did. Although she didn’t like the relationship anymore, Rowan had been correct when he said a part of them would always be in love. And she didn’t hate that, instead she wanted to like the relationship again, wanted that blinding love again.

Aelin hesitant and tentatively stretched her face forward, pressing her lips softly against Rowan’s. He put some pressure back, hands softly cupping her face. The kiss was feather-light, but it calmed every single nerve inside her body that had been screaming for the past weeks.

Without opening her eyes, Aelin whispered against Rowan’s mouth. “Together, then?”

“Always. And to whatever end, fireheart.”

—————

-Present day-

“And then what?” Theo asked.

Aelin shrugged. “We fixed it.”

“But how?” Kiara pressed.

Rowan laughed, rubbing his thumb over Aelin’s shoulder blades. “There’s no how. It was natural. Your mom was right, for a marriage to work, you can’t hope love will last forever. It has ups and downs, and with time it becomes more ups than downs. A marriage is not without sacrifices, and we both did a bunch of them in the following months after the conversation. Both adapted to better fit the other one.”

“And it worked.” Aelin said, a beaming smile on her lips. “There’s no formula, it’s just what works best for you. And sometimes it won’t work, and that’s also alright because not all loves are meant to last forever. That doesn’t make them lesser or not important. It was important, it will always be important, but it’s over.”

Rowan smiled gently at Nino, holding his son’s gaze. “I’m proud of you. Many people wouldn’t recognize that there was something different, and they’d just keep forcing and forcing until it was so indifferent, it didn’t matter anymore. Acknowledging that there’s something wrong with a love you held so dear for so long is very brave, Nino. And if you fix it, or if you move on, nothing will change my opinion.”

“We love you, baby.” Aelin added, a mother smile on her face. “All of you.”

Nino tried to force a carefree smile, but Aelin could see his throat constricting and eyes watering. Theo also realized how close his brother was to crying, something Nino hated, and so he decided to be his natural self.

“So you two do have problems in paradise.” He said and Rowan jokingly sighed. “Was that a recurring thing?”

“Nah.” Aelin said, putting a hand on Rowan’s knee. “Only major issue. Everything after that was just stupid arguments, but nothing that came close to divorce.”

“Nice. If you two had divorced I wouldn’t be here and that’s a shame to the world.” Theo said, and Kiara snorted. He looked at his twin, grinning at her. “And my dear Kiara, too, of course.”

“If I knew your mother was gonna birth the devil’s spawn years later, maybe I would have divorced her.” Rowan said, eyes narrowed at Theo. Aelin pinched his knee.

Theo simply smirked. “A condom would have done the work, old man. And you love me.”

“Debatable.”

“Nah.”

“Theo’s ability to transform dad in a seven year old is baffling.” Aurora said, a hand rubbing Nino’s back, as she smiled at her father. “Embarrassing.”

Rowan shook his head, looking almost hurt that his daughter hadn’t taken his side. He looked down at Aelin, eyes narrowed. “This is all your fault, you know.”

She smiled, comfortably resting against his side and chest. “Yes, I do. You are very welcome, by the way.”

When Nino finally seemed to recompose himself, he looked at his parents, a weak smile on his face. “Thank you.”

Rowan smiled at him, and Aelin winked.

“You want to talk more about it, baby?”

Nino shook his head, smile becoming a little bigger. “I think the rest is something I need to deal with Phedre.”

Rowan nodded, but seconds later the whole cute moment was over.

“Now, everyone out.”

“Why?” Kiara and Aurora said in unison.

“Lovely to spend time with you two, too. I love these heartfelt moments.” Theo said and Nino grinned.

Aelin rolled her eyes. “We’re busy. Halloween marathon. Go do whatever is that you all do.”

Kiara and Theo got up immediately, faces almost shining. “Oh, my god. Does that mean you guys bought candy?”

Rowan sighed. “Yeah, but—“

“We’re staying!” Kiara said as she and Theo rushed to the kitchen. Despite their ages, the two sometimes acted like the kids they still were in their parents’ eyes.

Aelin snorted, looking at her two eldest. “You two staying?”

Aurora shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”

“Call Emerson, I miss her more than I usually miss you bunch.” Rowan said.

Aurora faked indignation. “I’m your daughter.”

“And?”

“You should miss your daughter companion more than you miss her girlfriend’s companion.”

“Emmy is nicer than you.” Aelin chimed in.

Aurora looked in between her parents, both biting their cheeks to keep a smile in. Aurora huffed, getting up. “I’m calling her, but after this you guys are prohibited to see her until you like me more.”

“So dramatic!” Aelin shouted as Aurora left the room. Nino and Rowan laughed softly before Aelin turned back to her son. “You could call Phedre.”

“And don’t act like it’s whatever if she comes or not.” Rowan said. “Say you want her to be here.”

Nino stared at Aelin and Rowan in silence for a few moments before nodding shallowly. “Yeah, I think I will.”

As one, Rowan and Aelin smiled.

.

.

.

.

A/N: This is somewhat in the lines of what one of my best friends have been begging me to do, so maybe this will make her calm the fuck down. I’ve had this idea on my mind for a while now and decided to finally write it. Hope you guys enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato​ @jlinez​ @courtofjurdan​ @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln​ @ladywitchling @lexflame​ @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111​ @perseusannabeth @linshryver​ @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @woollycat22 @julemmaes @claralady @abookishfreak @faerie-queen-fireheart @maastrash @morganofthewildfire @queen-of-glass @heirofthenightcourt @booksbqueen @heirofthrnightcourt004

#rowaelin #rowaelin oneshot #rowaelin au #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin spooktober #aelin #ashryver #galathynius #whitethorn #rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #tog au #tog #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass au #throne of glass oneshot #spooktober #spooktober writing #31 Days of Halloween #31 days of spooktober #31 days of spooktober challenge #spooky #halloween #writing #my writing #mardu writes

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Being A Star (4)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Count: 2071

Warnings: Language as Steve would say

Author’s Note: Here’s the next chapter! Let me know what you think or if you want to be added to the tag for future chapters!

Becoming A Stark || Chapter One Being A Stark|| Masterlist

Life finally feels normal again. At least as much as it can for missing five years in the middle of your life, having a new sister, and living in a new house. But your dad is home which is the biggest thing. Dr. Cho is talking about having to send him to a specialist to deal with the after effects on his arm, but for now she’s let him come home with the sling holding the dead weight of his arm. The marks freak Morgan out so Tony has been wearing a lot of flannels over his arm so she doesn’t have to see it. You’re not supposed to know, but you overheard your parents talking about how Dr. Cho thinks most of your dad’s arm will probably need to be cut off. She hadn’t done it in hopes of saving it, but her messages about your dad’s case with the specialist said there is little hope that the arm can be saved. Especially since it’s causing your dad pain, which you didn’t know. You try to imagine your dad without his arm, but it just doesn’t seem right.

A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be asleep kiddo? You’ve got the second first day of ninth grade tomorrow?” 

“In which I will be the only one starting the year since everyone else started last week.” You say with a roll of your eyes as Tony walks over to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Even so, you’re not one to stay up late on a school night unless you have homework and seeing as I know you already finished it…” He trails off. “Wanna talk about it?” You slide towards the left side of your bed to make room and Tony moves to sit next to you. His good arm wraps around your shoulder and you lean into the smell of him, cinnamon from his cologne and mint from his aftershave. The only scent missing was the smell of him being in the lab, but until he was cleared to work on things like his cars and other science projects, he was restricted from going into the garage.

“I, uh, heard you and Mom talking the other night.” You say softly. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were going back to your room after using the bathroom and had heard them from the top of the stairs.

“Heard us? Talking about?” Tony asks, not following what you’re talking about.

“Your arm. How they might cut it off.”

“Ah.”

“How you’re in pain.” You mutter the words. 

“I wasn’t keeping that from you, if you’re up late feeling bad about overhearing it.” You look up at him. “Your mom and I were going to talk to you about it after meeting with the specialist. We didn’t want you to be worrying if you didn’t need to be.”

“I’m not up because I felt bad.” Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you pull at some of the skin there. “I don’t like that you’re in pain.”

“I feel the same way when you hurt kiddo. But that’s what this appointment is about. They think the stones did something to the tissue and nerves. They think it’s basically corrosive. So by taking the arm away, it would hopefully stop the pain.” Your eyebrows fall together as you think about this.

“But how would that affect everything else?”

“Well, I will have to use a prosthetic. And I’ll have to relearn how to do some stuff. But if it gets rid of the pain it will be worth it. Maybe Bucky will teach me all about having a detachable arm.”

“That guy who was bad but now isn’t, that’s a friend of Steve’s?” You ask, having heard the name but never having met the guy.

“That’s the one. He was brainwashed for a little bit into being a bad guy. But he’s all better now. I wouldn’t risk myself being around him if he wasn’t. And he did help us fight Thanos.” He smiles at you. “I think that makes him a good guy.”

“Fuck Thanos.” You mutter.

“Summed up my feelings entirely.” Tony says as his hand rubs your shoulder slightly.

“How do you just jump back into life after being gone for five years?” You ask the other question that has been simmering in your mind for the past few days. “Like my life just stopped? How do I get that back?”

“You seem to be doing a good job at getting it back so far. Hanging out with Mom and Morgan and your favorite old man.” He teases.

“Dad, I’m serious.” You lean into him as you let the words leave your lips. “The past couple weeks have… they felt like they are a part of my new life. But by going back to school, I’m having to be old me all over again? How do I just slip back into that?”

“New life?”

“My old life didn’t include a little sister or waiting for my dad to come home from being injured. It was a whole different thing. I’m in a new house, I haven’t had to do anything that seems like things I would have done before I just poofed.” You didn’t want to admit it, but you had been avoiding Peter partially for that reason. Peter was pre Blip. Morgan was post Blip. How do you make them go together? 

“What things are you nervous about having to deal with?” 

“I…. I’m scared it will all go away again.” You admit. Every day when you wake up, you feel like crying that you’re still there. 

“Being scared is a normal reaction. We all get scared sometimes.”

“You’re Iron Man. You’re saying you get scared? You literally save the world.”

“I lost you. I lost half the universe. I wake up at night and think that you’re still gone. I’m scared I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream. There’s stuff from before the Blip that still causes me to have panic attacks. I get scared easily kiddo. I’m far from perfect at dealing with things.”

“And how do you deal with all of it?”

“I lean on Pepper. I hug you and Morgan as close as humanly possible. I tried therapy once, but should find a different doctor. I tinker. I focus on the things I can control.” 

“So I should just keep going even if I’m scared?” Tony nods slowly. 

“Is this fear why I haven’t seen a certain Spider-boy around?” You bite the inside of your cheek and don’t answer. “I may not like the idea of you dating people for selfish reasons, but I know he makes you happy. So maybe lean on him instead of pushing him away? Just a suggestion.”

“I…” You trail off, not knowing if you should voice the other thought going through your mind.

“You…?”

“Have you ever thought about how the world would look without you in it?”

“Sure, in a dark moment. Why do you ask?” Tony’s concerned but wants to see where you’re going with this.

“I left, and you guys just moved on. So what’s the point of slipping back into what I did pre Blip if everyone was fine without me?” You ask, not looking at your dad. You find you can’t meet his eyes after saying it.

“We continued living. But we didn’t move on.” Tony wishes he had two working arms so he could pull you into a tight hug and not let go. 

“You had a whole other kid while I was gone. How is that not moving on?”

“Morgan was on her way before you Blipped.” You look up at your dad with all the confusion you’re feeling painted across your features. “If the Blip had happened seven weeks later, you would have Blipped knowing that you had a sibling on the way. The last thing we wanted to do after losing you, was try to replace you. And Morgan could never replace you.” He pulls you in closer with his good arm. “I came back from being lost in space with Nebula, thinking I was going to have to tell you I lost your boyfriend. Then I took my first step off the ship and my eyes were searching for you and Pep- hoping I didn’t lose my family. But the moment I saw Pepper’s eyes, I knew it. She didn’t even have to say it. And when I knew you were gone, my whole world fell apart. It felt like my heart had been ripped out. I was sure my lungs were being crushed. I couldn’t breathe. I had a panic attack in front of the remaining Avengers because we lost, but more importantly I lost you, my kid. It took a week before I could even talk to anyone besides Pep. Nearly a month before I could manage to talk about anything Avenger related. It hurt too much. I broke the one promise I swore I wouldn’t. I swore I would keep you safe and I hadn’t done that. I was across the galaxy as you faded into dust. So I promise you Y/N, we never moved on. We just did what we could to make losing you not hurt so much. We were far from fine without you.”

“I didn’t know.” You whisper, not knowing how much pain your dad had gone through. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for not stopping the Blip from happening.”

“That’s not your fault though. You may be an Avenger, but the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders.” You pause before saying. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, then neither are you.”

“You’re making demands now?”

“Mmmhmm. You perfected time travel to bring me back. And you brought my boyfriend back, willingly nonetheless. So I say there’s nothing to apologize for. No apologizing.”

“Ok, no apologizing.” Tony leans against your head. Tony decides to bring up a more positive subject. “Morgan loves that you tell her actual bedtime stories.”

“Actual bedtime stories? What have you been telling her?”

“Once upon a time there was a Morguna who went to bed, the end.”

“That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard. No wonder she likes my stories better.” You shrug. “They’re not that special. Just stories I would have made up when I was her age.”

“Vivid imagination?” You nod.

“Still have one. It’s why I love reading. Imagining far off places and new things to see. It’s amazing.” You lean into your dad’s shoulder as you explain.

“Ever thought about writing your own?”

“Story?”

“Book.”

“I’ve… contemplated it before. But never actually given it a try. What if I have nothing to say?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Wow, it’s cuddle time and I wasn’t invited?” Pepper stands barefoot in your doorway.

“There’s still room.” You pat the bed on the other side of you. Pepper smiles and comes to sit down next to you.

“What are we contemplating instead of sleeping?”

“Dad’s trying to convince me I should try to write a book.”

“You could write a book that is solely Morgan’s bedtime stories and I know you would have at least one reader.” Pepper agrees. 

“That’s just made up… shit.” You shrug off your parents’ suggestions. “It’s not a real story.”

“It’s a real story to Morgan. The person who decides the story is worth it is the person who wants to read it. But if you want to do something completely different, that’s ok too. You have plenty of time to figure out what to do in life.” Pepper says. “But, it is getting late and you do have to get up early to drive into the city.”

“You were the ones that chose to move out of NYC proper. So really it’s your fault.” You joke.

“True, but either way, you need to get some sleep so you don’t fall asleep in class.” Tony kisses your cheek. Pepper stands up, but then leans over to give you one more hug and a kiss. “Get some sleep kiddo. Tomorrow is going to be fine.”

“Whatever you say Dad.” Tony pulls your quilt around you and tucks it in tight. “Love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart.”

“Love you kiddo.”

