#I have no real idea what possessed me to give this flat colour as I already did clean lines

[legendary-guest]

"Eddie-Bear!" "A-Amy!"

[lovestrucked-again]

Delirium II | Mafia

Summary: After being kidnapped and claimed by the notorious mafia leader, he offers you a 7 day period where you’ll be given the option after of staying or leaving. Until then, you’re stuck, whether you like it or not.

Pairing: Mafia leader X female reader Word count: 2.9k

Genre & Warning: SMUT, fingering, Explicit content, kidnapping, mafia gang, possessive, toxic, yandere like personality, punishment, use of sex toys, multiple orgasms, rough, orgasm denial, begging, orgasm control, praise, teasing, 

Please don’t read this if you’re uncomfortable. A very obvious statement but this series is purely fictional, it is unacceptable in real life and should not be taken lightly.

Part 1 | Part 3

Day 2

When you wake up, the sticky feeling from between your thighs is gone. Your body is still bare but the sheet wrapped around you is enough to keep you warm. With the morning light shining through the windows, your finally able to look around the room. You sit up against the headboard, noticing the pain in your thighs as you drag them up. The room is simply decorated. The walls a dull shade of white with a neat desk in the corner. A few plants littering around the room, giving it colour.

The sound of the door opening brings your attention over to the person entering, your hands quickly bringing the sheets to cover your top half. Taeyong walks in, dressed in a white shirt and shorts, clearly having already showered.

“I made you breakfast. I know it’s just a bowl of cereal, but it’s the only thing I won’t burn.” He tells you, taking a seat beside you on the bed. His piercing eyes from the night before now soft and rounded.

“Thanks.” You mumble, bringing your arms out of the sheet to grab the bowl from him gratefully.

Taeyong smiles at you, the silence seeming strangely comfortable. You couldn't tell what this man was thinking. When you first met him, he looked at you like you were something delicate, the way he carefully approached you, pushed your hair behind your ears. Then last night happened, not that you didn’t enjoy the sex, but it was ….terrifying. You didn't realise his personality could change so drastically in just the little time you’d known him.

“Hey baby, I hope you don't mind wearing one of my shirts for now. I got one of the guys to bring your clothes from your place for you.”

“My clothes?” You question, confused.

“Yeah.”

“Why are you bringing them here?”

“Because your moving in with me.” He states, bringing one of your hands to his lap.

“Wh-what?!” You stutter out.

“It’ll be fun.”

“Wait no, I can’t.” You shake your head violently, “I won’t.”

“Baby I wasn't really giving you a choice on that.” He warns, his voice suddenly low.

“Look, I don't know if you’re okay or if you need some help but I’m not moving in with you, I don't even know you!” You tell him, your voice rising with your words, not finding his jokes amusing, “I don’t even know your name for fucks sake.”

“Baby don't swear; I don't like it.” He murmurs, his hand stroking circular motions on the back of your palm soothingly, “And my name’s Taeyong.”

“I won’t tell anyone about last night,” You whisper desperately, “just let me go.”

Taeyong lets the thought swim around in his head for a bit. Truth be told, he was going to have you no matter what, but perhaps you’d give him a little more liking if he lied.

“How about you move in with me for just a week, if you really hate me then you can leave.” He proposes.

“I’ll leave when I want,” you tell him, getting ready to pull off the bed sheets still covering your naked body, ready to leave exposed if you have to. Taeyong is quick to stop you, only needing to grip onto your wrist harshly to prevent you from moving.

“Baby, I gave you an offer, you can take it or decline it.” He cautions, “I didn't say you could bargain with me.”

His dark eyes are drilled into yours. And you can’t help but notice, the depth of the ink, sorrow, perhaps pain, that was hiding behind them. You couldn't see the whites of his eyes anymore, nor the vessels that flowed through them. He looked, frightening.

“I-I’ll take the offer.” You stutter out. His gaze makes you gulp, suddenly losing the attitude you originally had. You decide to just follow through with his words for now, you could always leave when he wasn’t around.

“Great well, let’s take you around the house for now.” He chimes, eyes instantly switching back as he happily grabs your untouched bowl, putting it on the bedside table. He walks over to his cupboard, pulling out a plain black t-shirt and brings it over to you, helping you slip it on.

“Lift your arms up baby.”

“I can do it myself,” You tell him, feeling embarrassed to let the sheets fall and your body expose itself to his eyes.

“Let me.” He pleads, his right hand taking yours and locking his fingers with yours. You let out a sigh, and you nod, wanting to hide under the sheets in a sheepish mess. Surprisingly he doesn't say anything as your breasts reveal themselves out of the sheets. His eyes are still trained on you, helping you slip the fabric over your head.

“Thanks,” You whisper, feeling flushed under his eyes. He laughs lightly, noticing the red in your face. He cups your cheeks and gently squeezes your face before pecking your lips.

“Wow don’t you just look adorable.” He exclaims, drawing out the last syllable. For some reason all his words and gestures only confuse you, strangely feeling like you were already use to his presence, his touch.

The fabric of his shirt reaches below your thigh, better than nothing. He peels back the bed sheet, giving you a hand to help you off the bed. You stumble a little, the sudden weight on your weaker legs unable to withstand the pain. Taeyong snakes an arm around your waist to support you just as you trip, already prepared to catch you.

The memories of the earlier event vanish as soon as you step outside his room. Who would’ve known the door would lead to such a large open, spacious area with a breath-taking view of your city. A huge flat-screen television dominated one wall, with a soft leather couch directly in line. However, it was the transparency of the windows that surprised you.

Your feet began walking to the glass, Taeyong following beside you. You must’ve been on the top floor of whatever building you were in. The faint outlines of people on the road, the entire view of the city in your sight.

“Wow.” You breathed out.

“Still don't want to live with me?” He whispers, moving to stand behind you so he’s able to envelop you around your waist. His head rests against your shoulder as you both stare out at the city, the sunlight shining on your skin.

“Who are you?” You mumble out-loud. You had no idea what was going on anymore. Who was this guy? How could he afford this place? What had happened in such a short time was over-whelming. The butterflies return to you as his hands lock around your stomach.

“Someone whose absolutely in love with you.” He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss on your neck.

You pull away quickly, the words swimming through your mind at a rapid pace. Taeyong takes a step back, letting you have some space to yourself as he walks over to his couch.

“What do you normally watch at home?” He asks, reaching for the remote and changing it to a netflix channel. You’re still lost in your thoughts when he calls again, “Baby?”

“I-I don't mind.”

“Okay, I’ll choose something then,” he replies, deciding between the first or second movie of Despicable Me.

You break your gaze from the city and turn around to look at him, “I didn't take you for a kid’s movie type.”

“It’s a cute movie.” He shrugs, patting the empty side of the couch beside him.

You sit down beside him, leaving a clear distinct line between the two of you to avoid being right next to him. You’re aware of the minimal clothing you’re wearing (only one of his shirts) so you keep your legs crossed on the couch, pulling the fabric down to cover as much as possible.

As the movie plays you can finally feel like you’re relaxing, immersed in the childish scenes playing out as both of you laugh. It feels comfortable.

You didn't have many friends, only receiving a few texts and calls from them once in a while to talk about their own love life. You were mainly focused on your education, barely taking any social time to explore. The one night you did, bought you here. You had gone for a blind date set up by your college friend and you agreed reluctantly. The guy was a jerk, leaving you alone in the middle of a dark street as he receives a call from his ex, clearly not over her.

That was just a few minutes before you had run into Jaehyun killing a man. And seconds later, you were bought here. To Taeyong.

Around 30minutes in your legs start cramping suddenly, most likely from sitting cross legged the whole time. Taeyong notices you shift in your seat, your hands massaging your lower calves.

“Put your legs up, you need to stretch them.” He tells you, patting his legs for you to swing them over.

You hesitate for a minute, but his expression’s sincere, “Thanks.”

You place your legs on his lap, finally stretching them out and Taeyong starts massaging your calf for you. “Is it this leg?" He asks, bringing your left leg closer to him.

“Yeah.” Taeyong wraps an arm around your legs, keeping you there as he adjusts himself, sitting comfortably. Your hands hold onto the hem of your current shirt, making sure it doesn't move.

As the movie’s almost finishing, your cramps have subsided. You realise Taeyong had continued to massage your leg, using less pressure throughout the movie. As you’re staring at his soft features, still mesmerised by the little minions on the TV, your brought back into reality.

“Taeyong?”

“Yes baby?” He replies, eyes still drawn to the movie.

“Why am I here?”

He reaches for the TV remote, pausing the movie, his focus now on you. “What do you mean?” He asks.

“Why didn’t you let me go?”

“Because I like you.”  

“You don't know me.” You sigh, exasperated at his response.

“I don't know you? Are you sure about that baby?” He asks, amused at your question.

“I’ve been here for what? Maybe less than a day? Of course you don't know me!” You tell him, stating the obvious.

“Baby I do know you though,” He says, smiling smugly, “I know how to make you scream, I know how to make you beg for a fucking, I know -.”

“Fuck off Taeyong.” You growl, his arrogant attitude annoying you again.  

“What did I say about swearing.” He tsks, pulling your body closer to him by tugging on your legs. Your shirt rides up as he drags you, nearly revealing your ass.

“Don't touch me.” You warn, snarling back at him, as you move back to your side of the couch, bringing your legs back to your body.

“That’s not very nice.”

“What’s with you and your crappy attitude Taeyong? One minute your soft and kind, the next you’re like some arrogant lit-.”

“Baby I suggest you reconsider that sentence.” He grins, relaxed and confident as he moves closer, his hands gripping onto your exposed thigh.

“Arrogant little bastard.” You finish.

Taeyong lets out a low chuckle, his eyes flipping a visible switch as he stands up and picks you up easily, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a squeal in surprise, slapping him on the back as you shriek.

He kicks open his bedroom door, throwing you onto the bed as you land with a soft thud. Before your able to grasp the situation, he opens the drawer from the bedside table slipping the small gold key from around his neck off, he unlocks the case of a square box. The lid flips open and he brings something out of the case. Your neck is craned in the direction, watching his fast movements.

"What are you doing?" You ask, sitting up immediately when you see the item. Taeyong reveals a large, egg-shaped object with a faint string (unnoticeable to you) coming out of it. “Punishing you.”

“What is that?” You gasp, seeing the shape of it.

Your unable to see it properly as he turns around, pulling you by your ankles as you fall back against the mattress. He grabs your thighs tightly, pushing them apart. "You're dripping, baby. I can see your juices running out of you already.”

“What? No I’m not.” You argue, feeling insulted at his statement.

The shirt now no longer covering your thighs lets you feel the air of the ceiling fan spinning above you. Taeyong’s eyes staring right at your exposed pussy. You see him lean forward, bringing the object in his hand closer to your thighs.

You tense and brace yourself, expecting him to shove it in, but the hard shove doesn't come. Instead, he presses gently, rolling the probe back and forth in tiny motions. His other hand slips between your legs as his fingers stroke your pussy and you let out a loud moan.

Eventually, he slips it inside of you, pushing it completely in and leaving only a thin string hanging. The shock paralyses you for a second, as you feel yourself engulfing it whole. Then you shriek and burst into tears as he turns a wheel on a small remote. The vibrator comes to life, buzzing inside you.

“Oh my god Taeyong!” You scream, your hands travelling everywhere, bundling in the sheets and clawing at your own thighs. You squeeze your thighs shut involuntarily and it only causes the vibrations to intensify, bringing a soft moan from your mouth. Taeyong stands up from the bed, pulling up his reading chair next to the bed. He sits down, adjusting the chair for the best view, and watches you write against the bedsheets.

“Ta-take it out.” You groan. He leans back in the chair, smiling, watching you struggle. You thrust your hips in the air, trying to dislodge the buzzing toy; but from his point of view, it looks like you’re fucking an invisible partner. You writhe and twist, as he turns up the speed and power of the vibrator.

“Ju-just fuck me,” You stutter out in a moaning mess, desperate for him.

“What was that baby?” He asks, genuinely surprised at your sudden confession. He turns the dial down for you to repeat yourself, but not completely off.

“Ta-take it out and just fuck me.” “Not right now baby.” He smiles and laughs, leaning back again as he switches it back to high.

The vibrations inside you continue relentlessly as your body grows weak with exhaustion. You clench involuntarily around the hard, smooth object as the vibrations become tingles in your belly.

Taeyong watches. Little by little, the tingle becomes stronger. The thing inside you thrums, fanning the desire into a sense of raging, desperate need. You sigh and moan as your hips rock up and down.

"Good girl. Take it." Taeyong murmurs, moving beside you now to let his one finger part your folds. You let out a gasp as he finds your clit. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

“Y-yes.”

He moves his finger in circle motions against you as the constant buzz chips away inside of you. Soon your hips were rocking again, your head thrown back in a whining mess as he presses harder against your clit. You whimper wordlessly and grind your hips against his finger. "Please...please..." The need consumes you. Your body left on fire as all you can think of is nothing but the vibration inside. You clench and thrust your hips upward.

Taeyong grabs the cord, pulling the vibrator out of you with a single rough tug. The tingle abruptly stops and replaces you with emptiness, tinged with desperation. You felt wetness roll down your thigh, and you pushed your hips back, frantic, longing to feel something inside again but finding only empty air.

He replaces it with his fingers, pushing them roughly inside of you at a savage pace. You let out a loud sob. “You love this, don't you?” He chuckles, continuing his thrusts. "You still need more, don't you, little slut? You can't get enough." He picks up the egg-shaped vibrator again. "Let's see if this does the trick." Without preamble, he shoves it roughly inside your lips, watching it disappear. You gasp and shake as he turns it on to its maximum setting for the first time, letting it resume the hard, insistent vibrations.

Your orgasm comes, ripping through your body like molten fire, and as you clench and tighten, pain lashes through you, too.

When it’s s over, you crash back to earth in a shock. Taeyong turns off the vibrator, pulling it from you with a slurping sound. You make a weak mewling noise as it finally leaves your weakened body. He sits on the side of the bed and pulls you onto his lap; your body curling up around him in instinct as he strokes your hair.

“You did well baby. So well.” he murmurs. Finally, some small amount of strength flows back into you. You open your eyes and look up at him, able to speak at last. "What was that for?" He brushes a stray hair away from your eyes, and looks down at you. "Because you swore again." He smiles.

[marvelfansince08love]

Small Reminders

Word count: 3306

Pairing: Cordelia Goode x Reader

Warning: Some talk of low self-esteem. Delia being a sweetheart. 

Prompts requested: 3 “Just kiss me”, 7 “While they all fall in love with her smile, she waits for one who will fall in love with her scars,”

A/N: Two in one day? What is this madness! Wonderful Anon, enjoy love x

Thanks @imnotasuperhero​ for editing, boo x

Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @saucy-sapphic @coconutlipss @creepingwolfberry @muted-stoneheart @chewbacca0805 @witchxaf​ 

Prompts 3, 7

Being one of the only mature students at the academy, made you feel very intimidated and insecure about your abilities as a growing witch. Learning the craft at such an older age meant that the other girls at the academy were very wary around you, as if waiting for you to blow over with this built up power that you never had the chance to unlock. It made you fidgety at first, knowing that eyes were constantly staring at you as if you were this unique creature. 

“How can you go this long without realising the power you possess,” 

“Is she even a witch?” 

You’ve come to ignore the blatant stares and the not so subtle comments wanting to harness your powers into something far more interesting, like manipulating Madison into being overly flirtatious with Zoe to confuse the innocent couple knowing from the rumour mill about their past ‘interests’ with Kyle. You smirk, remembering how during a salty argument between the two girls Madison had reached over and kissed Zoe on her cheek before stepping back horrified by the action, while Zoe blushed red in response. You had hid your amusement behind your open book just as Cordelia Goode had walked into the room, her eyes seeking out your own as if already knowing the cause of such awkwardness and if the twitch of her lips were any indication, she also shared in your amusement. You blush slightly, thinking of the certain blonde head witch, your supreme. 

Cordelia Goode had seeked you out along with her confidant Myrtle Snow after hearing about your small incident with a fire at your country home. She had such kind eyes, the ones you would seek out when in need of comfort. She whispered soft words of reassurance, letting you know you weren’t going crazy. Her touch was soft against your skin that day, tracing along your cheekbones, the touch grounding you leaning into her offered touch.

“You’re safe now, Y/N. Let us take care of you, darling girl.” She had said, her smile bright and easy that it could single handedly stop any war or conflict. She was the most incredible person you had ever met. 

That was over four months ago and you had grown closer to the older woman, seeking out her guidance whenever you were struggling. The others would tease you about your closeness with the supreme but you would argue back that she was just as close to Misty Day as she was you. You would blame it on the similar ages between you three, but you knew that your feelings for the powerful witch were more than just platonic. It only grew with each passing touch on your shoulder, the secret smile and wink she would send to you at the dinner table while the others chatted amongst themselves. 

You continued to think about that particular thought as you grinded down the now dried out herbs in the greenhouse. Apart from the library, this was your favourite place to come and unwind, clearing your thoughts as you worked. The sound of the glass door opening startles you from your work, making you drop the mortar onto the floor with a clang. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Here, let me get the broom and pan.” Delia’s concerned voice rushes, as she makes her way further into the greenhouse heading for the broom to clean up the now broken mortar. You go to protest, trying to justify that it was your fault as you dropped the damn thing. She shakes her head not wanting to hear it. 

“No, it was my fault for startling you while you worked, darling. Let me get this cleaned up and then we can talk.” She informs, making you blush at her pet name for you. You crotch to join her with cleaning up the small broken piece much to her disapproving look. As you pick up the pieces and place them into the dustpan you feel her gaze flickering between your face and the task at hand, sensing her nervousness already. 

“Are you okay, Delia? What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” You ask, taking the initiative to start the conversation. Placing the broken pieces in the pan on top of the table, Delia turns towards you and clasps both your hands in between her own, that breathtaking smile appearing onto her soft features. 

“I have some good news. How do you feel about teaching a class this afternoon? Just some of the basics. It will show the younger girls just how much you’ve come along. A true inspiration.” She gushes, excitement evident in her big dark eyes as they lock with your own conflicted ones. Her smile falters at your lack of enthusiasm at her proposition. “Or not, that’s okay as well,” she retracts but you can hear the disappointment in her voice.