  ...A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway  @iamaunicorn4704  @furiouspockettoad  @daughter-of-stark  @eternalharry​  @huntective-kyeo​ @riiis-stuff​ @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb​ @sovereignparker​ @bbarnestan​ @teenwishes08​ @iamthescarlettwitch​ @skyfallstilinski @cutie1365​ @a-mnd​ @youarethereasonimsmiling​ @thefemalestorywriter​ @krazykendraisnotinsane​ @cathy8taffy​ @letssee2468​ @babyreads​ @riyanna​ @theatregeek @bubblebunbun @curls-freckles-books

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick​

strike wont let me tag

#peter parker #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker fanfic #peter parker x reader #peter parker fan fic #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker fan fiction #tony stark #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark can't be dead if you just don't let yourself believe it #tony stark is a good dad #pepper potts #pepper potts is the worlds best mom #morgan stark #peter parker imagine #imanativeofswlondondahling #being a stark #becoming a stark

[inkribbon796]

It’s Not Rabies, It’s . . . Ch. 1

Summary: There was an old phrase that the Jims believed in wholeheartedly: “If I cannot find trouble, I will create it.”

Or: King gets a crash course in parenting in the weirdest way possible.

A/N: This was a suggestion-request from the anon NightFall on AO3. Which resulted in this story and since this one was getting a bit long it inspired a bit for the Visitation Day on Sunday which will be a lot less angsty.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3

Chapter 1: I’m Sorry, You’re Dying

It was another slow day in the city, typical city crime mixed with the fact that Anti was busy stalking Henrik and Remus had a bout of food poisoning. So not a lot of bot supervillain crime was being done.

That mixed with over two feet of snow kept a good number of people indoors. King especially didn’t want to deal with Dark mother henning him, was sitting in the main common room of the heroes’ base next to Yancy. He was communicating with a couple of people on his phone.

But because there wasn’t anything big happening in town, the Jims were bored. And bored Jims led to only one thing: trouble.

There was an old phrase that the Jims believed in wholeheartedly: “If I cannot find trouble, I will create it.”

It was a surprise when RJ and CJ came bursting into the room with Marvin hot on their heels. None of the other heroes had even seen them come into the base, but that was nothing new.

“Hey dumbasses, let’s not play with cursed shit,” Marvin ordered.

“Look out Jim, I’ve got a stabby,” RJ held up the spike in his hands, the thing looked like it was made of stone with some runes carved into the side of it.

And what would happen next would become the single most preventable accident that had happened in the base for the past seven years.

King and Yancy were used to sudden bursts of noise. Between Wil and their siblings, King especially was good at tuning out background “white noise” as King called.

So King hadn’t even realized the Jims had run in, hadn’t seen RJ get closer until he accidentally stepped on his cape. King startled, pulling on the cape as he rushed to stand and scurry away from the Jims.

But it wasn’t fast enough, RJ tripped and slammed into King. In actuality RJ just tapped him with the thing but as if it was triggered to go off, the center of the spike detached and violently stabbed into King’s chest and punctured all the way until there was about an inch sticking out the other side.

RJ and King looked at the spike in horror and then at each other before King slumped to the ground like a marionette with its strings up.

Instantly the other heroes rushed to King’s aid. Marvin doing his best to stabilize him, fearful of taking the spike out without killing him. He wasn’t moving, the young man was barely breathing.

It was so bad Iplier thought he was already dead when he checked for a pulse.

Iplier stared at King in shock. “His heart’s still beating.”

“Vat?” Henrik asked in surprise. He was in the room already preparing for the postmortem surgery to remove the spike.

“He’s not dead so we need to work fast,” Iplier realized, calling in for anesthesia and all kinds of help.

They worked quickly to stabilize King’s condition and eventually pull the spike out. Marvin and the Host, or just the Host because he quickly pushed Marvin out of the room, helping to make sure there wasn’t a magical infection of some kind.

When King woke up, his chest was killing him. “Ughhhh.”

Scratch that. It felt like he was hit by a truck, died, was drop kicked out of Heaven, and sent back to Earth. Everything hurt.

“Congrats,” Iplier started. “You are no longer dying.”

“Fucking thanks, I guess,” King groaned.

“I take it you’d like a higher dose of morphine,” Iplier asked.

“Pllllleeeeease!” King groaned.

That got a slight chuckle out of Iplier.

The next week was absolute hell. The first two days after he got out of the hospital he was fine. He tried to take it easy around the park. He didn’t want to overexert himself and damage his heart again. But after that second day he had a constant shrilling migraine. It hurt to be outside, hearing people talk felt like his brain was being stabbed. He felt too exhausted to move, he couldn’t even think about eating without wanting to throw up.

Virgil was the one who found him on that absolutely dreadful third day, shaking on his floor.

Iplier was called back in and King went right back to the hospital. His heart was fine and thanks to the Host he hadn’t even gotten scars.

After checking his symptoms, Iplier got worried and furious. He proclaimed it to be rabies, something he’d warned King about since day one.

King didn’t remember being bitten, but knew it could have happened literally at any moment he’d been outside.

For a week, since he’d been stabbed, he lay on a hospital bed, 100% certain that he was going to die in an agonizingly slow fashion.

Then one night, while Yancy had fallen asleep watching over him, King went to sleep. He began having a weird dream where he was walking through a field and came across a dismantled house. The only thing left standing apart from the frame was a single interior wall and a mirror.

The young man looked at the mirror, shrinking back from the mangled, hideous image he saw . . .

And then he was awake. His headache, gone.

It was euphoric.

All the pain he’d felt in his body had simply vanished. He wondered if he’d died, looking over to see Yancy still slumped uncomfortably in a hospital chair.

King was about to call out to him, to ask if he had died, when something in his bed bit him.

He screamed in pain, almost throwing himself out of the bed. Yancy startled awake.

There was something in King’s bed, still under the sheets. It was about the size of a wiffle ball and it was making little growling noises.

The young man threw off the covers and he saw that there was a drawing pressed flat to the bed, and it was moving, as if King had trapped something under a cup and then lifted it to get a better look, allowing it to escape.

Darting quickly the figure moved along any connected surface, hitting the wall and moving around. As if the figure was frantically searching for something.

“What is that?” Yancy demanded.

“I don’t know,” King admitted.

The Host chuckled, suddenly appearing in the room, he was careful not to use the door, “Yancy and the King of the Squirrels should greet the newest member of their family.”

“How’s that thing ours family?”[1] Yancy demanded.

The Host reached up and the figure particulate jumped him and the chittering, echoing scream died down as it just started devouring the Host’s aura. Which would have been a problem if they weren’t doing the equivalent of using a thimble to drink out of an ocean.

The Host had a smile on his face. “They have a diet that consists primarily of aura but in a couple months they should be on solid food. And they are King’s child.”

“My what?” King screamed. “I can’t have kids, not on my own, and I can’t have them in a day.”

“The King of the Squirrels was hit by a soul splitter. Normally a soul splitter would kill a human, or splinter them, but the King of the Squirrels is lucky that he was not human. So the soul splitter merely snapped off a portion of the King of Squirrels’s soul to create his child.”

“So they’re a part of me,” King asked, hesitantly reaching out his hand and the figure snapped onto King’s hand. He felt a tingling as the figure began trying to consume his aura before standing calmly on King’s shoulder. “You got your own name little buddy?”

“Lunky,” the Host introduced.

“Lunky?” King smiled, the figure turning to look at him. It almost sounded like they were purring. “That right or is Uncle Host playing a joke on me?”

Lunky went back to exploring the room. Now that there was no danger, reality clouded around King’s mind.

“What am I going to do?” King panicked a little bit. “I can’t take care of a kid! I can barely take care of myself.”

“Youse[2] got this,” Yancy reassured. “Youse are the most responsible ‘a all’a us.”[3]

King did feel a little better but at that moment Dr. Iplier walked in and saw all of them standing up.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Iplier demanded, leaving the door open. It was an action that immediately caught Lunky’s attention as they realized there was a world beyond the four walls they were in.

“Surprise, I’m not dying anymore?” King tried.

“Ahh, Iplier has made a mistake,” the Host grinned as Lunky’s figure stretched vertically and grabbed onto the door.

“Oh no!” King realized, as Lunky was already speeding along the walls, looking for aura to eat. They were following an old trail that Anti had left a couple hours ago, following it to Henrik’s office before doubling back and slipping through the sliding front door that activated as Lunky neared them. And with that he had escaped the hospital before Yancy could make it down the hall to look for them, cursing as he went.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Accessibility Translations

1. How is that thing our family?

2. You’ve

3. You’re the most responsible out of all of us.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Markiplier #King of the Squirrels #Yancy the Prisoner #the Jims #ahwm Yancy #the Host #Dr. Iplier #Lunky #accidental stabbing #magic kid #no mpreg #I mean it! #footnotes

[lake-arrius-caverns]

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 6: Ancestors

summary Luckily for Fahjoth, Ribyna is more than happy to assist him with his next assignment and he’s feeling positive. But will it go as well as they hope?

content warnings mild threat/violence

tag list @boulderfall-cave , @padomaicocean (lmk if you’d like to be added!)

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

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Not even the deep grey clouds that hung overhead the following morning could squash Fahjoth’s spirit as he trotted along the dusty path with Ribyna in tow. The fragmented sleep he had managed to achieve overnight had done little to soothe his aches and pains, but nonetheless, Fahjoth walked along with an evident spring in his step. It was hard not to let his excitement show, and in a stark contrast to the previous night, he had a near permanent grin etched onto his face. 

“You sure you know where you’re going?” Ribyna called, on the alert for aggressive wildlife or hostile thieves. Fahjoth turned to face Ribyna but continued walking, so that he was effectively walking backwards while addressing her. 

“Course I do! I remember the way to Seyda Neen. And from there we just need to find the t—“ 

His statement was abruptly cut off as he felt himself suddenly drop; his heart leapt up to his throat and his gut lurched as he plummeted backwards, before the world stopped spinning and his brief moment of weightlessness came to an end as he landed flat on his back. As the air was knocked out of his lungs, he lay there and stared up at the sky, wheezing, before Ribyna’s surly face suddenly obscured his view of the clouds.

“Well done, shit-for-brains.” 

With a groan, Fahjoth struggled to sit up and stared reproachfully at the small rock that he had tripped over. As he opened his mouth to reply to Ribyna’s taunt, he paused as a strange sound reached his ears. Ribyna seemed to have heard it as well, for she looked up and stared straight ahead into a mass of scrubby bushes nearby which rustled and twitched, despite there being very little wind to disturb them. He pulled himself to his feet as slowly as he could, while the quiet shhk of gliding metal indicated that Ribyna had drawn out her dagger. But before Fahjoth could make a move of his own, a large, broad head suddenly jutted out of the foliage. 

The creature it belonged to resembled some kind of reptile, with a large, domed forehead, tiny eyes and a noticeable underbite. As the rest of it followed, scaley hide glinting in the muted noon light, Fahjoth let out a laugh of joy as the creature began snuffling along the ground, tiny arms tucked against its chest. 

“Ahh! Ribyna, look!” Fahjoth cried, taking a tentative step forward. “It’s a guar!”

Ribyna sounded much less enamoured by the creature as she kept back and watched from a distance. “Well don’t get too close, it might bite!”

“Nah, if it was gonna bite, it would’ve by now,” Fahjoth reasoned, taking a tentative step forward. The guar looked up and he stopped, crouching down slightly to present himself as less of a threat. “Hey, buddy!” he crooned, holding out his hand as one would do to coax a dog. The guar turned to face Fahjoth, its nostrils twitching as it scented his hand. Once it realised that he carried nothing edible, it chuffed quietly and continued on its way. Fahjoth felt awestruck nonetheless. 

“Wow…” he breathed, straightening up and watching the guar toddle along the path. “Aren’t they brilliant?”

“Hm.” Ribyna sounded less than impressed as she stared with one brow cocked. “Anyway, let’s stop fucking about, come on! It’s gonna start hammering down soon and I’d rather not get soaked.”

“Okay, okay,” Fahjoth sighed, walking onwards with his twin but feeling strangely uplifted by the encounter. 

The rest of the trip south to Seyda Neen passed without event, and fortunately, the tomb was relatively easy to locate as well. A smaller path diverged from the main road, leading up to a visible door constructed into the side of a smooth grey rock face set into the hill. The siblings ascended the path — with Fahjoth lingering along the way to fawn over a nearby scrib before being forcibly dragged away by Ribyna — until they reached the weather-beaten wooden door, where they both came to a stop. 

They stood in front of the door, but for a few moments neither spoke a word. Eventually, Ribyna took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “Right, well, let’s go then,” she said, raising a hand towards the door but not yet making contact. Fahjoth knew and understood why; he was more than apprehensive about entering the tomb himself. But after appearing to mentally psyche herself up, Ribyna firmly pushed the door open, triggering a sudden cascade of silt and tiny rock fragments from the door frame above their heads. 

“Ugh—!” Ribyna spluttered as she frantically wafted the dust cloud away from her face, but Fahjoth was silent; with his hand held over his nose and mouth as he squinted into the shadows of the tomb, it was with the gift of hindsight that he wished he’d brought a torch or lantern. 

“Right… are you ready to go in?” he asked Ribyna, glancing at her with uncertainty. “It’s… kind of dark in there.” 

“Yeah, I can see that. Not scared of the dark now, are you, Fahji?” Ribyna crooned, and Fahjoth felt his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. 

“No!” he protested, but a frown crept onto his face as he gazed into the gloom. “But I’m kind of scared of what might be in it.” 

Surprisingly, Ribyna didn’t seem to have a witty comeback to tease him with this time. She simply grimaced and nodded in understanding, then flashed him a wry grin. “Well, it’s lucky you’ve got me then, innit? Come on.” After giving a gentle tug on Fahjoth’s arm to encourage him, Ribyna strode on ahead into the crypt and Fahjoth hastened to catch up.

Even with the door of the tomb left open, the gloom seemed to envelop them within seconds. Fahjoth held out a hand as he edged along one step at a time, flinching as his fingertips brushed along the cold walls and fighting the urge to recoil his hand with every unexpected bump or notch in the stone, afraid of what he could potentially touch in the unyielding darkness. 

Then something brushed against his other hand and his breath caught in his throat, his heart immediately hammering against the inside of his chest as he whipped his arm back to safety — but as his brain caught up with his senses and he heard a gasp and a series of rapid footsteps, he realised that he had merely brushed his sibling’s shoulder. 

“Ugh, this is ridiculous!” he heard Ribyna hiss. “I’m gonna try something, hang on.” 

Fahjoth waited in silence, wondering what Ribyna was doing but appreciating the moment of pause, taking it as an opportunity to try and calm his nerves down again. He didn’t have to wait for long, however, as a small flame suddenly erupted into life in the darkness, casting a deep amber glow on the surrounding walls and illuminating their way forward, if only slightly. Ribyna’s face was lit up the most as she held out her palm, upon which a tiny flame danced and flickered away enthusiastically. 

“Yes!”

“Nice one!” Fahjoth praised. “Merrick would be proud—”

Too late did Fahjoth realise his mistake, and he cut himself off abruptly as he saw the grin immediately vanish from Ribyna’s face. She said nothing but instead continued walking on in silence, and Fahjoth hurried along in her wake and reached out for her shoulder as they went. 

“Sorry, Beebs,” he apologised, but he was still bothered by a feeling he couldn’t shake. In all the time they had been together, both in prison and later in Vvardenfell, not once had they discussed the event that had been the catalyst for their arrest. In fact, since reuniting, they had barely talked about any aspect of their old lives at all. But, in Fahjoth’s case, this wasn’t for lack of wanting to. “Look… are we ever gonna talk about—”

“No.”

“Ribyna—”

“I said no, Fahjoth. I don’t want to.”

As uncomfortable as Fahjoth felt, he knew better than to provoke Ribyna by antagonising her further. So he let the matter drop and quietly accepted that they would not broach the subject again any time soon. 

It was Ribyna who broke the silence next. “Eugh, can you smell that?”

Fahjoth cautiously sniffed the air, instinctively wrinkling his nose as a foul smell, putrid and oddly sweet, suddenly hit his senses. “Ew… well, we are in a tomb,” he pointed out. “It’s bound to smell a bit rank down here.”

“I suppose…” 

The path into the crypt continued on, angling down a mild incline, while Ribyna’s flame casted dancing shadows along the narrow corridor. As they went on, a quiet buzz reached Fahjoth’s ears, and the stomach-churning smell only continued to grow worse with every step. Finally, they reached a larger chamber at the base of the corridor, and from the light of the fire they were able to see the source.

Fahjoth recoiled as his eyes fell upon a large, dark shape lying prone on the floor, with indistinct black dots swarming around it — fleshflies. Ribyna raised her hand to angle the light more precisely on the mass, casting every wrinkle of clothing and detail of armour into sharp relief. The head was concealed by a leather helm, and for that, Fahjoth was grateful; only a withered, decaying hand crawling with insects gave any indication of the condition of the corpse underneath its garments. A dried, dark brown stain pooled out from beneath the body — whether as a result of old blood from a fatal wound or simply tissue decomposition, Fahjoth couldn’t tell. 

“Ew…” Ribyna said, drawing her scarf up to cover her mouth and nose in an attempt to ward off the smell. “Looks like we’re not the first ones here. Reckon your Orc woman sent him here to do her favour, too?”

Fahjoth was silent, staring at the cadaver with horror — a feeling which only vastly amplified as he watched Ribyna crouch down and, with a kind of repulsed detachment, tugged something out from under the body’s arm. 

“Ribyna, what the fuck are you—?!”

“Look, it’s a lantern,” Ribyna remarked, holding up the cracked glass casing and sounding so utterly nonchalant about stealing from a corpse that Fahjoth was floored. She popped open the door and held her conjured fire out towards the candle wick, letting it light before allowing the flame in her hand to die. “There, now I can stop wasting brainpower. I don’t have much of that to spare in the first place.”

Fahjoth was dumbstruck, and eventually managed to shake his head in total disbelief. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” he said, though he couldn’t hide a wry smile nonetheless. Ribyna simply flashed him a wicked grin in response before carrying on, holding the lantern out at arm’s length to light their path. 

The deeper they went into the tomb, the colder it seemed to become. A thin blanket of mist hung just above ground level, smokey tendrils creeping around doorways and stone caskets that bore collections of urns and jars. Some chambers featured circular pits set into the ground which contained mounds of ash, and judging by the shards of gleaming white jutting out of the grey dust, most of these held numerous bones. Fahjoth shivered, feeling the chill seeming to seep into his own bones, but Ribyna seemed to be handling it well, staring from wall to wall with curiosity on her face. 

“D’you reckon we’ve got an ancestral tomb somewhere?” she asked suddenly, her mind evidently in a much different place to Fahjoth’s. Momentarily stumped by the question, Fahjoth eventually responded with uncertainty. 

“I suppose so, I mean… Dad told us about his family before, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but…” Ribyna grimaced, the next words appearing to cause her some discomfort. “They wouldn’t really be our ancestors, would they? Not properly.” She heaved a sigh, her breath appearing in the air before her in the form of a tiny cloud. “I dunno, it’s just… being called ‘outlander’ by every bastard makes me wonder if we even actually have any real ties here.”

Taken aback by Ribyna’s uncharacteristic poignancy, Fahjoth merely shook his head and shrugged. “I dunno, Beebs. I don’t suppose it really matters, we’re gonna get called outlanders either way. It’s definitely the accents,” he added as an irate afterthought, prompting a dry chuckle from Ribyna. 

“Yup. Oh well, suppose we’ll just have to d— Oh, Fahjoth, look!”

Ribyna’s exclamation was accompanied by a pointing of her finger as she drew Fahjoth’s attention to another pit of dust in the chamber just ahead; this one was set apart from the rest by the skull and dagger placed so meticulously on a stone stool situated just in front of the pit itself. Fahjoth trotted over alongside Ribyna and, as the two crouched down to get a closer look, Ribyna turned to look at Fahjoth expectantly. 

“Is this it, d’you reckon?”

“I think so...” He glanced back at his twin before focusing his attention back on the skull. Sure enough, it bore the telltale ritual markings that Sharn gra-Muzgob had described. “Only one way to find out, innit?” 

Despite his words, Fahjoth hesitated. Now that he had located his prize, all of his misgivings had returned and he was conscious of the weight of the enchanted sword that hung from his belt — surely it had been lent to him for a reason. 

If— no, when he picked up the skull, what would happen? Would he trigger a trap that would cause the roof to cave in over his and Ribyna’s heads? Would he suddenly be struck down by a powerful curse? Or perhaps he would wake the souls of the ancestors that rested here, and be besieged by an army of vengeful ghosts? 

Ribyna seemed to be getting impatient with Fahjoth’s dithering, for she suddenly gave his shoulder a rather forceful push. “Come on, what’s the hold up? Just pick it up, don’t be such a fucking pussy.”

“Alright, alright!” Fahjoth huffed, reaching into his pocket for the cloth sack he had brought for the occasion. He shuffled both hands into the sack, wearing it like an oversized mitten as he tentatively scooped up the skull and let the sack invert itself over it, still afraid of touching it with his bare skin. For a few seconds, he held his breath, remaining in a motionless crouch while he waited to see if anything would happen following the skull’s removal. The seconds ticked by and, to his elation, there was no cave-in, no sudden pox or plague upon him, and no horde of angry spirits rising to tear him limb from limb. Nothing untoward occurred whatsoever. They were safe! 

“There we are!” Ribyna jeered, patting Fahjoth roughly on the back as he stood up, feeling almost giddy with relief. While he bobbed on the spot, thrilled with this one tiny achievement, Ribyna crouched down to pick up the dagger that had been left behind on the stool. “I’d say that’s a job well done. Looks like you didn’t need me after a—”

Her words died in her throat as, with a subtle fshk, an arrow pierced the air between them — whizzing directly over Ribyna’s head — and ricocheted off the back wall of the chamber. Spinning frantically to locate the source, Fahjoth let out a choked gasp as he clapped eyes on their attacker.

“Fuck-a-doodle-doo!” Ribyna yelled, wide-eyed as she stared with horror at the skeleton while it drew another arrow into its bow, the telltale creaking of its bones providing a quiet hum that seemed to echo through the chamber. 

“Shit, not again—!” Fahjoth exclaimed, already beginning to descend into a state of panic. The chamber was cramped and, without much in the way of large objects to take cover behind, he and Ribyna were essentially sitting targets for the undead archer who was taking aim once more. 

“Ribyna, just keep moving!” Fahjoth yelped, using the limited space available to dart from spot to spot as erratically as he physically could. Ribyna, meanwhile, seemed to have other ideas. 

Fahjoth’s jaw nearly hit the ground as he watched his twin lunge and grasp a nearby urn tightly in both hands. He felt his stomach drop, knowing full well what was coming next. 

“Ribyna, don’t—!”

“Get fucked, you bony bastard!”

The urn was launched through the air, flying up in a graceful arc — spilling its ashy contents in a cloud of dust in the process — and collided with the skeleton’s skull, shattering both itself and the bone on impact. The skeleton crumpled, its bones falling apart as whatever magic had been fastening the joints together dissipated, filling the chamber with a deafening clattering as both bone and pottery shards went spilling onto the ground. 

As Fahjoth stared mutely at the chaotic scene, a thick silence fell upon the tomb for a second or two; until an eerie hissing began to reach his ears, seeming to turn his blood to ice in his veins. Was it just his eyes, or was the mist that drifted above the ground growing thicker? 

“Oh, Ribyna...!” Fahjoth groaned, turning to look at his twin with despairing exasperation. She merely stared back, wide-eyed and alarmed, before she snatched the lantern from where she’d put it down and rushed to grab Fahjoth’s hand. 

“Well, come on then!” she barked, rushing out of the chamber and dragging Fahjoth along in her wake. They barely made it to the next chamber up before they found a figure, pale green and gleaming with an ethereal glow, blocking their path. Bright smoke seemed to billow along their path as they glided towards the twins, reaching out with unnaturally long, spindly fingers topped with deadly sharp nails. 

“For fuck’s sake, you’ve woken the whole bloody tomb up!” Fahjoth complained, dropping a hand towards his sheathed weapon. But Ribyna got there first, whipping out her trusty chitin dagger and slashing it at the spirit — only to watch as the blade sailed right on through. 

“Fahjoth, we can’t touch them— Shit!”

The ghost, undeterred by Ribyna’s dagger, had retaliated with a vengeance by slashing its claw-like nails across her chest. She leapt back to avoid the strike, gasping as it left tangible scores in her leather armour and for a moment, in the mixed light from the lantern and the ghost’s cold luminescence, fear flashed across her face. 

“Fahjoth—!”

“Hold on, Ribyna—! Get back!” he cried, drawing his own sword from its sheath at last. His eyes widened as his face was suddenly bathed in the fierce heat of the flames that flickered along the blade, and in that moment, it clicked. He charged and swung the sword with a ferocious yell, watching as, with a searing blaze of scarlet fire, it carved a gash through the ghost’s midriff from which thick smoke began to spill. The spirit emitted an ear-splitting shriek, drifting towards Fahjoth again with its spectral features twisted into a grotesque snarl, but Fahjoth was ready this time. He sprung forward again and plunged the sword straight through the spirit’s chest, stopping it in its tracks and causing it to let out another piercing screech before it suddenly dissolved, disappearing in a matter of seconds and leaving behind nothing but a sinister puddle on the ground. 

As Fahjoth paused to catch his breath, he turned to Ribyna and held up the sword by means of explanation. “Enchanted,” he puffed. “The weapon’s got to be enchanted.” 

Ribyna opened her mouth to respond, but she was cut off by another chilling howl that echoed through the corridors behind them. Without a word the twins snatched each others’ hands once more and fled through the tomb, guided by the limited light of the lantern that Ribyna still carried and hounded by the sinister whispering and shrieking of infuriated spirits. After a mad dash through the crypt, the entrance was finally in sight, spilling glorious daylight into the otherwise pitch blackness ahead of them. 

With one last burst of speed they cleared the exit together, and once outside, Fahjoth slammed the tomb door behind them hard enough that it rattled in its frame before becoming still. With a cool rain now battering them, Fahjoth and Ribyna stood in silence, leaning against the damp stone wall on either side of the tomb door and panting as they struggled to catch their breath. Eventually, Fahjoth broke the silence. 

“I can’t believe you chucked someone’s grandma at a skeleton.”

Ribyna squinted, still leaning over with her hands on her knees and puffing heavily from a combination of exertion and adrenalin from their daring escape. Once her breathing had calmed, she finally straightened up and stared back at Fahjoth with her hands on her hips. 

“I s’pose the locals are right,” she said, her tone even and measured. “Turns out ancestors are useful.”

A moment of silence followed this statement, before Fahjoth couldn’t hold it in any longer. With a grin curling at the corners of his mouth he began to laugh, quietly at first but quickly coming down with hysterics at the sheer absurdity of the situation. Ribyna quickly followed suit, catching his contagious laughter and breaking out into an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. 

Once the laughter died down, Fahjoth rolled his eyes and extended an arm towards Ribyna, who accepted his offer and linked it with her own. In unison they began the lengthy stroll back to Balmora, neither of them complaining about the drizzle leaving their clothes soaked through and their hair dripping and plastered to their faces.

Despite a few blunders, Fahjoth felt that his second task had been at least somewhat of a success. Emboldened by the little victories, it was then that he dared to hope that perhaps this Blades business wouldn’t be so bad after all — especially when he had good company to help him see it through. 

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #tes #tes fic #morrowind #dunmer #dunmer oc #nerevarine #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfiction #tes iii: morrowind #elder scrolls fanfic

[seven-homosexual-dinosaurs]

Reunions

Alright, so I couldn’t recover the first copy, so this is my attempt to recreate the original. Once again, constructive criticism is highly appreciated, tell me how I did!

Summary: After three agonizing months, the kids manage to track their parents down.

Mary: 15 y/o

Lizzie:7 y/o

Eddie:1 and a half y/o

Mae:6 m/o

Mary hesitated at the door. In hindsight, planning for this occasion probably would’ve been a good idea. Oh well. Not much she could do at this point. 

A part of the teenager was eager for what was to come; after all, it’s not everyday you reunite with your mother, who by the way, you haven’t seen in around thirty? Five hundred? Fifteen? Whatever, point is, she hadn’t seen her in a while. Just the idea of being in her mother’s safe embrace once again was enough to bring her a sense of happiness and contentment.

But then again, what if the queens and her mother were upset at the atrocities she’d committed in her first life? Mary sure as hell was no saint, and she’d be the first person to tell you this. But perhaps the joy of being reunited with their children would outweigh whatever resentment the queens held towards her. She sure hoped so.

She shifted Ed in her arms, rather accustomed to the familiar warmth he emitted. Upon reincarnation, the kids had found that both Mary and Ed had higher body temperatures, most likely due to the fact that both of them had died of illness in their first lives. None of the children seemed to have any issue with this, on the contrary, they often flocked to Mary during cold nights, something Mary found both endearing and incredibly annoying when she’d go use the bathroom in the middle of the night only to find herself met with two whiny children, furious their blanket had the audacity to leave them cold at night, if only for a couple minutes at most. 

She absently wondered if her mother would be the same, as they both died of illness.

A tug on her dress jolted her from her train of thought, and she turned downwards to be met with Lizzie, a pained look on her face.

“Mary, how much longer? Mae’s heavy and I’m tired,”

Sure enough, upon closer inspection, Liz was panting slightly, her face tinted a bright red. Mary felt a jolt of guilt at this realization, offering Liz a sheepish smile and a pat on her head. Seeing as two of the siblings weren’t able to walk yet, they’d had to settle for carrying their younger siblings. At first, Mary had been rather reluctant to let a seven year old carry a baby, but with no other alternative options, Mary had settled for carefully handing Mae over, explaining how to carry her to ensure she wouldn’t fall and making Liz promise not to drop her.