“I uh, I dunno Cordelia. I um... I don’t think I’m good enough to be teaching these young witches anything.” You confess, uncertainty laced within your voice. Dark brows frown at your words as if trying to understand them. 

“Darling girl, you have such a strong power.. I wish you could see just how special you are. I see it within you everyday,” she pauses, removing a hand from around your own to place flat against your heart. Making you inhale deeply at the intimate touch. “I can feel your powers growing stronger every day, Y/N. You have so much to offer, not just to the coven but to yourself.” She finishes, her eyes trying to gaze in your wondering ones not wanting to meet the intensity of her brown eyes.

Keeping your eyes trained to the side you mumble sadly to her. “I wish I could believe that, Miss.Goode. I’m sorry, but I would like to give that a miss but thank you for the opportunity.” You gulp trying to keep the sob from escaping, the negative thoughts about yourself slowly creeping in. You feel her remove her hand from your chest, giving you space to leave knowing you are done with the conversation but ever too polite to say. You bolt out of the room the second she gives you that silent permission. 

***

“You just have to be more patient with her Delia. She’s a sensitive soul, my dear.” Myrtle’s raspy voice advises, ever the wise one. Cordelia sits across from her mentor, one of Misty’s herbal teas brewing between her hands as she takes in her words. Her gaze watching the flames flicker from the fireplace within her bedroom. 

“I don’t know what else I can do. She thinks so little of herself, I can feel the insecurity and doubt seeping from her like a cry for help.” She shakes her head, unable to process just how little you see yourself. 

“She may be able to hide that side of her to the rest of the coven but I can see her, Myrtle.” Her voice trembling, saddened by the fact that you have not been able to make real connections with the rest of the girls. 

Myrtle looks at her daughter with understanding, she was there the day you had both met completely engrossed within each other's presence. It was like she just faded into the background, not that she minded of course. Myrtle loved the idea of Cordelia finally finding someone who would treat her like an equal, but who would love her as if she held the clouds above her. That was the look she saw in your eyes that day as Cordelia cradled your face close to her as you came to terms with who you really are. 

What Cordelia didn’t know was that the redhead had been keeping a close eye on you, way before the accident at the house. She watched you fight with yourself everyday, trying to push aside that negative energy that kept a tight hold on you, the forced smiles you would pull to the others around, fooling them as you fooled yourself that you were happy and content with yourself. Cordelia hadn’t been stupid when Myrtle finally came to her telling her all about this new witch who could use their guidance, she could see the look in her mentors eyes knowing she was up to something. 

As it turned out from the moment that Delia had laid her eyes on you, she knew exactly what she was up to. While Cordelia had healed for the most part from her past traumas, her low self-esteem, never feeling like she could be good enough, could never possibly be up to her mother's high standards. She knew that for you, all those emotions were still new and very raw which was why when she held you that day, she made it her mission to make sure you never were to feel like that again. Myrtle reached across to place her hand on top of Cordelia's free hand and pats in sympathy. 

“You know what you have to do, my dear. Think outside the box.” 

***

Over the last few days, you’ve become very frustrated. Colourful sticky notes have been left purposefully within your path around the academy, all signed to you. This made you nervous, you wondered if Madison had anything to do with it, maybe even Coco. You had returned from your daily meditation with Queenie and Misty, both trailing in behind you. You groaned as soon as you spotted the bright pink note on your vanity table, already feeling your cheeks heat up. You may be frustrated with this mysterious person and their secret notes but it didn’t mean you have grown fond of finding them throughout your day. Queenie snickers behind you, already knowing about the secret notes that you had quizzed her about late last night as you grabbed hold of the tiny piece of paper. 

You are worth so much more than your darkness - Yours X

“Damn girl. This is like what, the seventh one in the last three days?” Queenie comments, peeking over your shoulder at the note as Misty joins her on your other side. 

“We have a lil’ sweetheart on our hands,” Misty comments, taking the note and placing it into the small box that keeps the other heartfelt words locked away from prying eyes. You clear your throat feeling an overwhelming lump in your throat, the words effecting you more than you would like to admit. 

“I’m sure it’s one of the younger girls playing tricks.” You defend, quickly locking the box and putting away. You hear them both scoff behind you before silence settles among the room making you turn to face them in question, eyebrows raised at the mischievous grins.

“What?” Misty gazes away from you as if faking interest in your hanging plant plot on your wall, while Queenie crosses her arms across her chest looking very smug.

“It’s just that… and correct me if I’m wrong, but that handwritin’ looks awfully familiar to me.” Misty says with indifference, stroking the leaf from your plant. You frown at her riddles, slightly frustrated that they both seem to be on the same page while you appeared to be on a different book entirely. 

“Hmm, yeah. Now that you mention it Mist, it looks very familiar to me too,” Queenie plays along, a mischievous glint sparks within her dark eyes as she watches the gears turn in your head. 

“Guys seriously, enough with the mind games. Do you know who this is?” You ask tiredly, indicating to the black engraved box on your table. Misty sways slightly towards you, a bright orange note between her fingertips holding the piece of paper between your face and hers allowing you to grab a hold of the note. 

“I found this on my side of the room. Clearly whoever left it forgot that I shower wayyyy after you do and I know this ain’t for me.” Misty drawls out, a small smirk on her lips. Keeping your eyes locked with the woman, you take the note from her hands and read the black swirling ink. 

While they all fall in love with her smile, she waits for one who will fall                                      in love with her scars. 

                      You may not see it, but I certainly do. 

                               My special darling girl,

                                         Yours X

You re-read the last few lines over and over again, realization dawning upon you as you read the personal nickname that only one certain blonde supreme calls you. Shaking your head, you move to sit onto your bed that lies parallel to Misty’s. The two women sit beside you on the bed as they wait for you patiently to accept who the mysterious person is. 

“But I-” A tut from Queenie stops you in your tracks. 

“You two are so obvious except to each other. You two lock eyes at dinner and I feel like I need to excuse myself,” Queenie teases, gently shoving her shoulder against yours making you fluster at your poor attempts to act normal around the beautiful blonde. 

“I don’t understand.” You mutter, eyes still locked onto the black ink. The two friends lock eyes over your head before they both go to stand. Misty places a comforting hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently as if trying to give you the confidence and strength you need. 

“Go talk to Delia, Y/N. She clearly has something to say to you.” Queenie suggests with such kindness that it makes the unshed tears build within your eyes. 

“O-okay, I’ll talk to her.” 

And you did exactly that. 

Later that evening, once the rest of the coven had retreated to their rooms for the night. Queenie and Misty had given you not-so subtle thumbs in as you continued on down the hall towards the supreme’s bedroom where you could see the faint orange light seeping beneath her bedroom door, indicating that she was still in fact awake; much to your relief and dread. 

You breathe out slowly as your fist hovers over the wooden door that is currently stopping you from making either the worst or best decision. With a soft knock and a faint ‘come in’ you open the door and peer through the gap tentatively, feeling your breath hitch at the perfect sight in front of you. Sitting with her back against the arm of the long sofa, her knees up towards her chest as an old book lays open upon her thighs as her long satin black dressing gown hangs low just about touching the cream carpet, is Cordelia with her long blonde locks draped towards her breast her signature black rimmed glasses perched on her perfect nose. She looks up at you as you enter fully into her room smiling softly, shuffling slightly, feeling awkward for interrupting her downtime. Knowing she doesn’t get enough of it due to her status within the coven.

“Hey, darling girl. This is a nice surprise.” She comments, placing her book onto the draw next to the sofa. You gulp at hearing the name that has stirred up so many feelings within you, even more so since reading her last note. You smile shyly and head towards her as she indicates for you to take a seat across from her in the single plush chair. 

“I’m sorry to disturb you so late into the evening, Cordelia. I um- I,” you stutter, suddenly feeling very foolish for coming here in the first place. Cordelia tilts her head in confusion waiting for you to gather yourself. She leans forward and places her hand on your knee, her thumb stroking calm strokes along your bare knee due to the night clothes you were wearing. 

“Darling, what is it?” She asks, her voice awfully soft that you feel your own heart melt by the sound of her tenderness. Instead of answering her you decided to bring forth the note that was read last by magic, watching as her eyes widen momentarily before the corners of her big doe eyes crease due to the knowing smile that appears onto her soft pink lips.

“Ah, so you finally figured it out.” Is all she says as she leans back, crossing one leg over the other. Looking regal as ever and so, so calm. God I hate that she can be like that during these types of conversations. 

‘You secretly love it though,’ you remind yourself. 

“I just- I just don’t understand why. Why the secret notes? The words used? I don’t understand why you would send them to me of all people.” You admit, dropping your gaze as to not show her just how affected you are by those words. 

Cordelia moves from the other side of the sofa and around towards you. Crouching in front of your hunched figure, she grasps your chin between her thumb and index finger forcing you to look at her. 

“They are reminders.” You frown at that, still not quite understanding which makes her lips twitch attempting to smile at just how oblivious you were.  

“Reminders of just how perfect you really are to me. It’s how I see you, Y/N. I know you have scars that cut deep, maybe even as deep as mine. I get you like no one else does because I’ve been there, my darling. You may be able to hide behind that forced beautiful smile of yours but I can see the sadness in your eyes.” She declares, brushing her thumb across your wet cheeks collecting the fallen tears that roll quietly down your face. 

“I don’t deserve your kind words, Delia.” You whisper, unable to make your words clear in fear of breaking down. “I’m just so tired.” You splutter out before dropping your chin down to your chest, unable to keep her gaze. It’s far too understanding and kind towards you, and you aren’t used to having such compassion. 

“Shhh shh, it’s okay. It’s okay baby, I’ve got you.” She hushes, standing to allow you to collapse forward burying your face into her stomach as she keeps you close. Once you feel the last remaining tear fall, you exhale deeply trying to compose yourself. 

Looking up at the blonde witch you feel that overwhelming sense of love again for her, that contentedness that grounds you whenever you are around her. Something shifts between you in that moment as you lock eyes with the blonde beauty, her hands move from behind your head to cup your jaw prompting you to stand so you are more equal to her. Standing a breath away from her, you take in her features as she does the same, as if silent words are being exchanged.

“This may be a bit forward of me but-”

“Just kiss me, Delia.” You force out, your need evident. As you brush your lips lightly across her own. Hearing the slight intake of breath, indicating just how affected she is by your demand. Pressing hard, you allow yourself to sink into her hold. The feel of her soft full lips finally against your own, you can’t help the satisfying moan that escapes your throat making her moan back in response. 

“God, I could kiss you forever and never get tired of it.” She breathes, her voice raspy and desperate. 

“Who’s stopping you?” You whisper back. Your eyes hooded with arousal as you take in her swollen lips. At that, Cordelia smashes her lips against your own silencing any more conversation for the rest of the night. 

You both knew there was more left unsaid but for right now, you’d show each other just how worthy you are to one another by gentle touches, soft kisses and gentle promises of forever. 

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

Dincobb Week Day 3 - New Experiences (SFW)

Welcome to my Dincobb Week fanfic posts! I've written stories and scenes of varying lengths and tones. For clarity I should say that most of these exist as miniature AUs of their own and have no continuity with each other or with anything else I've written about these characters, so in different pieces they may be described having different physical features, personal possessions, preferences, et cetera. (There are three exceptions which I'll note as such when they come out.) Thanks to @djarining, who helped me a lot with brainstorming and discussing my ideas!

For today I have two pieces, an SFW and an NSFW - the NSFW is scheduled to post an hour after this one.

New Experiences

Cobb keeps on saying he’s been cold before, it gets bitter cold out in the desert at night, and Din has kept on telling him that yes, that’s cold, but it’s not ice and snow cold, and if he’s going to take him on a trip he needs Cobb to trust him about the appropriate clothing.

He does need thermals, he does need thick wool socks, he does need a heavy parka, wool cap and mittens.

“What about you?” Cobb asks. “You may be wearing thermals under your suit, but I don’t see a parka.”

“I’m used to making do without one,” says Din, “but I have higher standards for you.”

“Have ‘em for yourself too, then.”

“All right then. I will.”

“Just see that you do.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Din says, smiling inside his helmet.

“I’m the boss of everyone, they just don’t know it yet,” says Cobb with a cocky grin.

Boss or not, he’s got Din to wear a parka over his beskar, which he doesn’t altogether like to do. The shiny breastplate is for show as well as for function. A symbolic declaration of identity and values. Well, everyone can still see the helmet, and he compromised on cutting off the parka sleeves just above the elbow so his vambraces are free and functional. This is meant to be a pleasure trip, just to show Cobb a different world as a treat, but he’s still not about to go anywhere without ready access to his grappling hook, flamethrower and whistling birds. Safety first.

He lands the small ship he’s borrowed from Boba on a small, flat-topped hill overlooking a frozen lake, its edges frosted white and its heart a turquoise blue. In fact, if you’re generous with your aesthetics, the lake is sort of heart-shaped. He wonders if Cobb will notice and appreciate that. They lower the landing ramp and step outside into a brilliantly sunny day. The air out here is so cold and crisp it stings your face. Cobb actually gasps. Din gives him a few moments to walk to the bottom of the ramp, then slowly, carefully, extend one foot and put it down and feel the crunch and squish of the snow under his boot.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“It’s weird!” says Cobb enthusiastically. He sees his own breath condensing on the air and huffs out another cloud of warm mist. Then, “Ow.” He puts his mittened hand to his ear.

“You forgot to take out your earring?” Din asks.

“I was excited to see the snow,” Cobb says sheepishly. “And I love it. You gave it to me.” It’s the beskar dart tip from a whistling bird and Cobb is almost comically proud of how it looks glinting in his earlobe.

“Well, it’s gonna get real cold and I don’t want you to get frostbite. Hold still,” Din says. He pulls off his gloves, gives them to Cobb to hold and carefully removes the already chilly earring. He pulls up one of the hook-and-loop flaps of Cobb’s parka pockets, tucks the earring firmly down inside, presses it closed, then pulls Cobb’s wool cap down to cover his ears properly. “There.”

“This hat is crushing my hair,” Cobb grumps.

“A Mandalorian helmet couldn’t unpretty your hair, but you think a toque will?” Din asks, pulling his gloves back on.

“Aw, Mando, you think I’m pretty?” Cobb beams at him, more radiant than the sunshine on the snow crust.

“C’mon,” Din says, embarrassed. He does think Cobb is pretty but he has too little experience of romance to be able to say it smoothly. He grabs Cobb’s hand and pulls him along, heading down the slope towards the lake. Cobb slips and flounders and laughs. He starts to lurch forward, catches himself and throws himself backward, landing on his butt and then flopping on his back with his arms outstretched. “Come on,” says Din, with a chuckle. He reaches down and pulls Cobb up to his feet, leaving his outline in the snow.

“Hey, look at that!” says Cobb, twisting to look back. “It really takes a print, doesn’t it? Not like dry sand at all. It’s so crazy that this is water.” He scoops up a mittenful and crumbles it around.

“Try squeezing it,” says Din. Cobb squashes the snow between his palms. “See how it compacts? It’ll hold together.” He’s remembering the short period his first covert spent living someplace very like this, a little compound in the snowy woods. Unlike most covert locations, it offered both secrecy and open space for children to run and play. The snow forts they built and the snowball battles they fought were both educational for warriors in the making and tremendous fun for a motley assortment of kids in hand-me-down winter clothes and soft training helmets. The snow was the first thing that brought him out of his shell to play with the others. Up to then he had been his foster father’s shadow, dumb with sorrow, until finally the sight of them running, shouting, flinging snow had sparked his attention.

Buir had seen where he was looking as Din stood beside him holding tightly a fistful of his cape. He’d looked down at Din, his helmet impassive, nothing like his lost parents’ dark, expressive eyes and smiling, talking mouths. But there was something kind in the tilt of his head, and he gently jerked it in the direction of the romping foundlings. Buir barely spoke because his larynx had been crushed in a fight years before. Rather than speaking through the mic in his helmet, he would hold a little electrolarynx device to his throat when he really needed to speak aloud, but more often than not he used a modified sign language, finding it more convenient. That was what he told Din back then, but thinking on it now, he’s fairly sure Buir switched to relying on signing because the electrolarynx made him sound a lot like a droid, and he saw how uncomfortable that made the child he’d picked up. He didn’t need to say “Go on”; Din understood, and after hesitating a moment longer, he released his grip on the crumpled fabric and ventured out to play.

That was the day he learned to make snowballs, and it’s something he can teach Cobb now, how to press and mould the snow between cupped palms, how to roll it down the slope, picking up more and more snow as it went, turning it between the two of them to keep its shape even and rounded. It makes them both laugh just out of happiness and satisfaction. Cobb’s cheeks and nose are flushed a sweet rosy pink. His eyes are bright, their hazel colour almost gold where the sharp sunlight catches it, and he’s altogether so lovely a sight that Din is glad his face is hidden and he can stare as openly and foolishly as he wants.

Together they build a snowman where the ground flattens out; he gets an idea and labours back up the hill in the sliding snow into the ship’s hold and brings back a bucket to mould its head into a snow Mandalorian. After that success they make their way down to the lake, and after Din checks how solid the ice is, they venture out on its surface, skidding around a little. Cobb keeps grabbing hold of his hand, and although it actually makes both of them a bit less stable, Din’s happy to let him. When Din asks, “You want to try sliding?” he’s immediately game. They run and slide on foot, on knees, and on a few accidental occasions on their asses until they’re out of breath and glowing with warmth. It occurs to Din that apart from a little light Grogu-entertaining, he hasn’t really played in years. He still knows how, though. Panting and laughing, they stagger off the ice and begin making their way back up the hill, wallowing in the knee-deep snow, helping each other up by reaching down from above or by pushing from below (hands on butts). At the top they look back at their chaotic trail across the formerly perfect snowscape.

“What do you think of it now?” Din asks.

“It’s fantastic,” says Cobb. “I couldn’t have imagined what it’s really like. And there’s no one I’d rather be here with than you.” He throws his arms around Din and, to his surprise, kisses him smack-dab on the cheek of his helmet. He can’t feel it, of course, but he enjoys it symbolically, at least for a few moments until it becomes clear that Cobb’s lips are stuck to the frosty metal. He tries to pull away, gives a little muffled cry of panic and pain, and stares helplessly through the eyeslot of Din’s visor. “Hnnh!”