Inhaling shakily, Mary turned back towards the door. She raised her hand to knock before changing her mind and settling for the doorbell. Better chance of someone answering.

After a couple seconds where Mary began to worry no one would answer, a series of rapid footsteps and a hurried “Coming!” alerted her to someone coming. She waited awkwardly for a couple more seconds before the door swung open to reveal a tall woman, clad in a red hoodie with the words “QUEEN OF THE CASTLE” written out on the front in gold. 

Taking a moment to compose herself, Mary spoke up.

“Um... is this the home of Catherine of Aragon?”

Christ, she was a queen, why on earth did she have to sound like an awkward teenager?!

The woman’s expression immediately became guarded. “Why do you ask?”

Really, Mary should’ve thought about how this must look. Four shifty children show up at your door asking for your housemate. Hmmm, yes, not suspicious at all.

Mary drew herself to her full height, hoping to appear more confident than she felt. “I am Mary Tudor of Aragon. Here with Elizabeth Tudor Boleyn, (Liz waved shyly from behind her) Edward Tudor Seymour, (Ed yawned and snuggled into the crook of her neck, fast asleep) and Mary Seymour Parr (Mae looked up at the sound of her name). We’re here looking for our mothers,”

A stunned silence followed her declaration. Mary awkwardly shifted her weight like the awkward teenager she now realized she was. Was she too forwards? No, that couldn’t be it, she was simply stating the facts. Perhaps sensing the tension, Liz spoke up:

“I want my mummy!”

Liz’s words seemed to jolt the woman from whatever trance Mary had put her in. She stood up straight, rubbing the back of her neck awkwardly.

“Right. So. Um. Whatever I expected, that definitely wasn’t it. Uuuuuuh.... I don’t suppose you recognize me?”

Mary face scrunched up in concentration. Whilst this woman did strike her as incredibly familiar, she couldn’t quite place her. Giving a defeated sigh, she shook her head. The woman offered a sympathetic smile.

“That’s fine. I’m Anne of Cleves, Anna of Cleves Anna von Cleves, whatever’s easiest. Y’know, your mom’s fellow divorcee buddy,”

Mary nodded. Now that she thought about it, she should’ve guessed this was Cleves. Always wearing red, a chill, relaxed energy that could disappear the moment she thought you posed a threat to her family, plus that calm, mellow voice that Mary’d become so accustomed to in her first life. Really, Mary was surprised it took her this long to recognize her. Cleves continued:

“Alright so, you can just wait here in the entrance- don’t touch anything. Children or not, Jane will show no mercy to anyone who breaks that vase, yeah, they were gifts from the ladies. You guys wait right there, I’ll go get Lina,”

 And with that, Cleves took off up the stairs, murmuring something that Mary didn’t quite catch, although she did make out a “Holy fucking shitballs holy fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck,” Before a loud “LINA HOLY SHHHHhhoooooot,”. That last statement was accompanied by an apologetic look sent in the kid’s direction and a questioning look on Liz’s face. Yep, definitely Cleves. 

Mary hesitantly entered the home, waiting for Liz to walk in with Mae before closing the door behind her. Looking around the entrance, she saw the vase that Cleves was referring to. It was a light blue flower vase, decorated with various musical instruments. Looking around some more, Mary’s eyes landed on a coat rack, six variously colored coats on the hooks. Mary immediately decided she liked the yellow-gold coat most.

As her eyes travelled around the room, a collection of pictures hung up on the wall caught her attention. A woman with dark hair held up in two buns flipping the camera off with one hand, the other slung around a laughing girl with bright pink hair held up in a high ponytail. A blond haired woman giving an exasperated smile to the camera as three women played some sort of board game in the background. The woman with the buns was yelling at Cleves, who by the looks of it was having the time of her life as the pink haired girl facepalmed from her position between them.

Before she could investigate any more, a set of voices caught her attention. The first one, she recognized as Cleves. The second, she-

Holy shit.

She’d know that voice anywhere.

Oh fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckFUCK.

She was not ready.

But still, time waits for no one, and Mary could only wait for the inevitable.

The two came into view, Cleves holding her hands over Aragon’s eyes while Aragon’s lips turned up into an amused smile and holy shit she missed that smile.

“Anna, I swear to god if this is another prank-”

“Relax, I get the feeling you’re really gonna like this,”

“Somehow I don’t trust that,”

Cleves shot Mary an ear splitting grin as Mary swallowed the lump in her throat. Now or never.

Grinning, Cleves ripped her hands away from Aragon’s eyes. “SURPRISE!”

Time seemed to freeze as the Spaniards made eye contact. Mary became acutely aware of how quiet the room had become and for the first time, Mary felt she could properly use the expression “You could hear a pin drop,”. Forcing the unease she felt down, Mary forced herself to speak up. 

“Mum-”

All attempts of speaking were silenced as Mary was suddenly wrapped in a bone crushing hug. Tears sprang to her eyes as holy fuck she was in her mum’s arms again and she’d forgotten how safe and strong her arms were and all she could smell was mum and she just felt so safe.

“Mami” Mary choked out, wrapping her free arm around her mother, tears running down her face like water dripping down a window during a storm.

“Mija” Aragon answered, digging her face into Mary’s hair, both women clutching each other as if the other might disappear if they let go, and with everything that had happened in the past few months, Mary wasn’t quite sure that wouldn’t happen. However, this moment, as all good things do, came to an end. Ed it appeared, didn’t quite like waking up squished in the middle of a hug, and promptly burst into tears.

Aragon blinked, seemingly surprised by the sudden outburst. She then looked behind Mary, and it just then seemed to dawn on her what was happening.

“Is that-”

“Yep!” Liz shouted, popping the “p”. Pointing an accusatory finger at Mary, she continued.

“You got to see your momma, I want mine!”

Aragon detached herself from Mary to her disappointment and crouched down to look Liz in the eyes.

“Well little one, I think that’s an excellent idea,” turning to Cleves, she began,

“Can you-”

“Already on it,”

And with that, Cleves took off up the stairs once more.

Aragon turned back to Liz, observing the way she shifted and struggled under Mae’s weight. “She seems a bit heavy for you love. Would you like me to carry her?”

Liz turned to Mary for confirmation, and upon receiving an affirmative nod, turned back to Aragon and nodded. Aragon carefully took a curious Mae from Liz, who sighed in relief at the absent of the sixteen pounds she’d been carrying earlier. Mae simply stared at Aragon before looking down and trying to fit her fist in her mouth.

An unfamiliar voice attracted all of their attention. The pink haired girl from the pictures was descending the stairs, her attention on the hoodie clad woman behind her. 

“What do you mean they’re back? How do you-”

Her mouth opened in an “oh” at the scene before her. She stared at the children for a couple seconds before turning back to Cleves. “I take it you want me to call everyone at once?”

“Please Kitty Kat?”

Kitty Kat? Mary turned to her mother for an explanation, only to be met with a mouthed “I’ll explain later”

Kitty Kat turned back to the kids, clasping her hands together. 

“Alright! So could you cover the little one’s ears please? This could get a bit messy,”

Mary complied, covering a still sniffling Ed’s ears. Aragon covered Liz’s ears, who in turn covered Mae’s. Inhaling deeply, Kitty Kat turned to the stairs.

“ANNIE GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE OR THE COFFEE’S FUCKING GONE!”

Mary briefly wondered how that single call was supposed to summon three women before she was met with three ear-splitting shrieks.

“KATHERINE HOWARD YOU BETTER STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM THE COFFEE!”

“LANGUAGE!”

“KAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!”

Ah, so that was Howard.

Turning to a horrified Cleves and a slightly impressed Aragon, Howard smiled sweetly. “Done,”. She then turned to address Mary and Aragon. “Yeah, you might wanna keep their ears covered for a bit more. Mary nodded carefully, slightly worried of what was to come. Three pairs of footsteps thundered down the stairs as the last two women from the pictures flew down the stairs, accompanied by a third woman.

“Katherine Howard you will stay away from the coffee or so help me,”

A woman with curly black hair wearing a light blue hoodie.

“Kitty, let’s watch the language, k love?”

The blonde from the picture, this time clad in a light grey sweatshirt.

“KAAAAAAAAAAAAT!”

The woman with the buns from the picture, wearing a bright green crop top with the words “Not today Satan” written on it in cursive.

Kat smiled and jerked her head towards the entrance. All women froze at the sight of the children. The blonde’s hands lifted to her mouth as the woman in the blue hoodie’s hands clutched at her chest. The woman with the space buns fell to her knees in shock. Liz, who had been covering Mae’s ears with the concentration of someone trying to defuse a bomb, looked up at the women who has entered the scene. Her face lit up as her eyes landed on the woman with the space buns. “Mummy!”

Liz sprinted into Boleyn’s open arms as the two Boleyns clutched each other tightly.

“Lizzie? Oh my lord Lizzie please tell me it’s you. Lizzie tell me I’m not dreaming,” 

Liz, who it appeared was trying to crush Boleyn in her hug, hummed contently. Howard gently led the two to the couch, where she sat them both down. Liz latched onto Boleyn’s neck, while Boleyn, for once in her life, seemed completely speechless. Howard, perhaps sensing her cousin wouldn’t be speaking anytime soon, took charge. Turning to Liz, she offered the girl a wide smile.

“Hi Lizzie! I’m your aunt Kitty!”

Liz returned Howard’s smile with her own toothy grin. 

“Hi aunt Kitty! Look, I found my mummy! I lost her for a while, but I found her again!”

Howard laughed heartily. “You sure did!”

Across the room, Mae began fussing. Seemingly upset at the lack of attention she was receiving, she began whining and grabbing at the nearest person, who happened to be the woman in the blue hoodie. Aragon smiled at this. “Looks like the little one wants her mummy, don’t you baby?”

So that must be Parr.

Aragon placed Mae in Parr’s arms, who held her like she was made of glass and could shatter at any second. Mae immediately relaxed in her mother’s arms, snuggling into her hoodie. Parr cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Hi Mae, it’s mummy,”

Mae blinked up at her before giving a wide yawn. Parr laughed.

“You sleepy? Well love, I think after the day we’ve had today, we’re both gonna need a long nap,”

Mae yawned once more in response, prompting another laugh from the blue queen. As she shifted the babe into a more comfortable position.

A loud cry rang throughout the room, catching everyone’s attention. Mary awkwardly rocked a sobbing Ed, her attempts proving futile. Aragon stepped closer to her. 

“I think it’s about time little Eddie got his turn, don’t you think?”

Mary nodded, turning towards the last woman, who she supposed must be Seymour. Seymour waited eagerly, a cross between anxiety and excitement. Mary placed Ed, who had since stopped crying and was staring at Seymour curiously, in her waiting arms. Seymour inhaled shakily before beginning.

“Hi baby, I’m your mummy,”

Ed stared at her blankly before reaching a grubby little hand out to grab at her face.

“Ma!”

Seymour gave a watery laugh.

“That right Eddie, I’m your mummy!” Her voice cracked nearing the end of her sentence as she let out a choked sob, clutching Ed tightly to her chest. Ed seemed rather unperturbed by this and settled for sticking fistfuls of Seymour’s hair in his mouth, who seemed just as unconcerned for the baby trying to eat her hair as Ed was for being stuck in his mother’s loving embrace. Smiling, Mary turned to look around the room.

Boleyn, who it appeared had regained her voice, was bouncing Liz on her lap as Howard told her stories of the shenanigans her mother had gotten into in her absence, Boleyn jumping in periodically to add a detail that Howard had forgotten. Parr was rocking a drowsy Mae to sleep, quietly singing a lullaby that Mary didn’t quite recognize. Cleves had joined Ed and Seymour and was entertaining Ed with funny faces and voices. Seymour seemed to have calmed down and was bouncing Ed, who seemed enthralled by Cleve’s voices and faces, on her knee. His shrieks of laughter echoed throughout the room.

Mary gave a contented sigh and pressed herself to her mother’s side, basking in her warmth. She was right, her mum was rather warm. Giving a final look around the room, she finally felt fully at peace. It had taken three months. Three agonizing months, but they’d made it. And suddenly nothing else mattered, because these children, these beaten, broken children, were whole again.

#six the musical #six the kids #six #six the kids fanfic #six the kids fanfiction #six fanfiction #six the musical fanfiction #mary tudor #elizabeth tudor #edward tudor #mae parr #catherine of aragon #anne boleyn #jane seymour #anna of cleves #katherine howard #catherine parr #fanfiction #the kids are back #tkab

[hs-devote]

 9. T H E   T R U T H

Moodboard // Content // Masterlist

Disclaimer:

All characters and situation in this story are fictitious. Resemblance to any person living or dead is only God knows. Previous chapter : Y/N discovered the robbery. Her bouquet and his wallet were the silent witnesses the start of Harry's honesty. Those were all covered by blood, yet Harry was unharmed. What happened?  Should Harry be honest now? But, would he be ready for her reaction? Was he ready if Y/N will leave him after this? Why did this have to be happening at a time like this? 9. THE TRUTH

Harry was contemplating with himself. Should he be honest now? Right fucking now? In this situation? In the middle of their holiday? No matter what, she would know someday. He just hoped he didn't make the wrong decision if he told her now. “Promise me, no matter what will happen. You have to listen to me. Okay?” Harry asked her slowly, averted his gaze to her. Y/N nodded, “Say whatever you want to say, H.”