“Dank farrik — it’s okay, hold still. Just — okay, put your hands on the helmet, hold it, take the weight. Got it? Don’t let go or it’ll peel your lips.” He steadies it with his hands too and brings his head and shoulders down, pulling his head out of the helmet. He’s dazzled by the unfiltered bright light for a moment, then gets a proper look at Cobb, scarlet-faced and glaring with anger, confusion and embarrassment, still smooching the helmet. He has to bite his own lip hard not to laugh, but it’s not really funny, he doesn’t want Cobb to get frostbite or tear the skin off his lips. “Stay there,” he says, turns and runs up the ramp into the ship. In the tiny, cramped galley he draws a cup of lukewarm water from the tap, then rushes back, trying not to spill it. “Okay. It’s okay, just hold very still for me, got it?” Carefully, he pours water over the join between lip and metal, while Cobb breathes loud and fast through his nose. After a few moments the icy seal breaks and Cobb is able to gently, carefully peel his lips away from the helmet. They’re very red and they look like they’re sore and stinging. “You don’t look like you’re bleeding anywhere,” Din says hopefully.

Cobb cautiously runs his tongue-tip over his lips and winces. “No, but they feel raw,” he says. “Goddamn that was cold!”

“I think you’ll survive,” Din says.

“Well, sure, I’ll survive,” says Cobb. “But could you kiss ‘em better?”

It seems only fair.

[pastaaa-bird]

Day 4:historical

@aphrarepairweek2021

Sorryforbeingadaylate

Oh warning for very minor swearing(only happens three times) but other then that there is nothing inappropriate and also there is implied period typical homophobia in this

Summary: An 80s human AU where a stressed out Chiara (nyo Romano) is saved from going crazy by a hero(Amelia aka nyo America)

Basically this is just fluff, fluff and more fluff

Chiara Vargas was a second a way from flipping her desk and raging down the halls, or at least she would be if she had not possessed just enough self control to hold back on the urge.

“Fuck fuck fuck….” Chiara muttered, the sound coming out muffled from her face being squished against her desk in failure.

“OH, CHIARA” came a high pitch voice down stairs.

Reluctantly she lifted her head to the sound.

“WHAT?I'M BUSY”,she yelled back, mentally cursing her brother for disturbing her sulking.

“A CERTAIN SOMEONE IS HERE FOR YOU",

“WHO IS IT?”,

“YOU'LL HAVE TO COME DOWN AND SEE",

After managing to hold back a bitter protest she stood up then stormed down stairs.

“This better be worth my time, Feli or l swear to Dio l’ll-",

Chiara came to a halt once she saw the girl beside Feliciano.

“Hey!” a cheerful voice as usual from the smiling blonde with pink sunglasses in her hair, dressed in her demine shorts,  red t-shirt and long white socks with a pair of roughed up old sneakers.

“Amelia- uh hi there" She replied while awkwardly fidgeted with the sleeves of her jacket, embarrassed at the realisation that she had heard her yelling.

“Nice to see you calm down, anyway l’ll you two ladies to it”, he winked at Chiara who rolled her eyes at the look, not sure whether to love or hate that it felt the exact same to when her grandfather would make comments about her bringing a boyfriend home.

He disappeared into the sitting room to join Valentino on the couch.

“I was wondering if you would want to hang out, we haven't done that for ages”,

“Oh right, ugh l don't think l can”,

“Sure you can! You're not busy are you?”,

“l am, study”,

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that.

“Study? Our exams aren't till two weeks" ,

“I know, l know but l'm sick of revising everything on the night before the exam, besides l need as much of time as possible to understand this crap",

“Ah fair enough- how about l help ya with it? math l'm guessing?”,

Sighing at the memory of her many failed attempts at completing and understanding equations and formulas she nodded.

“Yeah, but are you sure?”,

“Definitely!”, stated Amelia with both hands on her hips and standing tall to her eagerness for the task.

“Alright then...",

A while later Chiara found her self back at her desk with Amelia standing beside her reading over her practice questions, nervously waiting for the results.

It felt like an eternity before Amelia finally looked up and spoke.

“And…that's like sixty five percent right!”,

“Sixty five?! Where did l go wrong this time?!”,

They had been at this for quite some time now. Despite Chiara’s frustration she stayed relativity calm for the most part thanks to Amelia’s encouragement and little jokes that made her either outright laugh or complain due to what she claimed was annoyance even if though she did find it humorous.

“Symbols, you forgot them again, there's supposed to be a measurement symbol at the end of this to say whether it's centimetres squared or cubed or meters squared- eh you get the point...", she paused then continued.

Miss Kirkland is your math teacher, right? She's real strict when it comes to small stuff like that so she takes off a lot of marks”, explained Amelia while doodling with the pen in the corner of the practice sheet of paper Chiara had used.

Miss Kirkland, certified smartass- even if it is technically her job to be one. Now, Chiara didn’t exactly hate her but she was far from a favourite in terms of teachers she was forced to put up with.

She hated how Miss Kirkland loved to call on those who she knew where not paying attention, there was a sense of snobbishness when it came to the way Miss Kirkland would proudly correct the unsuspecting student with a smile that more closely resembled a smirk.

“l hate this, I'm so close to getting this right but l keep screwing it up”,

“Come on it's fine! You've made awesome progress since when we started! It's only been like what….an hour? Give yourself some credit",

“…l guess you're right. But I'm also stuck for other things- like history and geography suck",

“ Wanna head to the library? They got good resources for both”, questioned Amelia now looking up from her doodling.

“Nah, I've had enough school for today. Let's do something else, anything in mind?”,

“Ooh! A few things-“,

Understandably Chiara was not surprised when they had arrived at the arcade on their bikes.

“Is this becoming an addiction for you?”,

“Ha-ha very funny, you have your obsessions and l have mine”,

“You even call it obsession, keep all this up and l'll be hosting an intervention for you",

This time Amelia genuinely laughed in response, Chiara savoured every second of the sound.

They were stuck there for a while, when it came to Amelia's great interest and Chiara’s competitive attitude it was easy to guess that there would obviously be competitions to see who could score the highest.

To Chiara’s dislike Amelia ended up winning proportionally more then she did followed by listening to the victory taunts from Amelia.

And it seemed that as quickly as they arrived they where off again.

“No, no, no, nah, no, nope, no”,

“Oh come on! l thought you weren't a quitter”,

“I have my exceptions, this is one of them",

Roller skating, she wanted Chiara to roller skate. Clearly Amelia wasn't aware of the fact that Chiara would likely crawl into the ground out of embarrassment if she would likely- no when, when she would end up falling flat on the floor.

“l'll help ya along! You'll be fine", urged Amelia tilting her head to the side with pleading eyes.

Upon arrival to the centre she instantly felt her heart sink knowing what would be expected her. After much convincing from Amelia and equally as much rants about what could go wrong from Chiara- she ended up agreeing to at least attempting to skate.

Chiara felt her chest tighten and face heat up once she suddenly felt the hand of Amelia intertwine with her own, guiding her into the skating area after they got their roller blades.

It was fascinated to see how effortlessly Amelia could move, practically gliding with ease although at a much slower pace due to guiding Chiara along. For this moment anyway, Chiara forgot how to feel anxious.

The last destination for the day was the local diner.

“Two milkshakes please, a double chocolate for myself and a strawberry and banana mix for her”,

“Coming right up, dear", replied the waitress.

“Oh and don't worry l'm paying, l owe ya for last time with the ice-creams” reassured Amelia after she placed their order.

It was the small things that Chiara adored about Amelia the most, how she remembered her favourite foods was one of them. Along with her passing small notes with funny faces on them to her whenever they shared a class and she had noticed that Chiara was dying of boredom.

They sat on the high chairs in front of the counter top as they awaited her drinks, Amelia flapped her hands with giddy excitement once they were received, Chiara couldn't help smile at the sight.

She thought about sharing the milkshake together, putting the straw in her drink like those shitty romantic movies Amelia loves so much. It would be cute wouldn't it? Cuter to see Amelia's reaction to the gesture! She smiled to herself at the idea.

Then her face dropped.

No, no they couldn't, not here, although her smile was brought back again by looking towards her girlfriend who had all her attention on blowing bubbles into her drink.

“Should you really be playing with your food like that?”, she questioned placing the straw into her own drink.

“Might as well make the most of it when my folks aren't here to tell me off ", Amelia shrugged in response.

Chiara found her self agreeing with that mentality and joined in with the childish behaviour.

They cycled back to the house, it was getting dark already.

Amelia was invited in and the two walked past the living room seeing Feliciano and Valentino with their eyes still glued to their precious TV.

At peace now they were sat together on the back porch. There was a small garden behind the Vargas' house, it was closed off by the tall fence( put there mostly so the neighbour's cat couldn't hope over and ruin the vegetable patches or flowers).

The air was humid all day and was beginning to cool down with the sun getting lower and the clouds moving in.

For what could have been anywhere from a minute to a thousand years the two spoke about anything and everything, the topics seemed to flow so easily, naturally changing with ease.

Finally the two sat in comfortable silence, looking towards the sky who’s colours had turned into oranges, yellows and pinks.

This is what Chiara so deeply enjoyed, how they could just sit together and feel so secure.

Routinely this what would be done for one another if the other was upset and asked for so, this time was often spent with their hand held or being hugged by the other.

 There would be times where Chiara in particular would wish to be alone, in cases like this Amelia would go prepare or buy a snack for whenever Chiara is feeling okay again, it gave her something to look forward to when she needed to be alone with her own depressing thoughts.

Sometimes when Amelia would be upset she would just want to vent and vent with no words of “it will be okay" or “look on the bright side of things", Chiara was there to listen and agree with the difficulty of whatever situation she found herself in.

Chiara's head was rested on Amelia’s shoulder, her arm wrapped around her in response to it.

Now it was getting cold, thankfully she still wore her jacket…but maybe…

“Amy?”,

“Yeah?”,she quietly answered back to the nickname.

“It's getting a bit…chilly don't you think? Would you, would you like my jacket?”,

“Oh...Uh sure.If you wouldn't mind that is”, a blush covered Amelia’s cheeks, she was rarely flustered or at least visibly.

The jacket was a gift to Chiara for Christmas from one of her relatives, it was given oversized to her but she kept it since it seemed more comfortable like this. On Amelia the jacket finally looked normal, it fit her well and looked quiet lovely.

They went back to silence until Chiara broke it again.

“Thanks by the way. I really needed today- to get my mind off of all this stupid fucking stress l've been trapped in lately",

“Of course. We all need a break now and then",

“You could say that again…l love you" Chiara looked up, her chin now on Amelia's shoulder.

Amelia glanced down at her and grinned.

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart"

The end

Okay now for me rambling

Uhhhhh l read through this and l don't think l made any mistakes? I'll edit this if there are and sorry if you saw any, idk l'm bad at checking for mistakes and l don't have someone to proof read for me

Oh and Valentino is human Seborga and alsooo not sure if l made it clear but Feliciano does know about their relationship and also Chiara is Bi and happy to feel valid in her relationship with Amelia as if it were the exact same as when she is with a guy and not something taboo in this time period

ALSO damn, sorry this isn't that particular to the 80s- l did leave out things l was originally going to add in though! Like l was going to have Felicianio and Valentino have a movie marton but according to Wikipedia they werent common around then and the ones that did happen were anime soooo y e p

Also thought about adding in a house cord phone but eh idk it felt nicer to have Amelia visit instead of having Chiara call her or if l tried writting it as Amelia calling and then showing up it just felt forced and weirdly put in any way l tried to write it in

AH l am so worried that this is boring or cringy, like l honestly can't tell if it is or is this fine-ehh l guess l've written worse um yeah if you've read this far thanks :)

(I'm editing this for mistakes and wtf 90 is so high why would she be shocked- damn l think l know why l originally wrote that, l was thinking Amelia said ONE of the questions is 90% right but before it l said she was correcting multiple questions so it reads as multiple questions being 90% right all together ANYWAY l corrected it so it's fine again okay bye -AND it turns out l missed some mistakes yet again-editing this for the 3rd time rip)

[theficplug]

l Next Lifetime l Erik Killmonger l

warnings: none, but the usual 18+ for the eventual smut and a possible tw for grief but i promise it gets better and its a romcom

synopsis: reader grieves Erik until she doesn’t (i’m trying not give too much away). I really want to make it a series that i actually keep up with (sorry Girls Trip readers) because I have up to part 4 written. alright thats all i hope yall vibe with it. 

erik killmonger x black reader 

Every night since Erik crossed over into the ancestral plane he has visited you in your dreams. You went through every single stage of grief before you began to accept the facts. 

At first you sat and festered in your anger for him and refused to talk to him. The audacity of him,  after you begged him not to follow through with the idiotic plan of trying to take on all of Wakanda. 

You told him that his ideas and his heart would’ve been in the right place had they not have been clouded by rage and carrying years of hurt and anguish. You understood where he was coming from but you knew and he knew that the way he was going about it was only going to leave him with one ending. 

He loved you more than anything but once his mind was made up about something there was nothing in Heaven or Earth that could change it. 

You knew that he would have to see it through even if that meant to his own demise . 

On the first night you would be lying if you said that you didn’t cuss him out for leaving you like that and going off and getting himself killed. You told him that he had done the same thing to you that “King” Azzuri had done to his father. Left you feeling alone and to deal with the loss of not having your heart with you. 

“I COULD HAVE LOVED YOU THE WAY YOU WANTED TO BE LOVED. I COULDN’T HAVE LOVED YOU MORE EACH DAY IF I TRIED. FUCK YOU E. THAT WAS SO DAMN SELFISH OF YOU. FUCK YOU. I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU. AND YOU DON’T HAVE THE RIGHT TO INVADE MY DREAMS LIKE THIS. YOU AREN’T EVEN REAL.” you would yell into his face and watch as his demeanor was a lot different there. 

It was as if his Earthside worries didn’t bother him as much his face seemed much more relaxed and his scars had healed over. 

You would run your fingers over his chest as the tears well in your eyes and you take in the sigh of him for a moment. 

“I know… It wouldn’t have been enough. I couldn’t contain it. It felt like something had come over me . Possessed by the idea of revenge. I needed it. I felt like my father’s memory was worth avenging until I sat down with him here. He and moms sounded a lot like you at first. They were pissed off, but they understood. The ancestors told me that “a child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth”. I wanted their warmth at first. To know what it would feel like to have what T’Challa and Shuri got to experience their whole lives. But it was something about the heat of fury that felt different. But I realized somethin’.  On this side, don’t none of that matters. None of it. The only thing I see and think of is you and how I wished I would have focused on growing old with you instead.” he explains and you fall into his arms to let out the sob that you had been holding in for a while.

You wake up in the dark room in cold sweats and gasping for air. You realized that you had been crying in your sleep and wiped your eyes before trying to shake it off and smack at your phone to get the alarm to stop. 

For weeks it would go on like this every night. You would settle into bed and fade into hues of reds and purples as you wander around finding him sitting in different sections of the flowers and creeks. He was holding a little bouquet of random tulips and wildflowers in his hand for you. 

You settle on the grass next to him and rest your head on his shoulder as he turns to kiss your head. 

“You ever wonder what life would be like if it wasn’t like this? If we could truly do anything, be anything and not have to worry about everything else.” you ask him and he takes your hand in his. 

He looks at you pondering your question for a moment before tucking a lilac into your hair.

“Nah, I can’t let myself think like that because I'll get stuck in wishing I were there. Instead of getting to enjoy these moments and building my own lil slice of heaven with you.” he says quietly thinking things over before leaning into kissing you softly. 

You wipe at the tear falling down his cheek before replacing your thumb with a kiss. 

“Take me back to being 6 years old in the cool murky ass Toll Plaza waters,feeling weightless, not caring about a damn thing.”

 “We’re reaching out for each other with our popsicle stained hands and laughing at shit that doesn't even make sense but it made sense to us. My gramps yelling at us to not go too far out so that he can get to us. We called him crab pawpaw for the rest of the day...What I wouldn't give to be sitting on my grandmother’s porch swing, trading cards with you. Our birthday is coming up soon. I’m going to miss getting charms from you.” you say to him softly as you run your fingers through his thicker beard and take in every second that you get with him. 

“I’ve been promised that I can give you something more special than a charm. You gotta just trust that everything gon’ be alright.” he reassures you and pulls you closer into his arms 

“GIRL IF YOU DON’T GET UP RIGHT NOW. YOU LEFT THE ROAST IN THE OVEN-” your best friend Tika yelled from the kitchen as she flailed around with the extinguisher and you wake up puzzled for a moment before letting out an “oh shit”. You remember that you laid down on the couch  to scroll while your roast baked and the next thing you know, you were sleeping and that that old ass oven is smoking. 

You spring up from the couch grabbing a towel and fanning the fire alarms trying to get them to stop blaring before the Super comes pounding at your door. 

“Alright. Alright, stop hollering. I was trying to surprise you with a nice dinner to thank you for being there for me over the last 9 months. I know it ain't been easy having me mope around and not be myself. I swear I sat down for 10 minutes tops and I was just flat out asleep. Them doubles at work has been kicking my ass and grad school-.” you explain and Tika shakes her head.

She puts the extinguisher down and holds up her hands. “When my dad passed junior year of college, you and your entire family were there for me and my mom. You guys made sure that we had food for weeks and were able to make rent on time and everything in between. I know what grief looks like. I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my life like that. I know that we didn’t know Erik like you knew him but the way you talk about him. You’ve convinced me that he hung the moon itself in the sky.” she reassures you and you nod while looking over at the blackened roast that's sitting in the pan, burnt to a crisp. 

“It’s only 6:30. Wong’s is still open. I'll just go get something real quick. Do you want vegetable noodles and the teriyaki chicken again?” you ask as you pull on your shoes and grab your umbrella. 

“Surprise meeee and you owe me flan for cleaning up this messss.” She sing songs as she grabs the mop.

“Leave it up to a theatre major to turn nearly burning down our apartment into a song. I got you.” you reply, laughing on your way out the door. 

You couldn’t shake what Erik had told you in your dream this time though. He had been promised that he could give you something better than a charm. What the hell did that mean though? You were sure you were probably just overly stressed and exhausted from working and classes. You were going to enjoy your birthday beach trip this weekend with your friends and try to put everything else behind you. 

Somehow as lost in your thoughts as you were you managed to make it to Wong’s and back home just in time to greet an overly dramatic Iridia at the door. 