Harry took a deep breath, “When I was out for buying flowers and the wine, I was intercepted by two men who were loitering on the way back here. The mistake was... I took the dark and empty street, different paths from before. When I turned around and keep walking to avoid them, they were following me. And from that point, I knew I was in trouble. I had no idea who they were.” He continued, “I tried to walk faster, and I couldn't just run, they would be suspicious. My anxiety got high when one of them held my shoulder. The man asked what I've got on myself, and asked for my wallet. So I gave it, I didn't want to look for other trouble.” Y/N chose to remain silent, listening to whatever he said. She couldn't wrap the fact that her boyfriend got robbed, yet she grateful he came back safely. “Then, he asked me for my phone. I couldn't let them have it. All my work is on there. He pulled out the knife because I didn't want to give it. Fast forward, before he got the chance to stab me, I twisted his hand until his bone broke – I think. He fell in pain. Seeing his friend was in pain, the other man ran to me.” Harry squinted his eyes, preparing his mental before he continued. His mouth felt bitter to say the next sentence. “I took the knife, stab the running man in the stomach. And slit the throat of the other man. Both of them were covered by blood. Both of them was dying on the street.” He sighed, “I saw the death suck their soul off their body with my own two eyes.” “I kill them.” Y/N froze in her place, didn't expect for such a plot twist. Every sound in her ears was faded away, her whole body became numb. Harry, killed people? That's why. It caused his wallet and the bouquet were splattered by blood. “Why Harry?” she was quite surprised to hear the sound coming out of her mouth, so calm, without any emotion. She could have freaked out if she wanted. But she didn't. Her boyfriend killed people. Not regular people. He killed them because he was being threatened. Y/N couldn't look at him right now. Her body was eager to get out of there, but her mind and heart asked to stay. Harry could feel disappointment and worries from his girlfriend. Weird, he didn't sense her fear. Yet, he could understand that. One thing he was surprised by her, she didn't scream or freak out. He had been caught red-handed. Why would he cover it all up anymore? “If you don't mind me asking, how many times have you seen me when I was on the highest level of anger? And what I did after that?” He stared at her now with his eyes held so many emotions. When Y/N didn't dare to answer, Harry encouraged her, “It's okay, be honest with me.” “You threw things, barking at people, you hit them. You were... harsh.” She quietly said. “Do you remember that night when you were seeing someone got strangle in the alley?” he asked one more time. Her brain tried to dig her memory if she had experienced that thing. Sounded familiar, but she wasn't sure. A night... In alley... Strangled... Like a bulb appeared on her head, Y/N understood what he meant. She snapped her head to him. No way... “You saw someone being strangled in the alley that night. Him being strangled because he was stalking you to the groceries.” He exhaled, “You saw me that night, but you never brought it in the office. I was the one who strangled him, to death.” Y/N gasped with her palm was covering her mouth. Her eyes widened at him in disbelief. Her Harry. Her soft – delicate Harry, not only once killed people. Harry gently grabbed both of her now shaking hands, rubbing them in a soothing manner. His green eyes piercing through hers. “Now, I want to be honest with you. Please listen to me until the end. It's okay if you feel scared, or confused later.” He whispered, “Remember I told you I hate Dale Jespersen with all of my guts?” Y/N didn't answer him. Her eyes were still wide with hands still trembling in his grasp. Harry had to calm her down before she got a panic attack. He didn't care if she would squirm or try to get loose in his arms for fear of him. He had to make her calm so she could listen to him. Harry brought her body to him, securing her body in his embrace. His thumb softly caressed her shoulder, “I'll be honest about who I really am. I'm sure you'll change your view of me after this. I understand, that's your rights. And my obligation is to be open about everything to you.” He let five minutes went to waste. However, he did that so Y/N could balance herself. He smiled faintly when she detached herself and nodded her head to him. Her hands still latched with his. “Harry Styles is not a Styles when he was born. Yes, the mother is Anne. But, Igor Styles is not the biological father. Harry was born in Birmingham and grew up there until he was ten. When he was in primary school, Dale Jespersen was a bully for him, never a friend. His father was an awful inconsiderate bastard who always ask money to get drunk and abuse his wife and only son. Yes, Harry was an only child in the family.” He paused, “His father always hit, punch, jab, kick, whatever it is.. his wife and son. He was only nine years old at that time. Imagine, a nine-year-old got hit and punch almost every single fucking day. Until someday, he felt numb. Like he was sick for all those bullshit he got, he was angry, upset, sad, you name it. Those emotions built a new character.. a new person in Harry. Those emotions made Harry brave enough to fight Dale and his abusive father. Harry didn't expect those emotions grew with him, making a new figure who wanted to make everyone know that the new Harry wasn't the same as old Harry.” Harry still rubbed her hands, looked too preoccupied with the story. Y/N had been holding her breath from earlier. When he said he wants to be honest with something, she didn't expect this kind of truth. "Harry once hit his father with brick, stabbing his father's arm. The simple reason; his father kick him and hit his mother with cutting board." "You, what?" she drew a hard breath, her mouth slightly gaped. "The new Harry has some certain emotions. He did kill an innocence pigeon on the Christmas just because the pigeon was alone under the tree, with no friends or family. He thought it would be better if the pigeon died rather than being alone on this cruel earth." Another kill? The devil must be proud of him... Her inner goddess exhaled. "Father really hates Harry, and he believed there was not the slightest sense of love for him. Some day, father dragged him out of the house, took him away without his mother's knowledge. You know what? His father threw him into an orphanage. Harry didn't know the way back home, his eyes were covered with cloth along the ride. But lucky for him, the fortune was on his side. His mother found him and took him home after he stayed for two months." He let out a small chuckle, "Birmingham left a bitter wound for Harry and his mother. They moved to Manchester when he was ten. There, they met with Igor Styles – someone who was nice to them. Someone who Harry saw as an ideal father figure. He was happy when his mother married Igor four years later. Besides, he got a new little step-sister; Clementia was only seven years old at the time." That's why Harry and Clementia didn't look alike. But, their siblings bound was so close. "Nonetheless, Harry's memories and emotions didn't solely leave behind in Birmingham, they weren't forgotten. When he was a teenager, he realised that he wasn't live alone in this body. He was aware every time his anger consumes him too much, he changed to a different person. As if he saw his body doing something against his will, but his soul was just silent, couldn't do anything. Like someone took over his body. Until one night, when he looked in the mirror, he could see clear as water – the person he was staring at – it was not him. The reflection was indeed him, but it claimed as a Marcel. Not Harry. He's the dark and emotional side of Harry. A soul formed by hurt, revenge, betrayal, anger – that he had felt all this time. He was true and real. Harry lives with Marcel, sharing a body with him. If I can make it simple, Harry had a split personality, an impact of his childhood trauma.” Harry released a long breath that he had been holding back. He was so relieved after telling his dark secret. When he looked at Y/N, the girl in front of him was dumbfounded in her place. Her eyes were blank, so many questions spinning around in her head. But, then she realised, why did Harry tell his story with a third-person perspective? "Now, last question. How many times have you seen my eyes turn darker, or how fast I was talking?" he asked firmly, yet still with a gentle voice. “Several times, quite a lot.” Y/N stammered. “It was Marcel, not me; Harry. He would awake if the temper being tickled. If my eyes get darker, I speak faster, and my temper was a mess – I wasn't there. That was Marcel. He wouldn't mind hurting the person who made him annoyed.” “So, the one who killed your robber was.. Marcel?” Harry instantly nodded. Y/N hurriedly pulled her hand from Harry, made her eyes saw the hurt on his face. But after he told him everything, she didn't know what to do – she didn't how to react in front of him. Her heart was beating so fast, fear spreading around her body. Who was talking to her right now? Harry smiled, at least she didn't freak out or run away from him. It was better than he thought. "I understand if you don't want to see me after this. I understand if.. if someday you don't want to keep this relationship any more, Y/N. It's not your fault. I should've realised that freak people like me don't deserve you.” He chuckled, shaking his head. He felt sad now, thinking about what might happen. But, the question was, is he sure of what he said earlier? "Harry, no. Don't talk like that. Everyone deserves nice things. You deserve that too." Y/N muttered, her hands raised to rub his back ever so slightly. Afraid to woke up Marcel. “I need time to digest all of this if you don't mind.” "I understand, but if you wanna talk or.. or ask something. Let me know, yeah?" he gave her a sad smile. They just celebrate the new year with joy and love, why all of them turned to a mess so suddenly? Y/N nodded before she took him to her embrace. She couldn't help the way Harry looked at her; he was sad and upset. She laughed at herself. Is she sure she wouldn't change her view and behaviour to Harry after this? Whatever happened, she had this relationship with Harry. With someone who she hugs his body and heart right now. Not Marcel that she didn't even know. Her heart was crumbling when she heard small sniffles from him, her neck was slightly wet from.. was he crying? "Harry, no. Don't cry please, love." She mumbled, running her palm up and down in a soothing way. Y/N didn't think he would cry. She knew, the burden was too heavy for him. He carried too much on his shoulders. Harry just shook his head and Y/N let him cry. For the first time, she saw Harry in his vulnerable state. And she didn't like it. She didn't like seeing Harry cry his heart out. . . . . Their Italian holiday was something they couldn't forget. The sweet felt so bitter in the memory. Y/N was too shocked about Harry's confession but she really appreciated his honesty. How was she doing after that? She was quieter and seemed reluctant to do anything. But, she tried to Harry wouldn't feel it. Harry, of course, sensed that. He felt the anxiety, confusion, fear. Was he sad? Did he feel hopeless? It was a lie if he denied it. They tried to behave as normal as possible until their return to London. Nevertheless, the thick air was too real between them. Too suffocating. Too uncomfortable. These past few weeks, Y/N kept her distance from Harry. Kind of. She just didn't want to get into trouble if Marcel decided to show up. Harry couldn't deny the sorrowful filled his heart. He couldn't do anything about it, he was grateful enough Y/N still want to associate with him. They work like usual, nothing changed. It was just the affection Y/N gave to him became less and less. After all, who wanted to date a person like him? On the other side, Y/N knew she shouldn't build a space between them. He was still her Harry. He didn't change. Marcel grew up with him from day one. All she could do was help him, and build trust in him. “So, you've been honest with her?” “Yes, I have.” “How was she doing?” Harry pulled over to the edge of the pool. His back leaned against the tile, his wet hand swept his damp hair to the side. He was in Niall's house in Surrey. He should have visited him at the hospital as usual for his session. But, when Niall heard Harry's raving, he offered his session at his house. He knew Harry would need more composure now. No wonder they were doing his therapy while swimming like this. At first, Niall thought Harry was crazy because he swam in the middle of the winter in January. He had warned him about the snowfall and hypothermia. But Harry being Harry, he reasoned Niall's pool had a heater. "She was.. calm?" he didn't sure, "she didn't freak out like I anticipated. She listened to every single story I told her." Niall frowned, “Isn't that good? “But, that worries me. She now keeps her distance. She doesn't have her usual bubbly character as usual when answering my call. She's a little closed? I don't know.” Harry shook his head, “I tried to act normal, but the situation isn't normal.” “Then, how does she behave when you two are alone? On a date?” Harry now looked at Niall who was across him, who was also staring at him with his clear blue irises. He realised that his friend looked tanner the before. Being an Irish, Niall used to be very pale back then, even Harry mocked him as a member of The Cullen Family when they were in college. “They were normal until we got back home.” He paused, “It was normal but not normal? I couldn't describe it. You surely understand the circumstance. She tried to guard my feelings but she also reserved her feelings, being more cautious.” Niall squinted his eyes when he saw Harry's teeth were chattering. He rolled his eyes, his friend was being too stubborn – didn't realise his body was shivering.     "Get out of the pool, your lips have started to turn blue." He commanded, before going inside to bring a towel to Harry. When he returned with a thick towel and a mug of hot drink, Harry was already sitting on a pool chair. “Thanks.” Harry mumbled when Niall threw the towel to him and handed the hot mug. He sighed when his body became warm shortly after he sipped the drink.     “Were you honest about everything? Like.. everything?” Was he? Harry stunned a little, his gaze was blank to the open view in front of him. He could see the sun ready to set, reminding him of the time before the mess happened. “I think, I wasn't.” said him, “I haven't told her if Dale knew who I am. I mean, he knew Styles isn't my born name.” “And I think, she knows you still have stories that you keep from her.” Niall gave his assumption, “She needs time for her to understand everything, Harry. But, don't let the spaces between you and her ruined everything.” “I know.” “Does that make you sad? Upset?” “Of course. You don't need to ask.” “Then, that's what makes you human. And that's natural. You have feelings that can't be avoided.” The spaces between them not only made Harry upset, but it crushed her slowly. They couldn't keep going on like this. . . . . It was past six when Y/N was getting ready for home. She thought she was the only one left on the floor, but she was wrong. Harry's office lights still on, a sign he was still in there. Her mind and heart told her to check on him, and that was what she does. “Hey, you're not going home yet?” She asked softly after his door opened successfully without needing an access card. She saw Harry was sitting on his chair, his laptop was shut closed. “I was waiting for the sun to set.” He answered, not looking at her. “The sunset on an hour and a half ago, H.” She mumbled, pulling a seat in front of him. Her Harry looked sad, he didn't have the slightest happiness on his face. And it was made her upset. "Oh? Okay, right. I– I should go home then." He let out a small chuckle, shaking his head over his silliness. To be honest, Harry had done all of his work today, he stayed a little longer only to make sure Y/N didn't come home too late. He also missed her; so much until his heart ached. Y/N was playing with her fingers when she had the feeling to urge ask something right now. Hope this is the right time, she thought. “Do you have time, Harry? I want to ask you a few things. If you don't mind.” Her words seemed taken aback by him. But, he nodded eventually – curious about what she wanted to ask, “Go ahead.” ”How did you deal with yourself, after you found out that you're not alone any more?" her voice was very small and faint. Her words kind of confused him, but he understood immediately. “I never dealt with him. I never could deal with all the sadness, betrayal, the anger. That's how Marcel being the second shadow. I never could hold him back, neither I could prevent all of them. The misery always running after me.” He smiled sadly, “Marcel never hurt me because I never hurt him – myself. All I do hope is I can press down my emotions, but he doesn't like it.. because it triggers Marcel to wake up. He takes the control if I can't hold my temper.” “So, every time you were angry, it was Marcel in your body. If you will get angry, it will be Marcel?” Y/N exclaimed, looking at his eyes. His eyes that she missed dearly because she rarely looked at lately. The green eyes that belong to her Harry. “Marcel loves the anger, he hates the insult.” "Is he here right now? Can you feel him?" she asked cautiously, because her next questions might trigger him. “He’s sleeping right now.” He gave her reassurance smile, “If I'm happy, he will getting weak. The happier I am, the weaker he will feel. He can't just disappear like that.” She nodded, “About your father, the biological one. What happened to him after your mum and you moved to Manchester? How did you change to Styles?” "I didn't really know about him, and I don't care. The day mum took me out from the orphanage, she brought me to Manchester right away. My stepfather let me use his last name, and he was happy to do that. My mum never used Reinhard's last name on me, even on my birth certificate. All my childhood friends only knew my last name was Edward." He sighed, "Igor is our lifesaver. He loved my mother, he was very nice to me. The same with Clementia, both of the Styles undoubtedly help us out from the nightmare." His biological father's name was Reinhard... From the way his voice got thick when talking about his father to how soft he told her about his new family, Y/N knew Harry was betrayed and now being loved, such a roller coaster journey for him. She could never understand his pain and misery, but she would try to understand him. It was never really her place to judge him or throw accusation on him. She came to his life when he was on top of his life. She wasn't there when Harry experienced the storm in his life. She was glad Harry could get through it all despite the price he should pay. “You really love your stepfather and stepsister, don't you?” Harry smiled, “I do.” “You must be broken when your stepfather passed away.” “The day Clementia told me the news, that was the first time I cried for losing a father.” “Do you think Reinhard would trying to find you and your mum?” Y/N murmured, picking the right sentence so it wouldn't tickle Marcel. There was a huge silent before Harry answered her question, “I doubt that, it's been fifteen years and we live in peace.” "I once found your journal unintentionally, a leather journal with your birth year written on it. I know what I did was.. wrong, impudent. I’m sorry foe that, but I read a few first pages." She squeaked, afraid to hear her own words.  "My question is.. were you being abused almost every day? By him? Dale? Your friends?" "The pathetic thing is.. before I left for school, that bastard was always ready to drag me out of bed. When I was in school, Dale had hundreds of ways to make me miserable. After returning from school, the bastard was waiting for me to let out his frustration." "Oh, Harry." She gasped, looking at her boyfriends with a sombre look. Not a pity one. Harry wasn't a person who likes to be pitied, and she believed that Marcel was the same. She didn't believe, Harry Styles, who looked perfect from the outside – not a single damage were shown – had felt the cruelty of life before he reached this point. All his patience, his struggle, his tears – really paid him well. “That's why you have Niall, a psychiatrist, be your doctor or a therapist if I could say." "Niall is a friend from college. I was happy knowing he studied psychiatry. He was too shocked when he heard about my condition. One day I met him when he was still on lower level, and I told him my secrets. I remembered he was shaking too hard." Harry cackled, shaking his head. "I told him we're best friends, I trust him to tell my condition, I trust him to help me to go through this. And from then on, he became my personal healer. He's very professional and competent in his work." “Is he the first to know about your condition? Does your family know?” “My mum at first thought I had a psychopathic soul because she had caught me killing the pigeon, but she dismissed it after observing me a few days or weeks; Marcel never did that cruelty again. But yeah, Niall was the one who knew.”

He didn't let his mother know. He didn't let his family know. But, he trusted her. He could have dodged it and continued to cover up this truth. But, Harry trusted her enough to tell his conditions that not everyone could accept. “If I recalled my memories back, the factors that made Marcel come were Dale and Reinhard. After you start a new life in Manchester, went to college, to the States.. what happened with him? I mean, those two figures are no longer in your life, right?” “He's always here. Even the two main factors no longer exist, the anger that I couldn't stand would still wake him up.” He explained, “Because I just can't erase those feelings.” Y/N blinked her eyes. Of course Marcel would stay there with him. He couldn't forget his past, it was part of him that he couldn't let go after all. “How did Marcel react when you met Dale, again?” His shoulder slumped, while his index tapped his cupid bow. Harry seemed to think for a while before answering the question, “This will be a little long since it involves Machtig.” She nodded, “Take your time.” “My stepfather built a small company under Erskine. Since the development was quite good, he asked his best friend to manage the company. They were both successful at running Rollcall, the name at the time. Unfortunately, he was betrayed by his best friend. Rollcall was sold at a fairly high price. My stepfather was furious but he couldn't do anything since he had made his best friend as the commissioner. I don't remember who bought it, but from then on, he moved Erskine headquarters to London. When I returned home after completed my master's degree, on the first day of work replacing him, I discovered that Machtig is Rollcall. A year later, I found out that Dale worked there. I couldn't lie... I felt a huge resentment. But, that feeling peaked when we met at the same event. It was the first time I saw him again after years. Sadly, he worked with a company that Igor should have. Since then, Erskine and Machtig were like mortal enemies. Despite Dale isn't the owner, he holds an important position there." He explained, “But, of course Marcel was furious.” “Does he know that you're the Harry?” she muttered, her eyes wide in concern. If Dale knew he was the Harry, he could use them against Harry in anything business-related. He knew Harry was nothing back then. It must shock him how far Harry became. “He knows," confirmed him, "He knew after a few bidding we attend together. In the beginning, he didn't believe that I am, Harry Styles, is the Harry that he bullied. I don't know how he knew, maybe he hired detective or whatever, it's none of my business. I mean, I wasn't as attractive as now back then. I'm so much better and good looking now." Narcissistic much, huh? Her inner goddess rolled her eyes. “He could use that to bring you and Erskine down.” “He could," he agreed, "But he didn't that. I guess he's mature enough so he knows how to compete healthily. Attacking business competitors with personal matters isn't a good thing." “Does everyone know that you...” “Not many people know that I'm a stepson of Igor Styles.” He interrupted her before Y/N finished her sentence. “Dale doesn't know about Marcel, does he?” Harry shook his head. There was no way Dale knew about his condition. He would never let that happen. Enough for him to knew that Harry was his childhood victim. So many things she knew now, and he told her without hesitation. Another question she had. To be honest, Y/N wasn't comfortable asking these. But, she had to do it so she knew what to do. "I'm sorry if I make you feel burdened, H. I just.. I was just curious. If you know how many questions spinning in my mind." Harry smiled understandably, he was happy Y/N at least curious about what actually happened. He reached out to take her hands on his, “I'm glad you come to ask, not letting your assumption jump into vague conclusion.” She rubbed his hand, giving him composure. “So, how many people know about Marcel?” “Only Niall, my other friend – Mario, and now you.” He admitted quietly, “I'm not easy to be so open with people.” "Not even your family? Your mum? Your.. ex-girlfriend?" Harry shook his head, “I don't want to make my family sad, and.. telling a girlfriend is a risky thing.” “But I am your girlfriend?” Y/N asked dumbfounded. She frowned at the way Harry was laughing at her. Did she say something stupid? “Yes, because I put my whole trust in you.” He said softly, “I know which people I can trust, which the right person for me to tell them.” Even though he knew it was risky to lose Y/N from his life “Did Marcel know about people who knew him? About me?” “Absolutely. You met him on your first day, I believe.” Wrong question. Y/N didn't expect that, she felt her face turn pale quickly. Of course he did! When Harry looked at her with a strange look she failed to recognise, with the darker eyes.. it was him. "What about his victims? He killed a few people." She blurted the question without thinking it first. She saw Harry's face changed, looked like she ticked him wrongly. Y/N squinted her eyes, didn't dare to look him in the eyes. She was afraid that Marcel was in front of her right now, instead of her Harry. “Why you closed your eyes, darling? I'm Harry. Marcel let me explain them to you.” Y/N opened her eyes slowly. The first thing she saw was a pair of eyes she recognised, Harry's eyes. “This will sound a bit arrogant but I use my connection to finish his job. Mario, he is the council of NCA. That's why my name always clean, never have a criminal record. And that's why the police never call if I did something." He grimaced at his words, didn't like how it came out of his mouth. He watched her face who looked confused. She opened her mouth, but close it right away – as if hesitant to say it. "Can I ask you something?" it was Harry's turn to ask, he had to use this opportunity to make everything clear. Y/N nodded, "Yeah?" “How do you feel? After everything I told you?” Harry looked at Y/N calmly despite his heart was beating so freaking fast. He was getting impatient when Y/N took her time to be quiet for a moment. Which every second of it killed him slowly. Slowly, she rose from her seat – getting down on her knees. Harry was utter confused by her; what was she doing? "You said you put the whole trust on me, and entrust me to be the person to see you very open. So I can understand you from all angles." She smiled, placing her hands on his thighs. "I can't let you be the only one who trusts me wholly. I trust you with all of the pieces in my body and my soul. You deserve my highest trust, H." “Whatever will be, you're still my Harry. I have to accept everything on you.” Harry grabbed her arms, bringing her closer. Kissed her dearly before his Y/N could see the tears in his eyes, rolling down his cheek. He was too happy. His feelings that he couldn't describe, it was suffocating him in different way. Harry repeatedly whispered words of thanks between their kisses. This was much better than he imagined. “H, darling. Let's get home, it's almost eight.” Y/N laughed, pushing his face away. She frowned looking at the damp tears in his cheek, then wiping them softly, “Why are you crying?” “I'm just happy that's all.” He sniffled, “Let's go, darling. Let me drive you home.” . . . . “So, your birthday is in a week, where do you want to celebrate?” Harry murmured, his fingers stroking Y/N hair softly. The two of them were in her apartment, laying cosily in her couch. It was Saturday afternoon. After they work out together, Harry chose to go home to Y/N. Of course she was happy, it had been a long time Harry hadn't come to her house. "I don't know. Every time I celebrate my birthday, there were awkward incidents after that. Like when I was celebrating my twentieth birthday, my friend broke the glass table because she hit the pinata wrong since she was drunk." Y/N laughed in shame, her hands tightened the blanket covering both of them, it was raining outside, the air got colder – the more it makes her lazy to move from her position. “Really?” he snickered, adjusting her body in his lap. He knew too well she was cold. He could feel her goosebumps and her shoulders shaking once in a while. "Another birthday fail was I once blew out a large white candle because my friend forgot to bring the birthday candle, and instead she asked the waiter if they had candles.” Her laughter made Harry laughed along, imagining if he was her on that day. "Okay, I give you a deadline to tell me what you want in three days. " Harry said cheekily, pinching her cheek. "And I promise there won't be any birthday failure involve." “And if I don't know what I want?” Y/N challenged him, lifting her head so she could see him. He just shook his head, before squeezing her cheeks until her lips puckered like a fish. He kissed her puckering lips, “You have to wait and find out!” Harry swatted her hands away from his hair as her fingers tugging his little sprout. His hair was getting long and he had tied some strands that covered his forehead. Yet, it was a bad idea because Y/N loved to pull it. “She's so cute! She should appear more.” Y/N cooed, playing with a little strand from his sprout. She smiled noticing he wore her scrunchies to tie his hair. “My hair is long enough to get trim but I'm too lazy to do that.” Harry stroked his hair with his fingers, watching how long his hair had grown. “Why don't you let it grow? I'm curious if your hair is long.” “Trust me if you want a princess hair on me, you won't like it.” He laughed, “My hair is so easy to get greasy.” "Who said that I want a princess' hair? Just let it grow by your shoulder. You would look sexy I bet." She hummed, wiggling her eyebrow yet her innocent eyes seducing him. Y/N gasped when Harry buckling his hips on her, she could feel his growing bulge down there. She exhaled when he brought her mouth close to her ears, "You think so?" ��I –”  she choked on her words when he decided to attack her lips. Both of them now only fixated with the sound of raindrops and their clashing lips; of how they warmed themselves to each other. One thing led another, they knew their voices would be louder than the sound of rain out there. If they wouldn't stop now. . . Please excuse some errors. Chat me here!

#harry styles #harry styles series #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles au #ceo harry styles #harry styles smut #harry styles ficrec #fantasy #romance #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #fic rec #to read #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader

[valkerymillenia]

Umbrella Academy

season 2, episode 7

More thoughts and live blogged reactions.

1982. I'm assuming Five used a briefcase... But in s1 we saw that the briefcase travels are tracked (Hazel and Cha-Cha got reprimanded for Klaus's Vietnam trip) so I'm not sure how the board doesn't know someone is coming... I might be overthinking.

Five being creepy.

Is that a Fudge Nutter like Handler mentioned in season 1? Oh, it is.

Jesus, Five! Anger management for you, old man.

AAHH! THEY LET FIVE SAY FUCK! Fucking finally! 🤣

How did nobody notice that destruction? 😆

Oh, the axe! Is Five going to go all American psycho? Because I'd love to see that.

HOLY SHIT!

That smile!

HOLY SHIT!!!!!!

Is he using tiny time travel bursts like Reggie said? Or a briefcase? Or is he just that fast?

AJ hiding under the table 😆

Pausing to drink water and grin, what a psycho, I love him.

He's definitely using time jumps but they are so controlled that I'm guessing briefcase or Handler little time stopping trick. I'm so proud of my mass murder baby.

... Vending machine? Lady, you have interesting priorities.

CRICKET BAT!

Wait! AJ's human body feels pain? How?

Please make Five swallow the fish like in the comics! Please, please, please, please.

The dancers are just like

I LOVE FIVE! The lengths this little killer will go for his family are unbelievable, nobody should ever doubt his love and devotion for them ever again.

This whole murder scene was incredible and Five's obvious glee made it even better. FEAR HIM!

Jesus, Klaus is so afraid of being possessed that he's afraid to sleep and Ben just mocks him? 😘💋 I get that this is supposed to be a funny 'brothers messing with each other' kind of thing but Klaus feels so unsafe that it makes me uncomfortable. What happened to you, Ben, when did you become so dark? You were the nice one!

Ben just getting closer and closer every time Klaus closes his eyes just gave me Doctor Who flashbacks.

"I hate your face" "I hate all of you" - Don't say that boys! You know you love each other.

Ok, Ben has a point. I'm actually liking this conversation. And I'm liking that Klaus is starting to understand his brother.

Ok, this is such a brother conversation. And Klaus constantly pretending not to know who Jill is 😆

Ground rules... Well, at least it's consensual now. That's something. See? Communication works.

Damn, the tension at the lunch table cut be cut with a knife. I'm scared what Carl is going to do.

Ray and Allison have a lovely relationship but I finally identified the problem, the tension I was feeling between since them a few eps back. It's not about Allison's secrets at all, is about Ray being so obsessed with his crusade that he completely overlooks Allison's feelings, he only pays attention to her when they are on the page about the mission. He sees her powers and his first thought is 'we could use this for the cause', Allison is clearly distressed and sad and even says she doesn't feel well and all he can think about is the damn JFK meeting. He's not a bad person and he's not doing it on purpose but he has a workaholic one-track mind that could easy turn into neglect for Allison. He clearly loves her and I'm rooting for them so much but I know that if asked to choose between Allison and his cause, he'll pick his cause.

So Five is done with the killing. I figured this might weigh on his conscience, it's one thing to kill for a greater good or survival, coldly and detached, it's another thing to slaughter for selfish reasons (even if his selfish reasons are a greater good).

Handler going all mom on him and wiping his face. 😆

"What I did today, I did for my family" -we know, baby, and they better respect you for it. You love then so much.

90 minutes??? Wtf, I knew Handler would try to screw Five over but that's just cruel, she's forcing him to uproot the family without even giving them time to say goodbye and that's even IF he can get to all of them on time.

It's not a name, you idiots. Also, that's Olga, not öga.

Don't harass the poor woman... Oh God, you guys are such morons... Diego, you dramatic little bitch...

"Wrong number. Have a lovely day" 🤣🤣🤣

I love the new dumbass buddy cop dynamic between Diego and Luther. This is the sort of positive brotherly dynamic they always should have had instead of being pitted against each other all their lives.

"you have some blood on you" "a lot of blood, actually. Five, what did you do?" -the casual, mildly annoyed way they ask is hilarious, if they knew what he did they'd be horrified (and possibly impressed).

Handler's militaristic chic dress is fabulous. I personally don't like it very much (or the message it sends) but it's haute couture and incredibly designed. Also, the bleached hair is back!

"any questions?" And then she leaves without listening. Power move 😏

Luther trying to comfort Diego like the dork he is. 🤣

Really though, I feel bad for Diego, and Five is under so much pressure that I don't blame him for snapping.

"I'm shy" -are you, Klaus? Are you really? You keep walking around in underwear in front of dozens of people, you're not shy.

So is Klaus lactose intolerant?

Ok, so far the possession thing is not as bad as some people were claiming. So far.

"stay focused" *giggle* -oh Ben, you dork 😆

Ahah, Ben enjoying all the different sensory stimuli. Adorable. He's just so happy, poor boy.

Dirt angels. SO CUTE ❤️

I know this all supposed to be cute and all but it would also be a perfect moment for Ben for experience Klaus's powers (the constant hauntings) as well as his addiction and the claustrophobic expectations of the cult. It would be an excellent chance to make Ben understand why Klaus is the way he is, seeing as Klaus is making a huge effort (and sacrifice) to do the same for Ben. Unfortunately, I don't see that happening because I think they want to keep this part about Ben.