“What the hell happened here?” she asks, sitting down her bags and surveying the burnt roast and little residues of foam still left to clean. 

“She fell asleep and almost turned our overpriced condo into dust.” Tika answers for you and you give her a small nod.

“I got you spicy egg rolls?” you offer and she hesitantly takes her order from you with a small smile.

“Got something to lift your spirits. It’s new dresses to wear this weekend cause girl I get it. I do, but grey is just not your colour sweets. You’ve got yellow undertones, you need scarlet reds, ochre. Something, not, this…” she trails off pointing at your baggy sweats and oversized sweatshirt. 

You laugh softly at her bluntness finding it kind of nice that some things have remained normal. 

“Whaaat? I thought this was hermit chic?” you retort sarcastically. 

“Thank you. That’s almost sweet of you.” you reply by taking the bags from her. You look at the red mesh dress and admit that if there’s one thing about Iridia is that her bougie self got style and you missed getting dressed up. 

 You thank the girls one final time before retiring to your room to finish some of your assignments up. You look over at the clock and notice that it’s 2 am. You crack open the fortune cookie on your nightstand and eye the quote etched across the small piece of paper 

“Pfft. If only that damn 10$ that i lost last week could circle back around to me. That’d be nice.” you thought to yourself before closing your laptop and trying to get some rest to have enough energy for this weekend. 

As you settle in the usual hues of lavender, violet, and scarlet come into view and you are taken into the field of flowers and you giggle as the butterflies land on your shoulder and one on the tip of your finger. 

Your plan worked. You only thought about E’s favourite double chocolate cake and hoped that you’d be able to bring it into your dreams with you.

You carried it proudly as you scan the field of flowers and beautiful willow trees for him. 

“E? E ! Happy Birthday to us! E. Where you at?” you call for him and look around but he’s nowhere to be found. You sat on a large boulder by the water hoping that he was just exploring and would find you eventually. 

You didn’t get much sleep that night after waking up shivering and in tears thinking about how the only connection you two still had left was broken. 

You do eventually fall back to sleep only to dream about running across campus and being late to a final even though you were nearly done entirely with university. 

A few restless hours later and you were already dressed and enjoying your fresh brew while watching the world awaken from the kitchen window. 

“Good morning.” you startle Iridia and Tika who were trying to sneak into the kitchen with breakfast and set everything up for you. 

“Damn we can’t get anything past your insomniatic self. Buon compleanno bambina!” Tika says sliding on her little party hat. 

“You’re wearing the dress! You look so pretty and is that eyeshadow I see on you? Okay lemme find out our girl is slowly coming back to herself.” Iridia says smiling at you. 

“Thank you, do I smell pancakes?” you question and they laugh as they hand over the box to you. 

After you have all gone over plans for the little weekend trip you grab your bags and are ready to hit the road. 

It was only an hour to The Smith’s beach house for the weekend but all 3 of you were well stocked with snacks and playlists. 

“We are heerrrreeeeee” Tika announces while parking the car.  

You get settled into the lavish and snazzy beach home, courtesy of Iridia’s parents. You hadn’t been since junior year of college and was just glad to be in a different setting.

“They said that the wine bar is open to us and we can have the party here as long as it looks the same as when we found it.” Iridia says already getting ready to change into her neon bikini to compliment her rich complexion and hit the beach. 

“What, it’s summer? You never know who the winds of adventure are going to blow in-”

 “FUCK MEEEE” you both hear Tika call from the bathroom down the hall. 

“HUN?” you call back and you both laugh at the long sigh followed by “guess who Mother Nature decided to surprise 2 weeks early? I didn’t even think about it and didn’t pack any tampons.” she explains

“On it. I’ll be back in like .2 seconds in the meantime toilet paper pad it and figure out which boutiques we’re going to damage our savings with first.” you say before hearing Tika’s protests. 

“It’s your birthday. I’ll go.” Iri suggests and you shake your head. “I love y’all but it’s our first birthday that we don’t get to spend together apart from when he joined the military and I know he wasn’t perfect and he had his flaws but I really wish that I could get to hug him once more. To make him feel special even if just for a second… So please, I'll get the tampons. I could use the fresh air.” you say quickly dabbing at the tears prickling the corners of your eyes. Iri pulls you in for a hug before nodding and starting the conversation with Tika through the door about if she would prefer to go for the street festival first or the carnival games.

- - - -

You pull at the top of the sundress getting it to hit just right and not fall down as you make your way down the aisle of the market and pick up a few things that y’all might need for the weekend like the small cups for shots, fresh fruits for your ‘cure to a hangover’ smoothies, and food. 

You pick up a small double chocolate cake with ‘happy birthday’ written in cerulean letters.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry ma. I don’t mean to bother you right now but  I got a head splitting migraine right now and can’t find the Advil for nothing and was hoping maybe you’d know which aisle? That’s what I get for listening to my friends talking bout,  drink “the beast”. Niggas had me dreaming in colours and flowers. I felt like I was traveling through space or something... It’s my birthday too. Happy Birthday “ you hear the man ranting away behind you and his voice reminds you of E’s. You chuckle softly to yourself before turning away from the cakes to see the man's face. 

You let out a loud scream and drop the cake on the ground . It crumbles instantly across your sandals and everything fades to black before you faint. 

When you came to you were sitting in the break room of the market with Erik and the store managers who were opening a ginger ale for you and asking if you were okay. 

You nod slowly, coming to, and closing your eyes again to count to 5 as they leave the room. 

“This can not be happening. I know that this is not happening right now.” you say to yourself and you look up at him again to see that he’s still standing there. 

“It’s hot as fuck outside. You probably just got a lil overheated. This ginger ale is cold so you should be alright.” Erik says to you and you shakily take the ginger ale from him. 

“Who are you? I don’t know what kind of joke this is or who put you up to this, or if my girls thought that this, whatever this is would be funny but it’s not. It’s really insensitive.” you say as tears fill your eyes again. 

“I’m N’Jadaka Stevens? My parents, I’m adopted, but those are my parents regardless, own Aloha Oakland so you ain’t gotta worry about paying for this” he gives you the bags of items you collected before you fainted.

“ I just wanted to make sure you’re alright. I never come down here so I don’t really know where shit is in this place. I'm actually here with my own friends, celebrating my birthday. So, I don’t really know what’s going on. You good?” he asks again before asking you to follow his finger. 

You wrap your arms around him and break down sobbing. “Happy Birthday.” you whisper to him and he looks at you puzzled for a moment. 

“Ma, you lowkey weird but everybody needs a hug and I can’t have my birthday twin crying on her special day so come here.” he says squeezing you a little tighter. 

“If you’re here through the weekend. I’ll catch you around. Try to stay out of the heat but if you go out try to keep something cold with you to drink so you don’t pass out again.” he advises and you take him all in. 

 You slowly give him a once-over noticing that his hair was now faded and it was neatly lined up on the sides connecting with his beard. He slid off his hoodie and left the black tank top underneath, you quickly noticed that there were no scars or keloids. His jaw was unclenched and there was no vein popping from his forehead. There was a serene and relaxed look etched across his face despite him stating that he had a migraine earlier.

“But shiiit if you don’t mind. Can I get your number? Cause for some reason. I don’t know why I feel like I know you? To be honest I don’t remember much from before being adopted.” he admits 

You nod your head before putting your number into his phone and you grab your bags and quickly make your way to your car. 

You breathe in deeply through your nose before looking around. “I’m losing my fucking mind.” you say to yourself quietly. “I gotta be. This can’t- This can’t be happening right now.” you say resting your head on your steering wheel.

- - - -

“What happened to you? It’s been like an hour almost. Are you okay?” Iri questions as she eyes you and the bags. 

“I just. I fainted that’s all and they wanted to make sure I was okay before going home.” you explain and Tika thanks you for the tampons as Iridia overly dramatic self sighs and presses her hand to your forehead. 

“Poor thing, I knew I should’ve gone with you. Sit down, I’ll get you a cold glass of Stella Rose.” she says laughing at the wine part and walking to the kitchen. 

Group Text from DakaStevens84: Party @ Royal Rochelle’s Roller Rink. Yes, the roller rink cause who says you’re too old for a roller rink? Come skate fast and shake ya ass.

You laugh softly at the message knowing that this is something that he would’ve totally wanted to do but never took his eye off his plan or gave himself time to just breathe and be. 

“My fault.  It’s Daka from Aloha Oakland btw. My friend Orleans really tryna go through with this. Man a whole ass party planner and this the best he could come up with. Y’all can still come through though if you want. I wouldn’t complain if I got to see you again, and them pretty ass coffee eyes.” he texts to you and you smile softly at the butterflies fluttering in your stomach while looking at the text

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” you ask Iri as Tika joins you at the bar.

[tag list @doublesidedscoobysnacks @chaneajoyyy @mirandkimy​ @doitforthevine67 @dasia21 @depressionandfandomsinc @sinfully-dope @ambitionwood @heybriheyyy @wholelotta-melanin @theesotericqueen @mbakuwife @spookys-girl @teardropzih @bigchoose @ceo-of-baby @sweetpeachjones @lost-ssoull @love17us @beautifullmelodyxx​ @ghostfacekill-monger​ @shyblackgurl​ ]

[panda-noosh]

set me free {Draco Malfoy x Reader}

Words: 12.3k

Summary: Death Eaters aren’t supposed to care.

Genre: angst

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - please let me know if you guys would like a part two to this?? because i feel like there’s a lot more i could explore. anyway, enjoy!!

----

You're getting used to waking up in a new place everyday.

  The spell wears off after twelve hours, the perfect amount of time for them to move you from one place to another. It does not matter how many times you tell them you will go willingly; they never listen. They don't want to risk it, don't want to put up with a little half-blood, only fresh out of Hogwarts, screaming and kicking in an attempt to get released.

   Lord Voldemort has too much to worry about already.

   Your eyes peel open slowly. That familiar headache is at the forefront, the first thing you feel besides the cold concrete pressing against your tender cheek. Your hands are shackled, but the chains are useless; you're always weak when you first awaken, much too weak to attempt an escape, and they know that. The level of magic they use on you would be enough to paralyse anyone.

     You look up. The room you are in is small – as they often are – and doused in uncomfortable darkness. A little light glows from beneath the door, and above your head you can hear people walking back and forth, the odd whimper coming from whatever victim Voldemort has acquired today. Water drips steadily from a hole in the concrete roof, slapping against the back of your hand which lay flat on the floor; you clench your fist just to make sure your fingers are still working, that he hasn't taken the extra precaution of damaging your limbs, too.

   You push yourself up at long last, though the effort is exhausting. Your head feels too heavy, and your limbs too sluggish, and the idea of facing the day weighs you down to the point where you're half tempted to just lay back down and pretend to sleep. Maybe you can convince them they've finally gone too far, used too much magic, killed you entirely on accident.

   But you don't, because your curiosity gets the better of you, just as it often does.

   You stand on wobbly legs and make your way over to the cell-like door locking you in. You push it, getting a surprise when the door actually opens to reveal a concrete staircase leading up to a rickety looking wooden door at the very top. You poke your head out, glance left and right before slowly making your way towards it.

   You know you shouldn't be doing this. Lord Voldemort will order someone to come get you when he wants your presence, but you currently have no idea where you are or who is present, and that's all the sentiment you need to find yourself breaking the rules these days. You were in Slytherin for a reason, whether that reason be as extreme as Voldemort's or not.

   Behind the wooden door there is a hallway. Long, empty, eerily decorated with portraits of dark wizards you have only seen in the history books. They grin as you slowly make your way past them, trailing your bruised and cracked fingers along the emerald green wallpaper that almost seems to shine beneath the lights cast upon it. Your feet – bare, bruised, cold – sink into a plush carpet of the same colour – the Slytherin colours.

    And part of you recognises this place. You're certain you've seen it before, somewhere, maybe a long time ago, maybe recently. Either way, it makes your blood run cold, a startling fight or flight response settling in the pit of your stomach that you pay no attention to. You couldn't fight if you tried considering Voldemort has your wand, and the idea of trying to flee from him is scarier even than walking through these strangely familiar hallways.

    You turn a corner, appearing at yet another large wooden door. It's a double door this time with a brass knocker and shiny gold handles; you approach, slowly open the door-

   You realise your mistake only too late.

  A spark of green light misses you by inches. It's only because you haven't even got the door fully open yet that the magic whizzes past you, slamming into the wall at your side. A painting cries out and slips down the wall. Inside the mysterious room, chairs are scraping backwards and people are calling out to whoever they believe is behind it – you close your eyes, uttering a curse to yourself that you could be so stupid.

   “Open that door immediately, please.”

  It's his ice cold voice that makes you step forward, even though every instinct in your body is telling you to turn and run, pretend it was someone else. You enter the room – clearly the dining room – and bow to Lord Voldemort, and Lord Voldemort only. These other wizards pretending to be big and bad can all get locked up in Azkaban in your opinion.

   Lord Voldemort smiles. It's fake, and you know it is, but it calms your nerves anyway – maybe he won't be so angry at your intrusion, at the fact you took matters into your own hands and decided to have a stroll around this very large, very confusing mansion.

   “Ah. Y/N's awake,” he says, not unlike a husband telling his wife that the child has stirred. “How was your rest?”

   “Fine.”

   He stiffens.

   You quickly correct yourself. “Fine, my lord. Exactly what I needed.”

   He grins again, the skin stretching grotesquely across his nose-less face. You want to look away, but keep your eyes forward in fear of offending him.

    “And I can see you've made your way around Lucius's mansion just fine on your own. That's good. We don't have to waste time with the tour.”

  You flick your gaze over to Lucius – you know him, of course, have seen him parading around Voldemort's feet for nearly as long as you've been here.

  “This is your home, is it, sir?” you ask.

  Lucius looks up, scowling. “It is. The home of me and my family.” He gestures vaguely to his right, and there you see the rest of them. You don't know why you didn't recognise each of them immediately, because you've heard all about them from Hogwarts.

   Standing beside the head of the house is Narcissa Malfoy and her son, Draco, both of whom look miserable. Narcissa holds herself with the same tough restraint as her husband, pretending she's meant to be here when in reality, she looks so far out of her comfort zone it almost makes you feel bad for her.

   Draco, however, isn't even trying. He looks at you, lower lip wobbling, eyes wide, because he knows exactly who you are and where you've come from. He went to school with you before the Daily Prophet was writing about your sudden disappearance, before the wizarding world took a week to look for you before ruling your disappearance off as a murder and leaving it at that.

    “Draco,” you say, giving him a bow. “Lovely to see you again.”

  “Ah!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands. Around him, Death Eaters flinch, but you've gotten used to his dramatics. “I had a suspicion you two might know each other – you were in the same year at Hogwarts, were you not?”

   The question is aimed at Draco, but you answer. “We were, my lord. Both in Slytherin.”

   “Interesting. Quite a coincidence.” Voldemort gestures to the empty space beside him, and you stiffen, already knowing what he is offering. “Have a seat, Y/N. Meetings always do feel a little flat without my favourite little helper by my side.”

   Nagini hisses, as if scolding you for taking her place as favourite. You give the snake a glance before slowly making your way to Voldemort's side; it's only with all these eyes on you do you take into consideration what you look like. Your hair, a tattered mess, clothes ripped and ragged. You wouldn't even go as far as to call them clothes, more like rags magicked together into something that can cover your body.

  You sit down on the ground next to Voldemort. Nagini slips into your lap, swipes a tongue over your fingers before settling down around your shoulders; Death Eaters stare in awe, wondering how on earth you have somehow managed to tame the beast they are all so afraid of.

  You look Lucius Malfoy dead in the eyes and stroke the top of the snakes head.

  Voldemort smiles down at you for a second longer before he turns back to the table and continues with whatever meeting you had previously so rudely interrupted.

  You can't even bring yourself to listen. You're exhausted, brain still reeling from the effects of the unknown magic used against you. You want to close your eyes, try sleeping again – for real, this time – but the weight of the snake in your lap and the tension in the room keeps you bolt upright, staring around at the Death Eaters Voldemort wants you to call family, but will never be family to you.

  Your eyes land on Draco. He's not looking at you, because he's wise and he knows his place. Instead, he keeps his gaze dead ahead, hands locked in his lap like a boy terrified of his first day of school. His lower lip continues to shudder, but his parents offer not a single word of sympathy – nobody does. Around him, Death Eaters are in the same position – goodness, even his father looks a little frightened, refusing to look up to meet the eyes of the man they claim to adore so much.

  Man. Even that term is used loosely in regards to Lord Voldemort.

  The scariest part is, he knows it.

  “Y/N here was kind enough to let me borrow their wand.”

  You look down at your lap. “My pleasure, my lord.”

  You can hear his nails clicking against the wood of your wand, the one thing you have ever truly cared about. It's in his possession now, but you were never under any illusion that it was ever fully yours once Voldemort took you under his control; as soon as Voldemort brought you along with him, every one of your possessions became his. Nonetheless, you have to curl your fingers into fists to stop yourself from reaching out and snatching your wand back. That will end badly for everyone.

  “Ten inches, made of hawthorn wood with a. . . What was the core again, Y/N?”

  “Unicorn hair, my lord.”

   “Unicorn hair.” Voldemort chuckles; the sound slurs through his lipless mouth, and you shudder. “Not as powerful as my own, but sometimes we're not looking for power. Sometimes, we're looking for quick escapes. Isn't that right, Peter?”

  A knee smashes against the bottom of the table. “Y-yes, m-my lord. Of course you are correct. Always correct.”

  You scowl; you've never liked Peter Pettigrew.

  “Thank you, Peter,” Voldemort purrs. “Always so supportive. And what about you, Draco? How do you feel?”

   Draco looks up, and so do you. You aren't entirely sure why, considering you've always found it so easy to listen to the suffering of the Death Eaters when Voldemort is questioning them; however, there is something about the way Draco's silence stretches that little bit too long, the way Voldemort's sickly smile slowly begins to drop, the way Lucius leans across the table and hisses, “Draco, answer him!” that has you pulling yourself to your feet, Nagini still balanced over your shoulders.

  “Perhaps it is safe to assume Draco is a little bit tired, my lord,” you say.

  Everyone around the table goes still. Dolohov utters, “Stupid little wizard,” beneath his breath, but you pay him no mind. Already you have interrupted Voldemort's questioning; you do not want to make it any worse by turning your attention to someone else. You'll get Dolohov later.

  Slowly, Voldemort turns to look at you. “Did I say you could stand, Y/N?”

  “No, my lord, but I just-”

  “You claim Draco is tired.”

   You falter. “Y-yes, my lord. I made the suggestion that he is tired, and perhaps that is why he is taking a little bit of time to gather his wits today.” You glance at Draco, who stares at you with wide, watery eyes. “Us youngsters are forever messing up our sleep schedules; you must understand, my lord, he means no disrespect.”

  “I'm feeling good,” Draco blurts out, the words rushing so fast from his mouth that his body jerks along with them, shaking the unused cutlery on the table. “I'm feeling very well, my lord. Of course I am. I'm here, aren't I?”

  Despite Draco's long-winded answer, Voldemort keeps his eyes trained on you. Slowly, he reaches a hand up and strokes the top of Nagini's head – his finger is so close to your cheek now, close enough that you can feel the wind from each of his strokes. Back and forth and back and forth, Nagini humming in contentment as she bundles a little tighter around your shoulders.

  “Good,” Voldemort says quietly. “I'm glad to hear it, Draco.”

  You swallow thickly. He continues staring at you for a moment longer before he says, “Pettigrew.”

   Again, Peter jumps, his knee slamming against the underside of the table. “Y-yes, m-my l-l-lord?”

  “Take Y/N back to their rooms – you know the one. I will have a chat with them later on.”

   Peter stands up immediately, wrapping his tiny little fingers around your upper arm. You continue staring at Voldemort until Peter tugs on your arm and drags you from the room, uttering incoherences under his breath. As the door begins to shut, you cast yet another, final glance over your shoulder, feeling your stomach flip when your eyes meet Draco's.

  The door slams shut, and you're thrown back into the dungeon.

  ----

  “Sometimes keeping your mouth shut doesn't ensure safety, young Malfoy.”

  The darkness responds with silence, as you knew it would. Leaned up against the back wall of the dungeon, knees drawn to your chest, you can make out only the subtle silhouette of Draco Malfoy, leaning against the wall just outside your door, waiting for you to notice him, waiting for you to ignore him, waiting for the moment he can look at you and say you're fine, so he can go on about his day without feeling guilty.

    “I am okay,” you call out, never looking up from the patterns you have scraped into the concrete using a rock. “I have much more experience with the Dark Lord than you do, Draco. We all make mistakes.”

  There is a sigh, followed by footsteps, and then Draco is there, pale fingers curled around the bars of the door, sharp face illuminated by the light from his wand. “You've been here this entire time. A Death Eater.”

  Your skin crawls at the name, the mark on your wrist burning. “I don't like being called Death Eater, Malfoy.”

  “Why not? That's what you are. That's why you're here.”

  “By here, do you mean the dungeon in your home? By here, do you mean trapped against my will, saving your stupid backside from getting hung up from the rafters like your precious little Muggle Studies teacher?”

  Draco doesn't reel back. He doesn't even flinch. If possible, his gaze only continues to soften as he looks at you, and you're certain you must look pathetic right now. Curled in the corner of this dungeon wearing clothes that wouldn't even be considered humane, wandless and angry. Oh, a sight you must be, a joke to the world outside.

  You look down at the floor and continue to scrape your name – over and over again – into the concrete. In case you forget you ever had one before all this.

  The bars of the door creak as Draco leans against them. “Nobody back at Hogwarts would have suspected you becoming a Death Eater.”

  “Don't-”

 “Whatever you are. A helper. All I'm trying to say is, you were one of the better Slytherins. People truly thought you'd been murdered.”

  “Oh, goodie.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  You pause. “Yet here I am.”

  This conversation is pointless. You want him to leave so you can continue wallowing in fear on your own; this darkness is no place for someone like him, someone who can't even sit at the grandest, most prestigious table in the wizarding world without choking up. He's no Death Eater – you could see that much from the moment his lip started trembling.

  “You didn't have to jump to my rescue out there, either,” he says.

  You close your eyes, thumping your head back against the wall. “You were just sat there.”

  “He was going to kill me, wasn't he? If I didn't answer.”

  You shrug. “He gives out chances sometimes.”

  “Only to you.” Draco steps forward, curling his fingers around the bars. “What makes you so special, Y/N?”

 You find yourself smiling, flicking your eyes to him. He reels back at the glare, so different from the joyful, carefree eyes you used to hold when making potions in Snape's classroom, or studying in the Slytherin common room.

  “Wouldn't we all like to know?”

  The dungeon goes quiet, nothing more than the drip, drip, drip of water smacking against concrete ringing out between you. Draco shouldn't be here, of course. You can't imagine Voldemort granting him access to your 'chambers' after what he did, and certainly not before the Dark Lord himself has given you your reprieve for the way you acted back in the Malfoy's dining room. The punishment he will bestow upon you won't be light, will certainly not be merciful; you disappointed him, his closest confidant making him look like a fool in front of a room full of his most loyal supporters.

  To make matters worse, you are only seventeen years old, barely just turned the legal age for a wizard.

  You lean your head back and close your eyes. “When is he getting here?”

  “I don't know.”

  “You could find out.”

  Draco doesn't respond.

  You sigh heavily. “But you won't, of course. You're scared of him. Your master.”

  “He's not-” Draco stops abruptly. Even in the dim torchlight you can see his blue eyes flick to his wrist, where the Dark Mark is burned into his flesh for good.

  You smile. “He is. He owns you now, Draco – that's what that mark means, in case you forgot.”

  “Shut up.”

  “I don't understand why you're so scared of something you willingly signed up for.”

  “I'm not scared. I'd be stupid to go against him – the strongest wizard of our time, of course I bit my tongue!”

  “You bit your tongue at the wrong time.” Draco's eyes trace a line along the column of your throat before landing back on your gaze. “He's a bit more lenient with us, Malfoy, because we're the young ones, the ones who will follow in his footsteps if he plays his cards right. But that doesn't mean he's going to let you get away with complete ignorance, and what you showed at that table today – he'll see that as ignorance.”

  Draco purses his lips and looks away, because he knows you're right. You've been by the Dark Lord's side since you were fourteen years old, learning the ways of his followers, building your way up the ladder until you could sit beside his throne and hold his beloved python across your shoulders.

  “You pretend you know everything about him.” Draco's whisper sounds more like a hiss echoing through the eerie dungeon, Parceltongue. “You think you're in his head just because he chose you.”

  “Trust me, Draco; you'd know if I was inside his head. I would not be talking to you as an equal if I was inside his head.”

  Draco slams his hand against the bars. “What is it about you? He acts like you're – you're some kind of god-send, and then he locks you up in this dungeon. What have you got that enamours him so much, and what are you missing that makes him hate you just as much?”

  The words claw, scrape, make your chest constrict because each question is one you have been wondering for a very, very long time. You gave up trying to get the answers.

  You stare at Draco, unmoving, showing no emotion. It's a trick you've learned to master over the years, and it does its job. Draco keeps your gaze for only a moment before he huffs out a breath, looks to the floor and pushes away from the door, muttering curses beneath his breath.

  “You should leave, Draco,” you say softly. “Before Mummy and Daddy catch you down here. They wouldn't like you talking to the prisoner in rags, would they?”

  “And leave you down here on your own?”

  “I think I'll manage.” You tap the concrete with your palm, a slap sound that makes Draco wince as it bounces along the walls imprisoning you. “It's awfully comfortable in here, you know.”

  Draco shakes his head. “I'll see where he is.”

  His voice is so quiet; you lean forward and say, “Come again?”

  “I'll see where he is,” he repeats, louder, stronger. “And then I'll be back, okay?”   “Don't put yourself in danger for me, Malfoy. I'm only in here because I saved you earlier – I won't be there to save you this time.”

  Draco glares. “I'm not doing this for you. I'm doing this to show I'm not afraid. He chose me just as much as he chose you – he'll show kindness.”

  Your heart aches for that glimmer of hope etched into his voice, evidence of the innocent boy he once was roaming the halls of Hogwarts with his friends, learning new spells and charms and potions as the world crumbled around him and he knew nothing of its severity. He stares at you for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving; you wait until you hear the wooden door slam closed before you close your eyes and let the tears slip silently down your face.

  ---

  Draco doesn't return. The next person to open the door of your cell is Lucius himself, tall and white haired with a sneer that makes you want to punch him.

  You pull yourself up from the floor, hands behind your back. It's reflex to give the older man a bow, one he does not return; this could mean two things, you have learned – he either doesn't respect you, or he thinks he's too good to bow back to the younger generation. He doesn't think you've earned that kind of kinship just yet.

  “Sir,” you say. “I wasn't expecting you.”

  “No,” Lucius replies. “You were expecting the Dark Lord, weren't you?”

  You don't reply. He's asking stupid questions, questions he already knows the answer to.

  “I'm afraid he's too busy to see to you right now,” Lucius continues. “So he's sent me in his stead.”

  “You must be honoured, sir.”

  A smile twitches at his lips, though he fights to remain stoic and professional; it should be easy to wriggle under this idiots skin. People who have no other personality trait than Death Eater are easy enough to manipulate when you've been doing it for so long.

  “He's asked me to use Cruciatus on you for now,” Lucius explains.

  “Oh. He's going easy on me. He really is generous, don't you think?”

 Lucius's eyes snap down to your own. “Generous?”

  “He could do so much worse with a power like his,” you reply, nodding enthusiastically; there's a sick sense of pleasure in watching this grown man's face scrunch up in confusion, horror almost. “When he took my wand, for example; leaving someone defenceless in a world like this is a big, big punishment, Mr Malfoy. If your son ever steps out of line, I would highly recommend giving it a go.”

  Sorry, Draco.

  Lucius opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. He raises a brow, shakes his head and tries again. “I didn't come down here to take suggestions on how to raise my son, Y/N. I'm a busy man – let's get this over with.”

  “Busy doing what, sir?” you ask, even as you press your back against the wall. “If you don't mind me asking.”

  Again, Lucius falters. “Busy serving the Dark Lord, as we all should be.”  You nod as if you understand, as if his words aren't pathetic. “Oh, yes. Of course. Right you are there, sir, right you are!”

  Lucius scowls, pulls his wand from behind his back, and you seize the moment as soon as you can. It's difficult, forcing a blinding pain to the forefront of your mind that you only just manage to fight off before it completely consumes you; you've been without a wand for only a handful of days, so you're a little rusty when it comes to disarming in this way, but that scowl on his face makes it a little bit easier.

  The pull is painful, yet satisfying. Lucius's fingers twitch, his wand shivering in his grip; he just has time to say “What-” before you jerk your head and the wand is flying towards you, the wandless version of Expelliarmus that took far too long for you to learn.

  You lurch forward and snatch the wand from the air before pointing it at Lucius; the wand feels strange, fighting against it's new owner, but it still works – it has to, that much you learned from Ollivander.

  Lucius stumbles forward, catches himself on the wall before you cry out, “Petrificus totalus!” and his entire body goes still. He clatters to the floor, lifeless eyes staring up at the concrete ceiling.

  You stand over him, wand pointed at his chest. “You look pathetic, sir. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  Lucius doesn't reply – of course he doesn't. You grin down at him, tilt your head before dropping his wand onto his chest.

  “I don't really like wands made of elm,” you say. “And dragon heartstring? Really, Lucius? If the wand really does choose the wizard, I have some questions for you, sir.”

  You clap your hands together, ridding them of dust before you give Lucius's paralysed body one last smile and walk out of the dungeon, head held high.

  ---

  Voldemort knows what you've done. He set the whole thing up, a test to ensure you are still useful.

  You've had multiple of these tests thrown at you ever since you joined his ranks – willingly or not. He sends people in, Death Eaters, criminals that make most wizards tremble by just being named. He puts them against you and tests your strength, and by the looks of things, you're doing a fine job.

  You're still here. He's kept you alive.

  You walk into Lucius's office without knocking, knowing full well the Dark Lord himself is behind the door. You keep your gaze locked on the patterned carpet, letting the double, grand oak doors clatter closed behind you.

  “Y/N!” Voldemort exclaims, clapping his hands together. You glance up, startled by the smile stretching across his face, the boy sitting across from him; Draco stares at you with wide eyes and an open mouth, glancing between you and the door as if expecting someone to follow.

You snap your gaze back to Voldemort, knowing the Dark Lord won't appreciate your lack of attention on him. “My Lord.”

  “Where's Lucius?”

 He knows where Lucius is. He's playing a game, pretending he has no idea what he's done, what he's been doing from the very moment you stepped into his presence and he saw potential within you.

  “He's busy with some work, my Lord,” you respond, refusing to look at Draco despite your curiosity as to why he's here in the first place. “He told me to go on ahead.”

  “Ah. That was nice of him.” Slowly, Voldemort leans back in his seat, tapping the tips of his fingers together. “Did you get his wand?”

 “I left it with him, my Lord; made of elm, not really worth it.”

 Voldemort grins even brighter; this is a good sign. You didn't take the wand. He thinks you're getting stronger, that your strange ability to use magic without a wand is growing. You can't tell him that it still pains you greatly, that you currently feel as if your ribcage is on fire, that you could keel over at any given moment.

  “Very well,” Voldemort replies. “The choice was yours, of course. Come, Y/N – take a seat beside young Malfoy here. There's plenty of room.”

   Draco shifts, keeping his cold gaze on you as you walk towards him and sit down. Your back is straight, heart thundering in your chest so loud you're almost certain you will not be able to hear whatever it is Voldemort has to say to you. Nonetheless, you keep your expression impassive, hands folded in your lap in any attempt to look as calm and collected as the Dark Lord expects you to be.

  “My two prodigies,” Voldemort begins. The word sends a shiver of repulsion down your spine. “I don't think I've ever had the opportunity to speak to you both without my other Death Eaters lingering over my shoulder; isn't that bizarre, Draco?”

  “Yes, m-my Lord.”

   “I have to split my time evenly amongst you all, so forgive me if I find it a little difficult to give you the attention you both deserve so deeply.” He bows his head; Draco straightens up a little in his chair, but you're not falling for it. You've seen Voldemort do this multiple times in the past to the exact people he later murdered for miniscule reasons. “I see potential in you both. So much potential. It could be us against the world if you really put your mind to it.”

  “Thank you, my Lord,” Draco mumbles, before shooting you a glance that tells you he's proud of the fact he spoke up and wants you to notice his achievement, too. You look back at him, trying for a tiny smile that falters the moment Voldemort starts speaking again.

  “I want you both to stay close together,” he says. “Work hard, encourage each other, become the wizards I know you are capable of becoming.” Voldemort settles his red eyes on you. You try your hardest not to falter beneath his gaze. “Let's take over the world together, shall we?”

  And that's all he needs to say. He smiles that sickly smile of his and dismisses you and Draco with a simple flick of his pale hand. You stand up immediately, whirling and darting towards the door; you don't want to be in his presence any longer than you have to be, and you feel much too ill to try and hide that fact.

  “Y/N! Y/N, wait!”

  “Not now, Draco.”

   He grabs your wrist as the doors to his fathers office clamber closed, leaving you alone in the wide, emerald green hallway. You freeze, resisting the urge to flinch away from him, but only because his grip feels so secure, fingers soft against your racing pulse.

  He must notice the evidence of panic beating beneath his fingers, as his words falter and he glances down to where your flesh meets. It's when he starts tilting his head, when you can see the question forming upon his tongue, that you rip your hand from his and whirl around. “What do you want, Draco?”

  His eyes snap up. “He sent my father to your dungeon. He said – He said something about the-”

  “Cruciatus Curse, yes.” You spin, starting back down the hallway. Judging by the hurried footsteps sounding behind you, Draco has decided to follow.

  “Well, are – are you alright? I didn't hear any commotion, but the dungeon is just below my fathers office – I would have heard something-”

   “Lucius Malfoy is currently paralysed on the floor of his own prison.”

  Draco falters. “What?”

  “The Dark Lord wanted to test me, and I passed.” You shoot Draco a glance, noting the colour drained from his face. “Don't worry; he's still alive. A simple Stunning spell, just to prove my point. He'll no doubt be attempting to suffocate me in my sleep by nightfall.”

  Draco pauses. The puzzle pieces are there, but he's clearly struggling to put them all together. He keeps pace with you, however, as you march out into the garden, bursting into the fresh air with a deep inhale that you hope can chase this dreaded headache away.

  “My father is a very powerful wizard, Y/N,” Draco says. You close your eyes, resisting the urge to rub your temples. He just wants answers; you can't blame him for that. It was only a few years ago you were cursed by the same curiosity. “Don't take offence, but I can't see how you managed to overpower him.”

  “It was simple enough.”

  Draco shakes his head, pulling more pieces to the front, pieces that just don't fit. “Hold on – you don't even have a wand, do you? He took it. The – The Dark Lord-”

  “Yes, He has my wand.”

  Your head is going to split in two; you can feel it, that unmistakeable pressure rushing to the forefront, the fresh air doing nothing but poking and prodding at a pain that was already present. You close your eyes tighter still, crumbling against a tree despite your fragile attempts to catch yourself.

  Draco grunts at the sudden movement, darting forward to catch you with little effect. “Y/N?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “No, you're not. You're burning up.” He places the back of his hand against your forehead, eyes immediately widening. “You're really burning up.”

  “I'm fine.” Maybe if you repeat yourself, what you're saying will become truth.

  Draco, however, is a smart boy. He crouches down, dragging you to the floor along with him; you wriggle in his grip, whispering “I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine,” but your fight is only for show. Sitting in the grass is doing you wonders, and you soon find yourself drearily slipping against Draco's shoulder, sinking into this new found relaxation.

  “What's happening?” he asks, keeping his palm against your forehead for a moment. “I need to bring someone out. I need to get a medic-”

  “I'm fine,” you repeat, the words nothing more than a slur at this point. “I promise, Draco – it will pass.”

  Draco opens his mouth to protest, but taking one look at your face has the words dispelling in the air between you. He gives in with a sigh, leaning back against the tree, holding you against his shoulder so you can hear his heartbeat ringing in your ears. You desperately want to pull away; being this close to someone is uncomfortable, not what you're used to, and yet your body is too weak to do such a thing. You sink into the humiliation for a little while, gathering your strength before Voldemort comes out and sees you in such a state.