By end of season 1 Klaus cried that people still didn't take him seriously, his compassion despite all his suffering made him likeable and deep, but this season he's back to being the family joke, I don't like that there's no resolution to that. But let's see where this goes, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Oh God, Carl's talk is freaking me out.

"who I am is not a disease" -very powerful LGBT+ statement considering it's the 60s!!!!

Oh, the blackmail...

Everybody keeps expecting Vanya to explode every time she gets emotional but this scene proves how much control she truly has. Respect!

Oh, finally Claire is mentioned! I've been rather upset that Allison hasn't mentioned her daughter even once this season (does Ray even know he has a stepdaughter?) seeing as most of her arc in season 1 revolved around her love and guilt over Claire.

Luther is right when he says they don't get live formal lives because they are special but Allison is even more right when she says that's not fair. This is why this family needs to stick together and love each other, they are the only ones that can really understand each other's struggles.

"hope" -Luther, you really are such a sweet summer child.

OH! I CAN FINALLY SEE ALLISON'S SCAR! The lighting in this scene makes it really obvious. Finally.

Ben and the strawberry. 🤣

"you're different today. You're dorkier" ah! First time anyone called Ben 'Sassy' Hargreeves dorky.

Oh Ben, you're adorable... Wait, "smell your hair"? What the fuck, Ben? You weirdo.

Holy crap! Jill is really forward, isn't she? Hippies, man.

Ben stuttering! 😆🤣 He died a virgin, didn't he?

It's funny but please tell me he isn't actually considering that in his brother's body...

Wait, did Klaus slap him because he doesn't want to have sex or because he's trying to stop Ben from ruining his own chance by saying too much?

Actually, I'm almost sure it's the second one, Klaus is playing wingman on his own body!

WHAT????

Ok so Ben IS a virgin but "you, me and Keechie"? What the fuck, Klaus? You slept with the fanatical crybaby and your brother's crush????

"Klaus, you're so filthy!" "Yes, you are, daddy." -Ben, this girl is not right for you. Run, boy!

AHAHAHAH ASDFGDDGGHSGSGASFHDBKDIS 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 DIEGO CALLING HIM DADDY!

Wait, AJ can speak without the body/suit/whatever?

Handler is going a little bit fascist dictator, isn't she?

Gotta admit, Handler really is such a mom in her own twisted way.

Ben giggling when he talks to Diego. Cute.

"Luther sniffs Dad's underwear" 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

AWWWWWWWW, BEN AND DIEGO! THE CHILDHOOD HIJINKS! THE HUG!

GOD, THE HUG! ❤️

I need all the siblings hugging Ben now!

"you stay in this body, we need someone responsible behind the wheel" -Diego, I understand what you mean given the situation, but you playing obvious favorites between your brothers when free will and body autonomy are on the line is a little creepy.

"no one is insignificant" -that line is so loaded when used on Vanya.

Oh no, Vanya and Five playing the blame game is so bad... They used to be so close... They are both under so much pressure, this won't end well.

Oh boy, Five looks like he's on the verge of crying and Vanya sees that! I bet that's why she backed down. 😲😢

The Lila and Diego conversation is heartbreaking without even trying...

Is that Elliot? Is Diego burying Elliot because nobody else will? Diego really does have a heart of gold.

Don't drinkit! I'm pretty sure Lila is drugging you.

Yup, there it is.

What is she planning?

Once again, it's all about the movement with Ray.

"I would take my one year with you over a lifetime with anybody else." 😭 Oh Ray ❤️

But I get the feeling this won't end so easily.

There it is, the Swedes just arrived. And the smart assholes went right for Allison's throat.

You don't need the coffee can, Sissy. The Hargreeves are loaded.

Sissy, hurry up.

BEN, YOU ARE SUCH A 90s KID!!! So the Backstreet Boys are Ben's fault, God, I love this dork 🤣

Come on, Allison, you can fight better than this!

Good girl!

Klaus and Ben running and fighting each other at the same time 😆

Holy shit, that is some Exorcist level vomiting!

Poor Klaus, I totally get Ben's side in this (pretty sure he was trying to save Klaus by getting him to Five ASAP) but this whole thing made me mildly uncomfortable. Klaus just keeps sacrificing for everyone and nobody respects his boundaries.

Holy shit, Allison! That is so cruel! I like it though, so ruthless and vicious. 😈

Problem- Allison can't just leave Ray with a white corpse in the house. Especially not in Texas, death penalty and all.

Oh Sissy, you dumbass. You're a sweetheart but also a dumbass.

Ok, Lila is pretty insane. That's for sure.

Five:

"I don't want to hurt you" - well, Vanya warned them.

My baby is getting really good with her powers.

I hope that hit to the head doesn't give Vanya her memory back, that's so cliché and convenient, or would be really bad writing.

SHIT IS HITTING THE FAN. I'm dying to see more!!!!!!

#tua #tua s2 #tua s2 spoilers

[iamvegorott]

A Small Glitch Chapter 10

Finally Merry

Dark and Anti both sat on their couch while Annalise was on the floor, playing with a Barbie and a toy car. She was happily giggling as she sat the doll on the car and rolled it around. She had a pair of earphones on so she wouldn’t be able to hear Dark and Anti talk.

“Anti, is she…” Dark let the question hang in the air.

“She can’t be mine. She’s three, I’ve been with you for four years.” Anti stated.

“The beginning of our relationship was a little rocky. If you-”

“She’s not mine.” Anti placed a hand on Dark’s leg. “I swear to you that I have not been with any other person since we first got together.”

“Then, how?” Dark asked. “I thought you said virus’ take over a body, use their form and detach into their own beings?”

“We do. That’s how I’m here. We’re made when there’s a fracture in the universe and we get absorbed into an electrical current.” Anti stated.

“By the sounds of it, Annalise has been with Jolene her whole life. That...what?” Dark rubbed his temple, very confused and hating that he didn’t have an answer.

“The only way that’s possible is if when Annalise was coming through the device, she took the form of the fetus inside of Jolene.” Anti stated. “She would become the fetus like how I became a full-grown man when I used Jack’s form.”

“Annalise doesn’t have any siblings. What happened to the one she based herself off of?”

“They must have died. It takes a lot to use someone’s body to make your own. I had to slit Jack’s throat in order to free myself. Ann must have killed...Annalise.” Anti plopped back, covering his face with his hands. “My daughter was a murderer before she was even fully processed.”

“She clearly didn’t do it on purpose, but still.” Dark took a deep breath. “It’s a good thing we have her, others wouldn’t know what to do.”

“She killed her own mother...she killed her and doesn’t know that she killed her.” Anti groaned. “She thinks mommy’s in time-out.” Anti started to laugh in disbelief. “What are we going to do when she learns that’s not true? How do we tell her that she killed her own mother? How-” Anti stopped when Dark was suddenly straddling him.

“She’s three, she has no idea what’s going on. What she needs to worry about is learning new words and colors and animals.” Dark took Anti’s hands and put them on his hips while his went to Anti’s shoulders. “Annalise is now calmed down, she’s no longer glitching and the pixels are gone. I’m going to make a few phone calls and then we can finally call it a day.” Dark moved his hands so he was holding Anti’s face. “We got her back.” He whispered before pulling Anti into a kiss.

“I still wanted to be the one to end her.” Anti slightly pouted when they parted.

“We’ll kill someone else later.” Dark said with a wink.

“We are fucked up.” Anti chuckled.

“And I wouldn’t want us any other way.” Dark gave Anti another quick kiss before getting up. “I shouldn’t be long.” He added before going into his office.

“Papa?” Annalise asked as she awkwardly removed the earphones, getting her hands tangled up.

“Papa’s talking to a few people and then he’ll be right out.” Anti explained as he joined Annalise on the ground, helping her get out of the mess she made. “We’ll have a nice dinner and then I’ll read you a bedtime story, how does that sound?”

“Train that could?” Annalise asked as she watched her hands be freed.

“Of course.” Anti wrapped the earphones into a ball and set them aside, he looked over at the office door and let out a sigh. “Ann?”

“Yeah?” Anti felt his heart warm up a little when Annalise looked at him with wide eyes, tilting her head and showing that she was ready.

“Do you know what happened today?” Annalise rocked her head around a little.

“Mommy was mean.” Annalise said, nodding her head before continuing. “Mommy in time-out.”

“Are you able to take mommy out of time-out?” Anti chewed his lip when Annalise shook her head.

“Forever time-out.” Annalise explained. “Mommy really bad.”

“Yeah, mommy really bad.” Anti repeated with a sigh. “I love you, Ann.”

“Love you, Daddy.” Annalise smiled.

x~x~x

“So if Annie’s a virus like you, does that mean there’s more of ya.” Wilford asked after a long sip of his eggnog.

“There’s probably a shit ton of virus’ and we don’t know them.” Anti shrugged, his sweater jingling as he did.

“Is that why there’s so many people that have doubles on the other side of the world?” Chase asked.

“I want a glitchy clone.” Bim chuckled.

“One Bim Trimmer is enough for this universe.” Dark lightly teased, giving the show host a pat on the shoulder.

“You two should have adopted years ago, Dark is less of a stiff because of Annie.” Wilford joked.

“Look, Jim, it’s the offspring.” Reporter Jim said as Cameraman Jim got a better view of Annalise.

“Tim!” Annalise cheered, clapping her hands.

“No, I’m Jim and this is Jim.” Reporter Jim corrected, getting a giggle from Annalise.

“Kim!”

“No, I’m Jim and this is Jim.” Reporter Jim corrected again.

“Bim!”

“No, that’s Bim.” The show host turned his head when he heard his name. “I’m Jim and this is Jim.”

“Mim!”

“Now, is that even a name?” The Jims looked at Anti when he started laughing.

“Ann, quit teasing the Jims.” Anti chuckled as he scooped Annalise up.

“Teasing? She’s not teasing. She’s clearly trying to avoid the questions. We’ll get the answers from her.” Reporter Jim held the microphone in front of Annalise’s face while Cameraman Jim got closer as well. “Tell us. Are you the offspring?”

“Are you suggesting that my child is the offspring that Host has been talking about?” Dark said, his voice harsh.

“Jim, it’s the demon!” The Jim twins both yelped and ran off, heading straight for dining table which had an endless supply of treats.

“Don’t you just love Christmas?” Anti chuckled.

“Merry Chrysler!” Annalise shouted happily, giggling as Dark glared at Anti.

“Where did she learn that?” Dark asked in a growl.

“Time for presents!” Anti announced.

“Anti!”

“Presents!” The Jim twins and Annalise cheered.

“The married couple have to open mine first!” Wilford stated as he grabbed three boxes while everyone sat down around the living room. “Here you go.” The madman had a large smile as he handed Anti and Dark a box each.

“It’s squishy.” Anti commented, tearing off the wrapping paper. “Yes!” Anti started laughing as he held up the t-shirt, an image of Dark glaring up was on it. “I love it!”

“You have to be kidding me.” Dark sighed as he held up his shirt, Anti’s face with a black bar across his eyes was printed on it.

“How could I not? All couples have cute shirt of their significant other.” Wilford chuckled, watching as Annalise opened her present.

“Shooty!” Reporter Jim shouted when Annalise pulled out a bright pink gun.

“Wilford!” Dark reached to take the gun, but Annalise already pulled the trigger, a large stream of bubbles came out of the barrel and the little girl laughed happily as it did.

“She’ll work her way up to the real thing.” Wilford said with a nod.

“You alright there?” Anti asked Dark, who was groaning.

“My husband is obsessed with knives, my best friend is obsessed with guns and I have a small child, I’m doing great.” Dark huffed.

“Love you.” Anti sang while the others began opening their gifts.

“How did you know?” Wilford said as he held up a brand new bowtie, a grinning Bim next to him.

“Dope!” Bing and Chase both shouted as the machine put on sunglasses and the ‘bro’ put on a hat. The two high-fived each other and laughed.

“Oh!” Dr. Schneeplestein said in awe, pulling out several new scalpels.

“We have the same mind.” Dr. Iplier chuckled as he took out the same scalpels.

“I gift!” Annalise announced, standing in the center of the group.

“What did you make, Annalise?” Dark asked. Everyone was waiting for a piece of paper to be pulled out or something like that.

“I make daddy and papa.” Annalise closed her hands and opened them back up, holographic images of Anti and Dark appeared on her palms. The group went into a stunned silence.

“Did you show her how to do that?” Dark finally asked.

“I have not.” Anti softly shook his head.

“You like?” Annalise smiled.

“Yes, yes, of course!” Anti held his hands and Annalise handed him the image. “I think it’s time for our little princess to go to bed, it’s getting late.”

“But, daddy!” Annalise protested as she was scooped up.

“Goodnight, Annie.” Wilford said with a wave.

“Night-night, Stache.” Annalise waved back.

“Your child is such a doll.” Wilford chuckled when Annalise and Anti were gone.

“She’s also a virus.” Marvin stated.

“She’s still a child, that doesn’t mean anything.” Dark said.

“Are all virus’ the same? Do they all have murderous tendencies like your husband?” Google asked. “I have no databases to look into for that.”

“What are you implying?” Dark asked.

“Would you allow your child to go into your field of work if she ends up like you guys?” Chase asked.

“Alright guys, I still have to give Dark my present and I’m pretty sure none of you want to see it.” Anti chuckled as he walked back in, preventing Dark from answering the question.

“Is it some kind of ritual?” Reporter Jim asked as Cameraman Jim aimed his camera at Anti. Anti smirked and leaned over, making sure his face was close to the camera.

“Yes, the ritual of me sucking Dark’s dick while he’s tied up to the bed.” The Jims looked at him with confusion while the other egos started saying random excuses for why they needed to leave. The twins were still confused as Wilford urged them to their feet and towards the front door.

“You two have your fun. We’ll see you for the new year.” Wilford said while ushering the stragglers.

“Papa!” Annalise giggled as she ran out of her bedroom and into Dark’s arms.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Dark asked with a chuckle.

“An offspring will cause pain to us all.” Host said quietly as Wilford shut the door.

Tag List: @readeatfightlove13 @kenzie-110101

#danti

[fairydrarry]

to [ @dr-aco ] ; hello suha and happy birthday my queen i love you so much!!! ur so old jeez im so proud of u! you’re like the best person ever?? and we don’t talk as much anymore but i want you to know that you are like the best non-blood-related sibling i’ve ever had :’) i hope you have the best day today <33

summary: everyone knew draco was conceited: he loved himself, and he was proud of how well he took care of himself. but everyone also knew that draco’s world didn’t completely center around himself - it also centered around harry.

Draco tossed his head back and laughed enthusiastically, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he messed with his blond strands. He had been midway through telling the story to the other eighth years in the common room of how he had been pranked by Dean and Seamus the day before - it was a brilliant prank, involving a well-timed distraction by Ron and a bucket of some green, slimy substance - when Harry walked into the room. Draco immediately reddened, leaning back in his chair as he avoided the brunet’s eyes.