  “What did he mean when he told us to stay together?”

  Draco's voice wobbles, and you can tell the question has been playing on his mind for a while.

  “He wants us to learn from each other,” you mumble into his blazer. “Make each other stronger. He sees potential in us – that's why he ordered you to kill Dumbledore.”

  Draco stiffens. “How did you know about that?”

  “I see everything that happens behind the scenes.”

  “I still don't understand that.”

  You lift your eyes, stare into the side of his face as he gazes out at the gorgeous garden you are sitting in right now. “What don't you understand?”

  “Why he trusts you so much.” Draco looks down, eyes meeting yours. “He has prisoners of Azkaban on his side – some of the worst people on the planet. He's got murderers and torturers and. . . and god only knows what else. And yet it's you he calls into his office. It's you he sees potential in-”

  “You and me both.”

  Draco scoffs, looking back out at the garden. “He would never trust me to touch Nagini. He would never let me just walk into his quarters without notice.”

   “It's little perks, Draco. Hardly anything you should be fretting over.”

  He scowls, shifting beneath you. Your cheek rubs against his blazer, and you make to pull away before your spine screams in protest and you slump back against him.

  Draco doesn't seem to notice your weakness as he continues. “I'm just new to all of this.”

  “We were all new at some point.”

  “How long does it take to settle in?”

  “I'm still trying to work that one out.”

  Draco sighs. You don't know if he notices how his grip suddenly tightens around your shoulders, but you don't tell him either way.

  “When you went missing...”

  The conversation change works as an electric shock. You jolt, eyes lifting. “No, Draco. I don't want to talk about that.”

  “Why not?”

   “Because it's not important – you know now that I didn't just drop off the face of the earth. That's all you need to know – and I certainly don't need to know how people reacted.”

  Draco opens his mouth, can't seem to find the words and instead takes to shaking his head slowly. “They were worried, Y/N. The whole school was making inquiries about your whereabouts – even the Potter kid and his group of lackeys.”

   You scoff, finally drawing the strength to pull away from him and sit on your own. “They were just excited to have a mystery to sink their teeth into.” Draco hums. “Maybe. But that doesn't mean they weren't worried.” He pauses. “I was worried.”

  The chill in the air increases. In the distance, the grand apple tree sways gently in the breeze, a gathering of white peacocks drifting back and forth through the grass.

  “You didn't know me,” you say.

  “I knew you, Y/N. The Slytherins were a close bunch.”

  “I was more than just a Slytherin. I was different. I wasn't like the rest of you.”

  “That's why you stood out. That's why I cared.”

  You close your eyes. “Death Eaters aren't meant to care.”

  That shuts him up. You feel the air tighten to your left, his mouth snapping closed, this sentimental mood he's in immediately shutting down with such a simple, obvious statement. You glance at him, noting his tense jaw before you push yourself up, using the tree as leverage.

  “I'm going back up to the house. Lucius should be coming back around any minute now,” you say. “Shall I tell him where you are?”

  Draco shakes his head. “He doesn't care. He's a Death Eater.”

  You stare at the top of his pale head for only a moment longer before turning on your heel and leaving, trying to ignore the thumping of your heart and the uncertainty in your actions. You've never before struggled to leave someone wallowing in their own pity, but there was just something about the way Draco looked – the way he was speaking – that makes you feel like perhaps you should have stayed.

  ----

  “You will use my wand for today's lesson.”

  You pluck Bellatrix's wand from her outstretched hand. “Thank you, ma'am. A walnut wand, is it? Dragon heartstring core?”

  Bellatrix swats your nose. “Don't be picky. You'll make do with what you've got, do you understand, you little brat?”

   You give the Death Eater your best smile in reply. Draco shifts uncomfortably at your side.

  Bellatrix hums, pacing back and forth in front of her two students – honestly, you don't understand why Voldemort placed her as your tutor. She has a temper, shows no mercy when it comes to her victims, and these are all traits Voldemort surely places as very important, but she also gets lost in her own head – to the point where the majority of her lessons are put together with her screaming spells and Draco on the verge of tears.

  It's been a week and a half since the last time you did magic without a wand, a week and a half since you convinced Voldemort you're ready to take the next step; it was a mistake leaving that office with him thinking you were strong. Your lessons are now beyond your capability, and as Bellatrix paces back and forth in front of you, you can feel the tingle of a headache racing to your skull, fragments of the damage you did to Lucius a few days ago.

  The lesson starts off as it always does; a duel between you and Draco. You let him win this time, since he let you win yesterday, and the two of you move on pretty sharply. There's no point wasting time duelling something with equal skill to you – you want the lesson to be over as quick as possible.

  Draco drags himself up from the floor, both of you ignoring Bellatrix's hysteric screeching. He gives you a wink, turns to Bellatrix and says, “What's next?”

  She goes quiet immediately, narrowing her eyes at her nephew before she moves onto the next stage of the lesson.

  “Alright, kiddies,” she says, continuing her pacing. “Today we're going to be trying something a little different. One of you will be moving onto bigger, more challenging defence spells whilst the other will be moving onto bigger, more challenging ways of blocking.”

   You raise a brow. “Blocking, ma'am?”

   She smirks, crooked teeth showing between a pair of red lips. “I'll have my wand back now, Y/N. You won't be needing it for this section of the lesson.”

  Your heart plummets.

  Draco looks between you and the teacher in confusion. “How will Y/N do magic without a wand?”

  Bellatrix doesn't take her eyes off you, and that's proof enough that she knows the answer. Voldemort must have told her of your abilities, the magic built up inside you that can be released without the use of a wand. He must have told her to help, to train you up, because he thinks you can do it with no problem.

  You tug Bellatrix's wand into your chest and shake your head. “Not today, ma'am. Please, not today.”

   Draco perks up. “What's going on?”

  Bellatrix surges forward. Her black nails dig into your collarbone when she snatches her wand back into her possession, ignoring your startled cry of “Please!” She doesn't understand – none of them understand because you refuse to tell any of them about what is going on, how badly using that type of unnatural magic destroys you.

  “Draco,” Bellatrix snaps. “Sectumsempra. An easy enough spell, but it does plenty of damage.”

  “I know,” Draco grumbles.

  “That is the spell we will be using today, courtesy of Severus Snape.” Bellatrix turns to you, grin growing when she notices your trembling hands, your stiff demeanour. “Y/N, today it will be your job to block that spell using your abilities. Is that what we should be calling them? That makes you sound a little bit more special than you really are.” She throws her head back and cackles.

  Draco glances at you. “Y/N?”

  “I'm fine,” you croak out. “Just get it over with.”

  You know you can do it. You've blocked spells without a wand before. It's the aftermath that frightens you, the aftermath that rips you apart.

  You take a step back, turning to face Draco who continues staring at you with a raised brow. His wand is in his hand, pointed at you, ready, but he isn't making a move to do anything. He just stands there, as if waiting for you to give the signal that everything is okay.

  And you want to. You know you should, because Bellatrix is getting impatient and her pacing is getting quicker and quicker, her crazed uttering getting louder and louder – but you can't. You want him to keep standing there, want him to continue staring so you can build your strength up for just one more second-

  “Sectumsempra!”

  Bellatrix's spell comes out of nowhere. Draco cries out, but you're quick; you spin on your heel, collecting as much strength as you possibly can. A barrier breaks from your skin, and the green light cast from Bellatrix's wand reels back, smashing against the lamp in the corner of the dining room. It smashes, glass raining down upon the floor as Draco sprints towards you.

  “What the hell?” he cries.

  It takes a minute for the nausea to rise. For a single, blissful moment, the room goes blurry, and you can deal with that. There is no pain, no shock, no sickness. For a single moment, you are floating.

  And then it crashes upon you all at once.

  Your knees buckle. Bright lights flash behind your eyes until you can see nothing but your own hand darting out, grabbing for Draco. He catches you mere seconds before you fall, and yet you still feel your knees crashing against the marble floor. Your fingers twist in the soft fabric of his shirt, and he's there, whispering in your ear, or maybe he isn't whispering, he's screaming, crying out, but you can't hear him properly because there is something pop pop popping in the back of your head and it's all you can focus on, all you can cling to to stop the world from disappearing for good.

  It's a reminder, you know. A reminder that your form of magic is dangerous, unpredictable, unusual, and you shouldn't possess it. No wizard should be able to do magic how you can, how you so desperately wish you couldn't.

  “What's wrong, Y/N? Tell me what's wrong! Bella, what is wrong?”

  Your eyes slip closed. Draco repeats the same word over and over again: “No.” It's a mantra, a lullaby that stirs you to sleep even though he's tapping your face, trying to force consciousness into your body. You're too weak for that now, and it's with a grunt that you finally slip beneath the waves that have been pulling you under for years.

  ----

  You wake up back in your dungeon, and he is there.

  You knew he would be. You would have been foolish to believe he hadn't got news of your downfall the very moment it happened; Bellatrix most likely relayed the story to him in great, great detail, laughing the entire time.

  He's standing over you when you wake up, a ghost in the darkness. He's dressed in a set of grey robes, and your wand is twirling in his fingers. His red eyes stare as you sit up, though he offers no assistance, not even when you wince and press your fingers to your abdomen.

  Everything hurts, but at least you're not dead.

  “My lord,” you manage, voice weak and hoarse. “What an honour it is to have your presence in my-”

  “Be quiet, Y/N.” His voice is calm, smooth, too casual. “You embarrassed me, Y/N. Terribly.”

  You swallow and nod; you're too scared to speak right now.

  “I have been singing your praises to my Death Eaters for a long time; Bellatrix was disappointed. She expected a lot more from you.” He runs a hand over his bald head. “As was I.”

  “Where is Draco, my Lord?” The question is out before you can process it.

  Voldemort's eyes cast down to where you cower in front of him. “You worry about the Malfoy boy in a time like this? How sweet. How caring. How human.”

  “No, my Lord. It was just curiosity that-”

  “Draco has done a wonderful job in his lessons. No harm will come of him.” Voldemort stands up a little straighter, as if to make himself more intimidating. “He was awfully distraught when you collapsed, however. Have you both been bonding over these lessons you partake in together?”

  Your heart skips. “No, m-my Lord.”

  “And now you're stuttering. You never stutter when speaking to me, Y/N. Is this line of questioning making you nervous?”

  You don't even bother with a response this time, instead casting your eyes to the knotted hands in your lap.

  Voldemort sighs. “I should have expected, of course. Two young people, the world at their disposal – you don't understand the consequences of love yet.”

  “I do, my Lord. You have taught me plenty in my time with you.”

  “I have.” Voldemort nods solemnly. “Such a shame you do not listen.”

  Your head snaps up; this is what you wanted to avoid. “I'm sorry if you feel that way, my Lord, but I make it a priority to put your advice into action whenever I can.”

  Voldemort hums. “So you claim not to have feelings for the Malfoy boy?”

  You don't understand why your denial is so difficult to articulate; you don't. You can't. You and Malfoy have lived in two very different worlds, experienced two very different lives; it would be bizarre to even think those two lives could mingle with one another, come together as one.

  “No, my Lord. I do not.”

  “So you would not care if I were to order his execution?”

   Your head snaps up so fast your neck cricks. “Why would you do that? He's useful to you. He – He's a strong wizard, my lord, he can serve you in very useful ways-”

   “It sounds as if you're sticking up for him.”

   “No, my Lord, of course not! You are free to do as you please, but I wish you would just look a little deeper into-”

  Voldemort holds up a silencing hand. Your heart thunders, fingers curling into fists as you try your hardest to bite your tongue; he's right, of course – you cannot be sticking up for Draco, especially if it means going against Voldemort to do so. You don't care about him that much.

  You can't.

  “If I am forced to pick between you or the Malfoy boy, the Malfoy boy will be the first to go,” he says. “You must know that, Y/N. You're too valuable to just throw away for a particularly skilled wizard. I don't want skill – I want something the wizarding world has never seen before, and you are the perfect candidate.” He sighs. “It's such a shame you've fallen into the trap of love.”

   You squeeze your eyes closed; there is a denial on your tongue, but Voldemort knows when you are lying, and he will not be pleased to hear such false statements coming from your mouth.

  “I want to see you working harder,” he continues, tapping your wand against the concrete wall behind him. “I want to see your strength improving. I want to take you into war with me, Y/N. And soon. We've wasted enough time as it is.”

   You nod slowly. Voldemort smiles, skin stretching, your stomach turning, but you say nothing as he nods at you a final time and walks out of the dungeon.

  And you know there's no hope for you here.

  For years you've tried avoiding the truth, but now Draco has been added to the equation and denial is no longer a possibility; you've tried your hardest to show strength, to convince yourself you can be just like them, but it's not working. It will never work. You were not built for the life of a Death Eater, and such things have never been so clear as they are now.

  The door above you clambers shut. You push yourself up, gripping the wall to stop yourself falling, your head pulsing with the aftershocks from your last lesson with Bellatrix. You're driven by your masters words, the threat behind them, the risk you are taking by staying here when you feel these things for the boy you barely even know.

  But that isn't really true, is it?

  You know Draco better than you will ever be willing to admit. He was your schoolmate, a Slytherin, a part of your life long before Voldemort was a part of your life. He's one of the few people on earth who can relate to the things you've been through, the things you're still going through, because he's going through nearly the exact same thing.

  And that's why you have to leave. That is why you can't stay here. You won't be able to disguise your fondness for him, and Voldemort will see that, and he will end it all. He will kill Draco without a second thought if he believes it will make you stronger.

  You drag yourself to the top of the stairs and shove the door open. The hallways are empty, the only sound being Peter's hysterical laughter ringing out in the room above you; he does that sometimes, though nobody knows why.

  You shuffle along the corridor as quietly as you can, keeping tight to the emerald green walls as you search for the door leading to Draco's bedroom. You have seen it only a handful of times, but the door becomes instantly recognisable as soon as you see it; wooden, glittering with protection spells, a brass knocker stamped in the centre. You don't even bother using the knocker, instead shoving your shoulder into it and stumbling inside.

  Draco spins around. He was pacing. There is sweat on his upper lip, his top button undone to reveal sweat soaked collarbones. His white hair is sticking up as if he's been running his hands through it continuously.

  He looks scared.

  You kick the door closed. “Draco.” It's all you can manage, all your brain will let free at this moment in time.

  Draco rushes to your side immediately, grabbing your arm and directing you to the massive, plush bed pushed against the back wall. “Y/N? Y/N, are you okay? What are you doing up so soon after the accident?”

  “I'm fine.”

  “Stop saying that.” He presses a hand to your cheek, tilting your head up so he can get a better view of your eyes. “God, you look like you're about to keel over. Let me go grab my mother and she will-”

   You latch onto his wrist when he tries to stand. “We need to leave, Draco.”

  He pauses. Beneath your fingers, his pulse quickens. Slowly, he turns his head and narrows his eyes, inspecting your face for any sign of humour, any sign that you're just telling a joke to ease the tension forever in the air.

  “We need to leave,” you repeat, quieter this time. “Now. Or – or as soon as we can. I won't be able to Disapparate, but you-”

  Draco shakes his head. “What are you going on about?”

  “We need to leave!” you bark. “He thinks we're both useful, but he wants us under his thumb. He wants to control us, Draco, and we need to leave before he gets that control.”

  You're not making any sense. You know that. You can see in the tilt of Draco's head and the paleness of his face that he has absolutely no idea where all of this is coming from, why you have suddenly changed sides.

  You close your eyes, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I will explain everything,” you mumble. “I promise, I will explain every single thing, but we have to get out of here first. It won't be long before he sees I'm not in the dungeon any more, and he'll know immediately where I've gone – and then it's not just me he's going to be angry at.”

  Slowly, Draco lowers himself onto the bed, his eyes never leaving your face. “O-okay.”

  Your head whips around. “Really?”

  “When do you want to leave?”

  You shake your head dumbly, still struggling to process his quick agreement. “As – As soon as-”

  “You're too weak to Disapparate.” He stands, grabbing your hand. “I'll do it, but we've got to be quiet. My father knows when anyone is making moves in or out of the house – it will only take seconds for him to notify Voldemort someone is gone.”

  You stand on trembling legs; Draco notices your struggle and wraps a secure arm around your waist, dragging you into his side.

  “Are you sure you're going to be okay?”

  “I didn't expect you to agree so quickly,” you whisper.

  Draco purses his lips, sending a final glance towards the door. “I – I think I may have marched into this life a bit too soon. I didn't fully understand what I was getting myself into.” He glances at you, faces inches apart. “But if you say we need to leave, we're leaving.”

  Something jolts in your chest, something you haven't felt in a very, very long time – if ever. Draco doesn't seem to notice the effect his words have on you as he tightens his hold on your waist and says, “Now, I'm new to this Apparating business, so just bare with me. Are you ready?”

  “Let's go.”

  Draco inhales deeply, closes his eyes and you watch the world shift around him. Suddenly, Draco is the driving force; your body goes numb, his fingers tightening against your flesh. Your own eyes slip closed of their own accord, your body tipping and screaming and aching – but it all lasts for only a second, and then your feet are slamming against grass and you're slipping out of Draco's grip and crumbling to your knees in the middle of an area you cannot place when your head is hurting so bad.

  You groan, falling to your elbows. Draco slips to the ground and grabs you, pulling you into him. “It's okay. It's over, it's over. We made it. We've just got to keep going a little bit further.”

  “Where are we?” you grumble.

  “Hogwarts.”

  Your head snaps up. “Draco, no.”

   He grabs your arm and pulls you up; he looks just as ruffled as you, his hair still sticking on end, his hands trembling. He bites his lower lip before responding. “We'll figure it out. They won't come to Hogwarts tonight – not with the security. We'll be safe for tonight, and tomorrow we can – we can figure it all out.”

  You resist the temptation to argue; there's really no point. Neither of you are fit enough to go wandering through Hogsmeade, anyway – staying the night in Hogwarts is your best bet whether you want to admit it or not.

  In truth, you know your discomfort with being back at Hogwarts has little to do with the fact that Voldemort will know this is the place you and Draco escaped to. You don't care about that; you can deal with Voldemort when the time comes, when Draco is safe, but the memories latched onto this place make you hesitant when crossing through the gates you were once so familiar with.

  You remember these hallways. You remember the sneers, people glaring purely because you were Slytherin. You remember hearing Death Eaters in your head, their screams for mercy in the cells of Azkaban before Voldemort rose again and freed them all. You remember sitting in the Great Hall, deciding once and for all that you weren't supposed to be a normal wizard – you weren't normal, were never going to be considered normal. You had no other choice in that moment – at fourteen years old – than to join the dark side.

  What more could you lose?

  Before you know it, you're slipping your hand into Draco's. He glances down, shocked by your timid actions, but does nothing more than give your hand a comforting squeeze. Together, the two of you walk through the doors of the castle.

  And are immediately greeted by wands pointed directly at your faces.

  Draco pulls back, raising your joined hands in a sign of surrender. His breathing is ragged, and if you listen closely, you can almost hear a rattle emerging with every breath, like he's getting some kind of sickness.

  McGonagall slowly lowers her wand, staring at you, and it's only then do you remember – these people thought you had died.

  You offer a bow. “Ma'am.”

  “Y/N L/N,” McGonagall whispers. “Is this real?”

   “It is, ma'am,” you respond. “And I've brought a little guest with me along the way. You might recognise him?”

  Draco scowls. “I'm meant to be making the-”

   McGonagall rushes forward and embraces you before Draco can finish; his hand unwinds from your own as you wrap your arms around the frail waist of your old Transfiguration teacher.

  “Thank god you're safe! Thank god!”

  You awkwardly pat her back; this kind of affection has been lost on you for many, many years, and you're not entirely sure how to reciprocate it. “Yes. Thank them.”

  She pulls away, holding you at arms length. “Goodness, you must be starved. The both of you!”

  “No, actually.” Draco steps forward and takes your hand again. “We just need a room, Professor. A room is all we're here for.”

  McGonagall raises a brow, glancing at your joined hands. “I'm assuming there will be no explanation for us tonight?”

  You smile lightly. “Soon, ma'am. But for now, we need – we need rest.” Your head thumps at the mention of rest, making you wince.

  McGonagall sighs and nods. “Very well. Argus – lead these two students up to the Slytherin dormitories. Make sure they're well settled.”

  Filch appears from behind the tall woman and starts towards the staircase leading from the main entry hall. Hand-in-hand, you and Draco follow.

  “I wasn't expecting her to be so lenient with letting me back in,” Draco whispers.

  “Why not?”

  He glances over at Filch before lowering his voice even further. “She's not exactly too keen on my father.”

  “Lucius?”

  “He's a Death Eater, Y/N. I can bet you that all the teachers in this damn school think I'm going the same way.”

  You raise a brow. Draco glances at you, blushes and rolls his eyes.

  “I guess they're not exactly wrong...”

  Filch leads the two of you directly to the Slytherin dormitories. He says the password, gives you and Draco a final once-over before the door swings open, granting you access. The common room is almost entirely empty, meaning you and Draco are free to make a direct cross to the guests quarters without being bothered.

  As soon as the door to the room closes, you fall to the floor.

  Not in pain or discomfort, but in relief; your brain is working at a million miles per hour, so many things to concentrate on flooding your system in the two seconds it takes for the door to shut behind you. Draco follows your lead, sliding to the floor and leaning his head back against the emerald green wall.

  You stare at him. Just him, sitting there with his eyes closed, the column of his throat on show. Around his neck is an array of silver necklaces. On his wrist is the Dark Mark.

  Subconsciously, you find yourself rubbing your own brand, engraved into your skin forever. It burns sometimes. You wonder if Draco's does, too.

  As if sensing you staring at him, he opens his eyes and looks back at you. “We're out of there.”

  You nod. “We are.”

   “How do you feel?”

  “Lost. I don't know what to do with myself.”

  Draco hums like he understands, and maybe he does; he might not have bore the Dark Mark for as long as you have, but he was raised in a family of believers, a family of Death Eaters that brainwashed him into thinking evil was the only way forward.

  He sighs and tilts his head back again. You could stare at him in this position forever, comfortable and content. You don't recall there ever being a time in which he possessed such human emotions.

  “Why did you warn me?”

  You blink. “What?”

  “You came to my room and warned me about what he was planning. Why?”

  “He told me he was going to kill you.” You say it so simply, and Draco takes it as such; he doesn't flinch, doesn't look at you in horror. He just nods, eyes slipping closed again.

  “Makes sense. You were clearly the more powerful one.”

  You scoff, crossing your feet at the ankles. “Oh, yes. Me collapsing really showed my true strength.”

   “You're still young. You have magic that no other wizard possesses – I can see why he wanted to keep you around and not me.” He shrugs, eyes still closed. “Maybe you should have just let him get on with it.”

   Your heart judders. “What do you mean?”

   “You could have stayed, Y/N. Let him kill me. You would have been his right-hand man after that. Love him or hate him, he would have given you the world if it meant he could use your magic for himself.”

   For a moment, you're convinced he's joking; you have to believe he's joking. You're aware you are powerful, that Voldemort would kill for the chance to use you as his own, but Draco surely can't believe you would just let him get murdered so you could live a better life?

  “Did you not see the dungeon he kept me locked in?” The question is out before you can stop it. Draco opens his eyes, lifts his head to check if you're actually angry or not.

  You're not even sure how you feel. Your clenched fists and furrowed brows, however, must convince Draco that he's said the wrong thing, as he immediately sits up straight and grabs your hands in his own. You flinch back, pulling your hands back to your chest.

  “I didn't mean it like that,” he says quickly. “I shouldn't have said anything. I was just. . . I'm tired, okay? Very, very tired.”

  You slowly lower your hands. “Yes, well, today has been a stressful day. We're probably better off going to sleep.”

  Draco nods, pulling both of you up from the floor. Neither of you speak as you strip off your clothes and get into one of the single beds pressed against either wall; Draco turns the light off, drowning you both in darkness almost immediately.

  ----

  It's been a while since your mind was free to have a nightmare.

  The magic Voldemort puts you under has always suppressed dreams; most of the time, you wouldn't even count yourself as asleep. More knocked out. Perhaps unconscious. It's very rare you're in control enough to have a nightmare, and maybe that's for the best.

  Tonight, however, the magic is gone and the nightmares take its place.

  They're flashes, but they're bad. Bad, and gory, and they take the shape of memories because you see his face in every single one. You see his smile, those blood red eyes and that pale skin, a human destroyed by the power he craved for so many years. You know his story, and it replays in your head on a loop. You watch people scream, mouths open and eyes wide as his magic blasts them to pieces. You watch the Potters die on a loop. You watch an alternative ending where Harry himself is blown to smithereens, a child so innocent, taken so soon for a reason so selfish.

  Everyone is screaming. It ricochets in your brain, echoing the horrors over and over again until you feel yourself screaming, too. It's the only way to beat them. You want to rip your throat out. You want to rip everyone elses throats out. You want this to end, please make it stop, you'll do anything-

  “Y/N!”

  Your eyes snap open.

  There are no dramatics to waking up from a nightmare, not like they show in the movies. Your eyes snap open, and that is all; the sheets are tangled round your legs and Draco is standing over you, but you don't scream, don't lurch forward, don't gasp for air.

  No. What they show in the films isn't real – it's all on the inside.

  A thundering heart, sweat dripping down your face despite the night time chill. Once you're conscious, you reach for Draco's hands and drag them into your chest without explanation or warning, just needing to feel something, proof that you are out of that world and back in your own.

  Draco leans forward, brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. “Are you alright?”

  It's such a simple question, and yet the answer is too complicated to contemplate right now; you simply look at him, lower lip trembling until he gets the message. His exhausted features soften, and it's with hesitant, shy steps that he peels the covers back and crawls into bed beside you.

  He tugs the covers to your chin, but you grab them and pull them over your heads. Draco laughs softly, his breath fanning your face, calming you down. You close your eyes and curl against him, feeling his arms wrap around you despite you never telling him to do so.

  And maybe that's what has you so enamoured by this boy; you have lived many years being the one everyone is afraid of. Death Eaters – genuine, real life criminals – were terrified to even talk to you without you talking to them first. They saw you as an attachment of the man they were supposed to fear, and so that instantly made them fear you, too. Nobody touched you. Nobody cared for you. Nobody dared go near you without permission first.

  But Draco is here, bundling you in his arms purely because he can see that's what you need. He doesn't ask permission; he just looks in your eyes and he sees the tiny, helpless human that made a bad choice at a young age, and he doesn't feel the need to waste time asking.

  In the darkness, his fingers tap at your wrist. You close your eyes, breath trembling when he slowly starts to roll your sleeve up until the area where your Dark Mark is engraved becomes exposed. He cannot see the mark in the darkness, but he doesn't need to see it to know it's there. He has no doubt looked at his own Dark Mark thousands upon thousands of times, can probably outline it from memory at this point.

  He runs a finger along the skin, goosebumps following in his wake.

  “Did it hurt?” he whispers.

  “You know it did.”

  He pauses. “Did you know then?”

   And even though he has not specified what he means, you know he is talking about the regret – did you know then, as you were being pinned down, as the wand dug into your skin and make the mark now permanently etched into your flesh, that you were never meant to live that kind of life.

  You nod against his chest, feel his breath leave him in one clean swoop.

  “You got out of there, though,” he whispers. “I'm proud of you.”

  That single phrase pushes you off the edge.

  You lift your head from his chest, tipping the covers off you both. He opens his eyes just as you whisper “Lumos,” and the headache that strikes you is nothing when the light suddenly crackles to life and you look down and Draco is there, and he's just said he's proud of you, a sentence nobody has ever, ever said to you in your entire life.

  It breaks your heart and mends it all at the same time.

  He looks up at you, eyes wide. “Y/N? Are you-”

  “Say that again.”

  He pauses. “S-say what?” But he's slowly starting to grin, knowing full well what bit you want him to repeat, what part of his sentence was like music to your ears.

  You sit up fully, bouncing just a tiny bit on your knees. God, you're like an excited schoolkid, an experience you were robbed of. “Please just say that again.”

   Draco pushes himself up onto his elbows. “I'm proud of you.”

  Your smile grows. “And again.”

   Draco pushes himself up a little bit more, his own smile spreading. “I'm proud of you.”

  You wrap your arms around his neck. “One more time.”

�� He pushes himself up entirely, face inches from your own. “I'm proud of you.”

  You kiss him.

  You don't know how it works, how any of this works, but it feels right nonetheless. Your lips against his, hands tightening around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He laughs gently against your mouth, his own hands rising so his fingertips tickle the edges of your throat.

  It's easy to lose yourself in this, in him.

  He is the first to pull away, his swollen, bright red lips taking the shape of a grin. You laugh, cupping his chin and swiping your thumb along his lower lip; he pretends to bite you.

  “Where the bloody hell did that come from?” he asks breathlessly.

  You shake your head. “I have no idea.”

  “Are you going to keep doing it?”

  You falter, smile fading just a bit. “D-do you want me to?”

  Draco scoffs, and in response, he kisses you again.

  The world is falling apart. Nothing is right and everything is wrong and Voldemort will never, ever be happy with this outcome, but for this moment, you can forget about all of that. Right now, it is just you and Draco, the captives finally set free.

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

Arina and Nina used to only meet once a week - at activities organised for the care home where Nina lived. Now, Arina is applying to become Nina's guardian, giving the 27-year-old hope she might finally be able to leave the institution where she has lived her entire adult life.

For the past few months Nina Torgashova has been able to enjoy an independence that had always been out of reach for her - shopping, cooking and washing her own clothes.

Things that would be every-day life experiences for most 27-year-olds.

But not for Nina, who has always lived in institutions, and moved when she was 18 to what, in Russia, is called a psycho-neurological care home. When the pandemic hit, she was able to savour life outside the home, with a volunteer, Arina Muratova.

Nina recalls the moment she found out she was leaving.

"I never thought anyone would take me. I had thought: "Oh no, I am going to be stuck in the care home."

It was April 2020 and the Covid-19 pandemic forced Moscow into lockdown. As visits to Nina's institution were stopped, charities lobbied for volunteers to be allowed to take responsibility for some of the residents until they could start up again.

Arina, a market research expert who loves nail art and embroidery, offered to look after Nina.

But when the 27-year-old got a taste for the freedom she'd never had, she decided she didn't want to go back.

Her 31-year-old friend was faced with a life-changing decision.

Arina has been involved in voluntary work for a decade - starting with helping children with learning difficulties and their families. She then became involved in adult care, which is when she met Nina through a Russian charity called Life Route. The charity organises trips and classes for the residents of some Russian psycho-neurological care homes (known as PNIs).

Arina started volunteering in PNI 22 - where Nina was living with hundreds of other residents - about four years ago. The care home looks after adults with a wide range of disorders, thought to relate to both cognitive disabilities and mental illness of varying severity.

Arina and Nina got to know each other through the charity Life Route which organises camps for the care home residents

Nina's diagnosis remains confidential to everyone except her care home director. This is usually the case for those residents the state judges are unable to live independently. So neither she nor Arina know why she is in the home, but Arina is surprised that she is.

Although Nina struggles with literacy and maths, Arina says she is very capable.

"She is such a quick learner and is well-adapted in everyday living," she says.

Nina was admitted to a home for disabled children when she was very young, before transferring to the PNI at 18. It is not clear whether she was taken to the children's home by her parents or was forcibly removed from their care.

She says they visited her there once, but she was frightened and hid under the bed.

"They were drunks. I was afraid. They stank of alcohol," she says.

Arina says Nina always stood out during her visits with Life Route, taking an active role in the activities and trips organised by the charity

"Nina was a very active person at her care home," says Arina. "She took part in various creative activities: amateur dramatics, arts and crafts workshops. She took part in sporting competitions, too: she played darts, she played football. Football was something she really missed after leaving the home."

When the lockdown last spring made these visits impossible, Arina suggested Zoom calls with the residents instead. But from the start is was clear this wasn't going to work - the home's internet simply wasn't strong enough. Other charities helping other care homes in Moscow and St Petersburg were facing similar problem

So these charities pressured the authorities to allow some care home residents to be released for the lockdown.

"It was all arranged in a day, and the next day the person was out. I cannot imagine anything like this before the pandemic," says Life Route's director Ivan Rozhansky.

Nevertheless Arina admits she was nervous when she made the initial decision to look after Nina. She was counting on Nina's relative independence, given she needed to work from home.

"There was a certain calculation in taking Nina. I had a lot of work to do, even during the lockdown. I realised I had to live with someone who'd be able to occupy themselves - at least some the time. With Nina it was clear that I'd be able to say: 'Now I have to work for three hours but afterwards we can make lunch together!'"

But Nina's move into the flat the charity had given the pair to live in during lockdown did get off to a slightly rocky start.

"She had very few possessions with her, just a small rucksack. She looked lost. While I was signing papers brought by the care worker, she walked around the flat. She didn't look especially overjoyed, and I had been counting on that.

"When I saw Nina looking so lost, I wondered if this had been a good idea. It's one thing to ask a person in a text if they want to move, but it's quite different to actually move them."

But not long afterwards, Arina shared a selfie with the other volunteers of herself with a grinning Nina, arms raised in joy.

Not only did Nina start shopping for food and cooking for herself, Arina arranged for her to have a maths tutor - important now she was buying things on her own.

"It's not that Nina doesn't understand things. She just never needed maths before," Arina says.

Arina herself began helping Nina with her literacy - she could read and write, but slowly and with difficulty.

"I need to be able to read and write," says Nina. "To be able to cook for myself, to go to work. I do want to have a job.

"I could make and sell friendship bracelets. I asked Arina: 'Do you know anyone who might want one?' She asked her mum, her mum was quite keen. I said: 'I will sort this!' Her mum picked the colours, Arina showed me a photo [of the colours], and I started making it."

Arina says she wanted to make sure she gave Nina responsibility for herself, rather than always taking charge, even if this did not always go to plan.

She cites the example of Nina wanting to learn to draw. Arina found another volunteer who could teach her over Zoom, and explained to Nina that she should make sure she joined the lessons. But after a while she discovered Nina had been missing some sessions.

"I don't want to chase another grown-up and pester them," says Arina. "I felt this was the kind of responsibility Nina could sustain, and we had conflicts around it."

But on another occasion Arina wanted to be more involved in Nina's life than regulations allowed.

Nina had complained of a terrible stomach ache and was admitted to hospital for several days of tests. Arina was not allowed to stay with her because she was not a relative or guardian.

"Pleas, send Nina some reassuring messages," she texted to the volunteer group chat. "Poor thing's terrified, she is having a third blood test and is scared."

Thankfully there was nothing seriously wrong.

As the Moscow lockdown eased in June, the Life Route charity was faced with a challenge.

"It became obvious that those people our foundation took to the assisted living flats for the duration of the quarantine did not want to go back to the PNI," says Ivan Rozhansky, the charity's director.

These institutions have been a focus of concern for some time.

In early 2019, Russia's deputy prime minister Tatiana Golikova ordered an inspection of living conditions in 192 psycho-neurological care homes. A consumer watchdog, Rospotrebnadzor, discovered violations of health and safety and other regulations in around 80% of them.

In January of this year Russia's Ministry of Labour introduced a number of structural changes to the provision of care for those in PNIs, including a move to help social workers provide assistance for some people in private homes rather than in state institutions.

"Obviously, all these changes will not be realised immediately on January 1, 2021, but step-by-step the situation will be changing," Golikova said.

Maria Sisneva from the charity Stop PNI says the quality of life in Russian care homes is poor.

"At a PNI you will have 500-1,000 people living in close quarters, but with very different levels of ability, and different backgrounds, different needs. They live in extremely cramped conditions, at best they'd be two to a small room, often in corridors, in spaces similar to military barracks, isolated from the outside world. They barely have any real social experience."

The director of PNI 22, where Nina was living, is clear about the benefits of care homes, however.

"The main advantage of psycho-neurological homes is security," says Anton Kliuchev. "The residents are looked after by professionals, who know exactly how to help and support them, how to talk to them, how to take care of them."

Care homes for people with specialist needs and mental illness exist all over the world. But from the mid-20th Century in the US and some European countries, a process of deinstitutionalisation started, aimed at replacing long-stay closed facilities with care within the community. Yet, in Russia care homes are still the predominant model.

According to Russian government statistics, as of February 2020 there were more than 150,000 people living in PNIs.

Unlike many countries, Russia's assisted living provision is only in its infancy. National charities believe that if this alternative system were more established, many care home residents could leave their institutions.