“Hey, Draco.” Draco glanced up at Harry, his eyes immediately returning to their gaze at his restless fingers right after. “You seen ‘Mione anywhere? I asked Ron, he didn’t know.” Harry carded his fingers through his hair, tilting his head to the side in utter confusion.

Draco took his lip in between his teeth, trying to avoid any eye contact with Harry whatsoever. It was harder to talk to Harry, since every gesture the boy performed seemed to appear sexual - even something as innocent as running his fingers through his hair. “Um, n-no, haven’t seen her, sorry, mate.” Draco stammered, slowly lowering the wooden chair he sat in on the ground, which clattered cacophonously despite his attempts to gracefully set the chair down. Everyone in the vicinity flinched at the noise. Draco felt shamefully embarrassed at having been so clumsy in front of Harry.

“Alright, thanks anyway. See you tonight at the party?” Harry smiled politely and almost forcibly, tapping his fingers against the door frame he now leaned casually upon. Draco didn’t understand how Harry never reacted to anything embarrassing. As if he didn’t take note of every mess-up Draco made to reflect on and laugh about later. The blond paled at the thought, managing out a “Definitely” in response to Harry’s question. Harry nodded happily, exiting the room, and Draco exhaled a sigh of relief; he had never felt more stupid in front of Harry. Of course, the others in the room felt his pain of embarrassing himself in front of his crush, and a few consoled him and patted his shoulder. Draco welcomed the comfort and murmured a “thank you” in return, but he was lost in the intricacies of his mind.

Draco knew he had fallen down the metaphorical ladder in society after the war; he and his family had been on the losing side of the battle. He refused to call it the “wrong” side, because he detested being wrong. But he knew he had to work that much harder to earn back his place in the wizarding world. He was aware of the fact that he had essentially nothing left after the war, and had to build his way back to the top. It was a challenge he had gleefully accepted. Taking the challenge meant getting in with the right people - and the right people were the ones on the winning side, of course, which meant that Draco would have to infiltrate the Golden Boy’s little circle of friends. And he did. But he didn’t expect it to be so… rewarding.

Entering the circle, of course, was a tedious process, but Draco had yearned for the success of being in with the Boy Who Lived Twice. It was also a painfully sluggish process, composed of months and months of sucking up to the Patil sisters, then up to Dean and Seamus, and even impressing Lavender and Luna by winning over most of the Weasleys. He still carried a tiny grudge against Ron - it was usually small insults, thrown at each other only to relieve some stress and never laced with anger - but Molly adored Draco, and treated him as if his light hair were the same shade of her children’s; every year, Draco got his own knitted Weasley sweater. Hermione gained respect for Draco after he did everything to purchase a first-edition copy of Great Witches In All Ages (he had handwritten and Spellotaped in Hermione a detachable page about herself in the very front, as she was a great witch too), and anyone Hermione respected was respected by Harry as well. Which led to his place in the circle - he was Harry’s #1 (to be fair, Harry had two other #1’s, consisting of Ron and Hermione, but Draco felt honored nonetheless). He felt like he had a second family when he spent time with his friends.

Yet he still couldn’t speak a coherent sentence around Harry.

Harry, his best friend, outweighing both Blaise and Pansy, who had practically learned to walk with Draco. Harry, who never seemed to notice Draco’s mess-ups, no matter how large they were. Harry, who was seventeen years old and sported the same messy hair that he had when he was eleven. Harry, who probably wasn’t even into blokes, much less Draco.

Draco sighed aloud, blushing at the thought of Harry liking boys. What if he did like boys? Had he ever been with a boy? Kissed one? Draco could imagine Harry after curfew, sneaking around the castle with some random seventh year boy, kissing him just to see what it felt like.

The blond’s cheeks had turned a shade similar to Ron’s hair. His thoughts lately had been spiraling out of control. And they were usually about Harry.

Harry jogged down the stairs and turned the corner, headed for the library. He looked over to Madame Pence, who disregarded his entrance by continuing to examine a large book. Harry scanned the entire room for bushy hair. Spotting a glimpse of fluffy auburn behind a bookcase, Harry briskly strolled towards his best friend.

“Hermione!” Harry loud-whispered, effectively grabbing Hermione’s attention. She looked up from her spot on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf full of dusty, cracked volumes. Smiling, Hermione pushed her curls back and closed the book in her lap.

“How can I help you, Harry?” She asked sweetly. Harry always got the feelings that if he had a sister, Hermione would be the embodiment of how she would act. They commonly fought, but in the end, they always made up. Not just because Ron and Hermione had become closer than ever and were practically married, but because Harry cared a lot about Hermione.

The boy sighed deeply, sinking down to the carpeted floor and crawling next to ‘Mione, leaning against her shoulder. “I’m having boy troubles.” Harry mumbled, using a Muggle-world cliché to make Hermione laugh. It was a successful attempt; Hermione stifled a giggle, patting Harry on the head absentmindedly.

“Draco?” Hermione felt Harry nod against her side. “Oh, Harry. You know how he is - he’s just a shy boy.” Hermione lied straight through her teeth to the boy leaning on her shoulder. Draco was outgoing, stubborn, and proud, but it was a different story whenever Harry was around. Harry’s presence reduced Draco to a fumbling, illiterate mess. And Harry had no idea about the non-magical spell he put the taller boy under.

“I know, but it’s like…” Harry put his face in his hands, trying to find the words to express his thoughts. “He seems… uncomfortable around me, almost,” He raised his head to gauge Hermione’s reaction, “Like he’d rather me not be around.”

Hermione gave the dark-haired wizard a great frown. “That is most definitely not true, Harry James Potter.” Harry was unaware of what he did wrong, but snapped his attention to Hermione and had enough grace to look shameful. “To him, you’re his very best friend. You’re more important than everyone else.” The witch twisted Draco’s true feelings towards Harry into a more friend-like way; she didn’t want to spill Draco’s secret if he wasn’t ready. “He’d do anything for you, it seems to me.” Hermione adapted a faraway look in her eyes as she lowered her gaze to the floor. “He cares about you deeply. He’s just… shy.” Hermione finished her soliloquy, lamely reiterating her point at the end. Harry looked dumbfounded, as if he didn’t know what to do with all of this information.

His mouth opened and closed, similar to a fish. Hermione, contented with their talk, patted Harry’s nest of a hair and opened her book, resuming her reading.

Draco was pacing the floor, completely stressing about what to wear, and the party was meant to start in an hour.

The get-together was being held in the Gryffindor Common Room, as opposed to the Eighth Year one, meaning that Draco’s outfit absolutely couldn’t be red, gold, or orange; He didn’t want to clash with the most likely red and gold banners and furniture that would decorate the party place. Luna went around the school handing out invitations to everyone, and the little card stock square read that the invitees were to wear casual attire - those two words knocked out 75% of Draco’s closet. All the blond really owned were fancy robes. He supposed that wearing slacks and a button-up would be okay, but he knew he wouldn’t look casual. Fuck it, he thought, abruptly crossing his private room to the walk-in closet. I’ve got to own something that isn’t formal.

After a minor meltdown and two worried knocks from Pansy, who roomed in the chambers adjacent to his, Draco had decided on a long-sleeved light grey turtleneck and black “joggers.” Hermione, with her all-knowing self, had swooped over in Draco’s time of need and dropped them off. “Harry couldn’t fit these when I bought them for him, and neither could Ron.” They shared a glance at the name. Ron could have never fit any pair of pants that couldn’t fit Harry. That boy was built like a red-leaved Italian cypress. “They’re casual enough for the party.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Draco softly smiled at his bushy-haired friend as she slipped out of his room, shutting the door quietly. He sighed, flopping on his bed.

At least he didn’t have to worry about what to wear to the party anymore. But he still had to worry about Harry.

Harry was still laying down, relaxing without a care in the world, even though the party was meant to start in ten minutes.

That is, until Hermione bursted open the door and made him get ready in less than seven.

Draco fiddled with his fingers, a habit he only performed when he was nervous. He was standing outside the Gryffindor common room, waiting for his friends to show up. Standing alone next to a portrait of the Fat Lady made Draco feel even more helpless. Even if his friends were inside, he couldn’t get in - he didn’t have the password.

The Fat Lady shot him a nasty glance, making the blond cringe inwardly. Draco came to the conclusion that the lady of the portrait had heard of his being a Death Eater through gossip. It was a very silent, wordless conversation that passed between both of them, mutually agreeing that neither would exchange words to each other unless in a dire emergency.

Tugging on his sleeves, Draco took deep breaths in an attempt to relax. It was working, until he saw Harry climb the last stair of the staircase. He felt his heart immediately begin to race and his cheeks flush as he dragged his gaze to the Fat Lady, who was eying him with distaste.

“Hey, Draco.”

“Hi, Harry.”

Draco kept his eyes on the portrait, determined to not do anything embarrassing. Harry looked onward, walking right up to Draco and stopping right next to him. The blond stopped breathing.

“Gryffindor Gumdrops.” He spoke the password softly to the Fat Lady, who looked upon him with adoration as her frame swung open and revealed the chaos inside.

The two boys held despair and interest in their eyes as they saw students dancing around the common room with glee, tiny fireworks exploding dangerously close to the chandelier that multiple people were swinging off of. The familiar beats of Weird Sisters was blaring through a muggle-style speaker.

“Come on, Draco!” Harry yelled enthusiastically over the music, absentmindedly grabbing the blond’s hand and hopping over the ledge of the portrait hole, rushing into the noise that was this party. Draco reddened immensely at the contact between him and Harry, and stumbled along behind him, almost tripping over the portrait ledge.

Draco sat sandwiched between Parvati and Patil, who were braiding different parts of his hair and talking. The music had noticeably switched to a different genre, playing random Muggle songs that Hermione was in control of choosing. To say the blond was enjoying himself was an understatement: he was having the time of his life, hanging out with all his friends. Earlier in the night, there was a few rounds of “Don’t Wake The Lion,” which Hermione had informed him was an enchanted form of Jenga — though she had to explain that concept to him, too. Draco was too enraptured by the adorable little sleeping lion sitting atop the stacked wooden blocks to prepare himself for the loud roar that occurred after Seamus made the tower topple over. Harry had laughed at Draco’s reaction to the little lion. Draco was still filled with embarrassment at that moment. After that, they had what Dean had explained was a modified American football match with a sized-down football. Harry had scored a ‘touchdown,’ or at least, that’s what Ron yelled when the brunet had climbed on top of a chair and cheered. He had looked so happy with his ruffled clothes and messy hair, the blond wished he had taken a picture of that moment so he could cherish it. There was now a crowd of people standing on the outskirts, watching students dance in the middle of the room what Draco believed was called the “Cha Cha Slide.”

“So then I told him,” Patil continued her story, “‘That’s no ostrich, that’s a hippogriff!’” Draco was too polite to admit that he didn’t know what an ostrich was, but he chuckled at the story anyway. The twins began shaking with laughter as Hermione and Ginny strolled over. Draco waved at the two of them.

“Hey, how’s it goin’, partygoers?” Ginny wore her lopsided smile with twinkling eyes, her hands resting in her pockets. Parvati replied, “Never been better!” while Patil was too occupied with a particular fishtail braid in Draco’s hair to hear the question. Draco was about to reply, an overjoyed smile on his face, when he spotted Harry out of the corner of his eye. His smile dimmed. “It’s, uh, spectacular, Gin.” As Harry met his gaze and smiled, he rose quickly, the twins mumbling about how he had interrupted their hairstyling session. “I have to go immediately, I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder for a moment. “Thank you for the party.” Draco sincerely told her before rushing out of the Gryffindor common room, bumping into a few students on the way.

“What the hell happened?” Ginny said, shocked at Draco’s speedy exit. “Did I say something wrong?” She frowned, recalling the one sentence she had spoke.

“I don’t know,” The twins said in synchronization. They both looked at each other and giggled. Hermione gestured over her shoulder to Harry, who was watching the blond leave with a confused look, before sharing a knowing look with Ginny.

“I’m going after him.” Hermione spoke determinedly, but Ginny held her back.

“I think Harry’s already got that covered.” The redhead replied, watching Harry excuse himself from the crowd and dart out the portrait hole just before the painting swung closed.

“Draco, wait!” Harry shouted after the blond, who started walking faster after hearing the brunet’s voice. He sprinted after Draco, who stopped abruptly, causing Harry to bump into him and topple over.

Draco turned around with a frightened look on his face, a rosy blush settling across his cheeks as he frantically held out his hands towards the wizard sprawled out on the floor. “Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean to knock you over-“

“It’s fine, Draco. You’re fine.” Harry took Draco’s offered hands and stood up. But then he just stood there. Looking down at Draco’s hands.

The blond became flustered and tried to tug his hands away, but Harry tightened his grip to the point where he wasn’t crushing his hands, yet there was no way he could just slip them out of his hold. “Can you… let go?” He whispered quietly, not meeting Harry’s gaze and instead very focused on their intertwined hands.

“I’m afraid not. This might be the only way I can talk to you without you disappearing on me.” Harry held a note of concern in his eyes for the taller boy, who stood silently. His warm hands shifted in Harry’s. The brunet leaned in and tilted his head, trying to meet Draco’s gaze, but only succeeding in making the blond panic and take a step back. Harry sighed, inching his glasses farther up by scrunching his nose. Man, that was cute, the blond thought silently.

He took a tiny step forward, then spoke. “I’ve seen you excited and bubbly, relaxing with everyone and telling jokes and being the person I know you to be.” He took another step, this one minutely larger than the first. “But when I’m around you, it’s like you lose all function to speak and interact. You’re my best friend, Draco, you know that.” He took a pause and swallowed, the blond glancing up to look at his Adam’s apple before returning his eyes to a spot on the floor. “I want you to be who you are around me. Because I like you, the real you, and not hiding-behind-this-facade you.”

Harry let go of Draco’s hands, which fell limply at his sides. He waited patiently, watching Draco for any sign of movement.

“Are we having a heart-to-heart on the fifth floor of the Gryffindor Tower?” The blond replied, hoping that a joke would convey to Harry that he would do anything for Harry’s happiness. Harry smiled, but it was a slightly disappointed smile. The joke didn’t work. He shifted his gaze to a point beyond Harry’s left shoulder.

“You’re hard to talk to, Harry.” Draco bit his lip, trying to choose his words carefully. “I spent so long trying to be here, with all of your friends who are now my friends, and if I ruin it with you…” The blond took a pause to collect his thoughts. “Then I ruin it all.” He finished softly.

They stood there, quiet and pensive. Draco was scared on the inside, scared to say something that would mess up everything that he had worked hard for, and everything he had wished to work harder for in the future. He took a shaky breath. “I become a mess around you.”

Harry blinked slowly, examining the shy visage of the boy in front of him. “You won’t ruin it with me.” He took Draco’s hand into his and smiled. Draco smiled back.

#happy birthday suha!!!!!! #i didnt proofread this im sorry #drarry #my writing #drarry fanfic #drarry fanfiction