"Right now the system in Russia is such that if a person is believed to be insufficiently independent by the state, there is nowhere for them to go apart from a PNI, or [for those with physical disabilities] an invalids' home," says Sisneva.

Life Route began to discuss how the assisted living arrangement could be made permanent for the nine people they rehoused during lockdown. The charity rented four apartments, including one for Nina to share with fellow care home residents Sergey and Ivan. Arina moved back to her own apartment, and began instead to spend one night a week at Nina's new accommodation on rotation with other volunteers.

But there was another hurdle.

The PNI can only release their residents' care permanently to Life Route if those people have what is termed "legal capacity" - in other words, the state considers them able to function independently in theory, even if in practice they are in a care home.

Nina does not have legal capacity - all decisions about her life are made for her by the director of her PNI. As Nina is so functionally able, it is not clear why this is, though experts say it can be simply a foible of the system. If, like Nina, someone has arrived from previous care such as a children's home, and has never been properly assessed, their legal status might never be challenged.

So Arina has applied to become Nina's guardian.

"One day it just sort of clicked. And I realised I had to do it."

If her request is granted, Arina will become responsible for every element of Nina's life - financial, practical, emotional and medical. As her guardian the PNI will finally share Nina's diagnosis with her.

The process won't be straightforward, she says, involving extensive financial, physical and psychological check-ups on Arina.

"Emotionally [the decision] wasn't easy either," says Arina. "But once I took Nina out of the care home, she became my responsibility."

This all-consuming obligation might explain why there are so few people who volunteer to become legal guardians in Russia.

While Arina waits to be granted Nina's guardianship, the PNI could demand that Nina - whose state benefits they are currently losing out on - return to them at any time.

Meanwhile, Arina says she is still working out the exact role she plays in Nina's life.

"I can never be Nina's mum. I will never be able to give her the childhood she deserved."

But she accepts that Nina sees her as much more than a friend. Nina expects her presence on all important errands: to the dentist, to get her ears pierced, to get registered at the local GP.

And these new responsibilities have come at a time when life has been tough for Arina in other ways.

"It wasn't just Nina who went through a big emotional change. I went through a lot emotionally, too - during this time my salary was cut; I have had complicated developments in my personal life."

But Arina says all this has brought them closer together.

"Once you have gone through all these experiences [alongside another person], it is hard to backpedal.

"I won't say I'm not anxious about it. I'm incredibly anxious. And there are certain people around me who freak me out even more. They keep asking me. 'Have you thought it through? It's for life!'

"I calm myself down by saying that we have a plan."

That plan is to work towards eventually restoring Nina's full legal capacity.

Nina needs to be deemed independent by the state if she ever wants to live alone or get a job.

Other than Arina, she has one other close relationship - with a man called Sasha, who she met in PNI 22, and who is now in assisted living in a different apartment. Nina regularly meets up with Sasha in the city, and is clearly fond of him. Arina is aware that Nina may want to eventually marry and she would need legal capacity for that too.

So Arina hopes Nina's tutoring will give her the option to be assessed at some point.

"Examiners look closely at a person's reading, writing and counting abilities," Arina has heard.

The process is not publicly available but anecdotal accounts suggest it can include everything from being expected to dance or sing a song, or even know the price of a loaf of bread.

Arina says they won't apply for Nina to take this test until she is as prepared as she can be.

In the meantime, Arina is involved in all the important moments of Nina's life.

"Maybe I'm just the type of person that is not afraid of responsibility. It is an unexpected - but actually a good thing - that has happened to me.

"I love her. There's not much to it. I love her very much."

My Friend from a Care Home is available to watch now on YouTube.

[taking-over-his-life]

Munich Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I had a constant stream of friends and family visit me over the summer, as I tried to pretend that Gunter was in this body, fuck how I enjoyed that. Old boyfriends, shags mates, I played the part well and soon fell into my new life naturally.

I was the son of a rich family, living on an allowance so I didn’t work, and didn't need too, this suited me down to the ground as the sex was just intoxicating, and it was my true drug.

I had been building my body up so the muscles were starting to show and the idea of showing them off turned me on. Bear chested with a leather waistcoat, that was my dress until the rains came. In the clubs and bars I attracted attention, and enjoyed every minute.

One night I had been out clubbing and was walking home. I was out of my mind on speed and drink.

I decided to walk down a tow path near the canal. It was dark, very dark, but in that state I didn’t care. It smelt of dampness and plant life, the dew was on each leaf and stalk.

As I walked in there were the normal tramps sleeping on the benches, I was looking for some hot leather man. I walked right through, about half a mile there was no one there, ‘FUCK’ I said as I headed back.

‘FUCK ‘came a voice from the darkness, ‘please!’ I looked and could see no one, but the voice came from a clump of bushes, so in I went. Stupid fool I would regret this.

I peered into the darkness and a guy got hold of me, ‘You horny fucker, give me your arse’. He started to loosen my chaps, ‘FUCK OFF’ I said, I couldn’t see him , and he was moving too quick. I turned round and started to walk away. An arm came round my neck and pulled me back in. ‘YOUR MINE FAGGOT!!,’ I started to shout, but he forced something into my mouth, it was so filthy and stunk so bad, ‘SHUT THE FUCK UP ’ he said. I was on the ground in seconds, He put his hands in my pockets and took my wallet and money, ‘nice, I need some cash' he said.  He went through my wallet, and took a letter, ‘this is where you live homo, is it?’ At this he violently kicked me in the stomach. I doubled up in pain, another followed, ‘answer me’ he said threateningy.

‘Yessss,’ I said in pain, my eyes were getting accustomed to him, I saw him, muscled, but a tramp, so filthy the dirt was so bedded into him it looked like leather.

‘Take me there,’ he said as  he stood me up and made me walk in front. No one was out it was 4am.

We arrived at the flat he took the keys and opened it, ‘anyone else in, ‘I looked at him and did not answer, ‘If they are they are dead’ he snarled.

He pushed me in and opened each door. When he was satisfied he pushed me into the bedroom.

Nice place faggot, give it to me, I need a base, maybe take your place. I bet I could be a mincing queen.

I was so terrified. He turned the light on, and I saw him properly for the first time. he was attractive, same shape and look and colouring as me. He could be my brother. He was wearing filthy hiviz over old combat trousers, they were so filthy that they were black in places and were shiny, his boots were worn the leather cracking, they were laced , he just stunk to high heavens.

He started to search and found my cache of chems, wow some supply, we are in for a hot night faggot.

He walked over to me and forced me to take 3 pills, FUCK I thought that’s too much, it wasn’t long before I started to drift.

He lifted a chair and put me on it in the bathroom.

He started to strip, Hi vis jacket hoody, both so filthy and stinking, and threw them at me, ‘your new clothes man’ he said, then the combats, and some filthy piss stained long johns under them and the shoes,.

He was so stinking and dirty. ‘You like faggot eh?’ I did, it was getting me hard and he could see.

He went over to the sink and started to shave, he had a large beard but using my clippers, he soon had stubble and a Mexican moustache.

Now he started to shave his head. When he finished, he washed his face. ‘What do you think queer boi’ he said, FUCK, he looked just like me, He got close to me and started to kiss me, as he did, he fiddled with my ears. As he drew back I could see he had taken my rings and he was positioning them on his ears, ‘There we go’, he said, now he took out my nose ring, and put it in his. ‘Don’t I look the fucking part homo.’ he said as he laughed at me.

My nips had the rings taken then my cock. He was in ecstasy as he said, ‘Fuck these feel so great on me. It will be your clothes next tramp boy’

Next he was in the shower, I tried to stand up but couldn’t and fell, straight onto the pile of his clothes, they stunk but were very horny and I was so out of it on chems, they turned me on. he looked out, ‘don’t try to escape MR I need your clothes, and your identity, Your going to enjoy being a lousy tramp Mr.’ he said smiling.

I was terrified, he was going to take my place, what would he do with me.

He stepped out and dried off.

His dick was hard, now I need your clothes to finish it off.

He lifted my leg and started to pull of my boots, then my socks, my breeches left me next then my jock. He got down and took my cock strap, and then in seconds it was all on him

The more he dressed the more he looked like me. My rings arm bands chain, shirt jacket

The lot

The transfer was complete.

‘Well Mr what do u think?’ He was identical. ‘What the fuck are you going to do, your not me, I am! ‘ I said he responded ‘You are now a loser Mr, I the fucking gay boi now, your life is now mine, nobody will know the difference. Im looking forward to living here, in your gear, with your money and lifestyle. Bet id be a great gay shag eh?’

He then started to dress me in the filthy stinking gear he had worn,

He put me on my back and started to pull the long johns on my legs, they were yellow with age and so filthy huge stains on the arse and dick, they smelt so ripe, it was sickening. He pulled them so far up, they caressed my dick and balls. Real man stink, I was getting hard

I couldn't resist. Then the old combats, they fitted me perfectly, he fastened them, and zipped in my dick, old socks so ripe they were slimy on my feet, holes all over, then his boots. He laced them up. ‘You look good MR’ he said

He stood me up and pulled an old T shirt over my head it was so filthy, and stink of BO and beer

Then the hoody top and the old stinking leather jacket and hi vis.

‘Look’ he said as he stood me in front of the mirror, ‘what do u think what a transformation’. ‘Fuck I'm going to enjoy it here, and you will really like the canal,’ My dick was ridged and seeping, I was so horny, and he could see it, the filthy smell and feel of his gear was turning me on. See ‘you want it boi, be a real man, and ill be the faggot. You can have my history in the army memories of my wife and kids, ill be a filthy worthless rich cunt now giving my arse to the biggest dick. Got to act limp and camp, maybe the change will make you a man,’ he laughed and laughed, he started to feel his arse in my jeans, he enjoyed the leather. ‘Feeling his chest and enjoying every minute. I could see the leather was interacting with him, giving him my sensations and feelings, he was really taking my place. He strutted the room and checked himself in the mirror, each time the leather got tighter shaping itself to him.

He pulled me over to the sink and cut my moustache and rubbed some dirt off his boots and into my skin on my face, ‘dirty fucking tramp, loser.’ he whispered

‘Nooo, please your not me ‘I said slurring my words. ‘Only you and I will know that’ he said ‘Take a drink he said and he forced whisky into me 'I was out of it. I could see and hear but had no control.

He got a house plant and forced my fingers in the soil and rubbed the dirt in my hands so I looked the part. He lay me on the floor and pissed all over me, then he lifted me up, I was helpless. He lay me over the sink and started to push his huge dick deep inside me. There was nothing I could do. I enjoyed the feeling so much, I came twice adding to the filth in the long jonhs, then I pissed myself, He pulled at my shoulders as he lunged into me, ‘í want to be you, gunter, Im the faggot now, I want to live your life, Your Nathan, enjoy your new life' he started to cum wads deep inside of me.

I lay on the floor watching him, he was exactly like me, fuck he couldn’t pull it off surely. I'm no tramp. I watching as he got used to my flat and gear, my food, sitting at the table, eating from my plates, wearing my gear, Then phoning on my phone, as he sat down the leather gear moulded to his shape, ‘it s good to be gay ‘he said, laughing at me. He lit up a joint and sat with his boots on my stomach, or rather my boots. He was reading my papers memorising things about me, reading my letters finding out about my family, ‘gunter hammerstaed, that’s me, true fucking German.’he said, looking at me.  He repeated my birthdate place of birth etc, things about my family. ‘I'm you now Gunter, I'm you, I'm the faggot boi, me a rich little cuntboi. And you’re the tramp’. he laughed

Suddenly there was a knock at the door. 

He opened it. It was Peter, ‘Hi Gunter’ he said, and kissed him, he responded. In he came, I tried to speak, peter help, he kicked me hard, ‘who the fuck is he’, said Peter, some old tramp I took pity on’ he replied.

‘Fuck you’re a brave man letting him in here.’ said Peter.  I tried to get peters attention, but it wasn’t too long before he was on top of the impersonator and in bed, after hours of fucking peter didn't notice any difference and believed it was me. What was I going to do. Before he left Gunter said, ‘give me a hand getting him back to the canal.’ 

Peter and him took an arm each and walked me over to the canal It was dark and damp and smelled, of the vegetation around, I tried to speak but couldn’t, Peter said ‘he fucking stinks, maybe we should just fuck him and let him float away in the canal better ending for him’. and he found the spot where we met, there was some cardboard and a few possessions, he lay me down, and whispered, ‘enjoy it, this is you now.’

They both walked away.

It was mid day and I woke up, I was still well gone but could walk, I was going to have that bastard. As I walked towards the flat, there he was with peter in a street café, wearing my levis chaps high boots waistcoat, and cap. My piercing in his ear shone in the sunlight and it caught the silver ring in his nose, his nips stood out with my rings in the and my thick silver chain lay round his neck. 

He was wearing al my rings one on each finger, fuck I looked great I thought, that’s my image and I'm having it back, Petr will help me. Fuck he looked great, but that was my life and I was going to have it back. I went up to the table, and got hold of him, ‘your cunt’ I shouted and pushed at him, Peter jumped up and grabbed me by the shoulders and spun me throwing me into the road, ‘FUCK OFF YOU FILTHY CUNT ‘he said. He looked at the impersonator, ‘see I said you shouldn’t help.’ @ Peter its me ‘ I said, but my voice was still slurred.

‘Go away boi,’ he said to me ‘or ill call the police’, ‘call them’ I said, and they did.

Within minutes they were there, and they explained I had attached him. Peter witnessed it as did others, the police held me and I explained my story, they looked at each other, ‘careful, he has a knife’ shouted the impersonator, ‘where’ said the policemen, ‘he put it in his leg pocket’ he said. The pushed me on the front of the car and searched me, yes it was there, and they found crystal meth, enough to deal, ‘Your coming with us' they said, I was in shock lost didn't know how to react

‘No I screamed, he has stolen my life I'm Gunter hammerstead, not him’, he and peter laughed, ‘too many chems they said’ to the police. I was cuffed and bundled into the back of the car. Then it struck me this nightmare was real

In the car I tried to tell the cops but they ignored me, ‘fucking shut up you dirty filthy tramp’ they said.

I got to the station, and they searched me. He had a passport on him, Nathan johns, he was exactly like me and me him. I was a Canadian. They took my fingerprints and picture and his name went on the record. Fuck now my fingerprints matched his identity , nooooo.

In the morning I was thrown out. So back to the canal I went, then to my flat. The clothes stuck too me, and the smell was riveting, he opened the door,'FUCK’, he cried and pulled me in.

‘You cunt go away, I don’t want you here Nathan. This is my house my life, ive taken it from you, I'm Gunther now’ he said , ‘NO!’ I shouted, he threw me against a wall he was strong, and it winded me. The next minute he was on top of me,’ like your new name Nathan?’ He said, ‘like your filthy clothes and your new life, Canadian boi’,he sneered. I struggled but couldn’t move. ‘Now I am you cunt, understand it, or ill wipe you out,’ he showed me a syringe, I struggled and he jabbed me in the arm, . ‘next time cunt Ill overdose you., and they will find you in the canal, and who the fuck will care about a tramp.’he said

‘I need you passwords and bank codes, faggot, so spill the beans, give them to me’. I passed out.

When I woke up I was tied down and gagged. He was sitting at the far side of the room, napping. He looked unbelievable, it was me, tight leather jeans with a white stripe, fitted him to perfection showing every curve, the highly polished boots,, on his feet, the waistcoat, tatts on his arms identical to mine, his tan, piercings, the muircap, he was an exact replica of who I used to be.

I struggled, and he woke, ‘Keep still Nathan, ’he said  'm not Nathan, I'm Gunter, ’I shouted.  Suddenly he delivered a huge blow to my face,’ NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN. You are Nathan’ he screamed.

I started to speak and he forced my mouth open and forced some drugs in. ‘Your with me now till you’re a full time druggy Nat’. and he started to laugh, I was tripping and couldn’t stop myself

.Hours went by, I woke up, he was there , ‘who are you’ he said ‘gunter’ I replied. he punched me so violently, and more drugs were forced.

Again, ‘who are you' he said. I looked into his eyes so angry so evil,  I hesitated, he looked at me, with pure evil. ‘I'm I'm I'm Nathan’ I said with tears rolling down my face., ‘Good he said, who am I' ‘Gunter I said

‘Excellent boi’ he said , he questioned me on my family and I told him everything he wrote it down then bank accounts the lot, he had my history my money my gear my house my looks, he was me. 

And me, well Nathan is my name now, I'm a tramp in Munich.

[sherry-l]

Why YGO Vrains is such an immeasurable disappointment: a list

First of all, I need to make it abundantly clear that Im a big fan of Vrains – I love Yusaku, Ryoken, Ai, Kusanagi... you see them very often on my dash. I fantasize about the ideal version of Vrains that’s written well, the Vrains that’s fully exploited its potentials, every night in my sleep. I wrote this list PRECISELY because I love Vrains. That’s why I got so frustrated with its cardinal writing issues (and production issues). It physically pains me to hear people calling Vrains the worst and most boring series of YGO – but the fact that I couldn’t argue against that because it’s true pains me more.

And now, an incomprehensive list of the faults of Yugioh Vrains.  

1.      What the fuck is wrong with the character designs (beside that of Yusaku and Ryoken???) Everyone looks aesthetically displeasing – characters in real life look incredibly boring they could easily drown in a crowd of background characters, but their avatars are OSTENTATIOUS. Seems like the character designer had no clue what “less is more” means – blue angel, soulburner, and Bohemann for example, look like they were immersed in a bucket of glue and then dumped into another bucket filled with random accessories.

(from a fan artist’s perspective…Im especially salty about takeru, akira, Kusanagi, and the Knights of Hanois’ designs…like, their designs don’t inspire me to draw. Their personalities might be interesting, but their looks lack the vibrant, enthusiastic energy that the 5Ds, Zexal, and Arc-V characters possess)

(imagine how many fanfics and fanarts of Kusanagi x Yusaku there would be had Kusanagi looked HALF as hot as Ryoken)

And don’t even get me started on the colour palette – whoever decided on the colours just cant make up their goddamn mind! Colour saturation is way off the charts, the range of colour is too wide the audience simply dont know where to focus.

2.      Forgotten plotlines. Yusaku’s link sense? Hanoi’s spy in SOL? The Queen and the rest of the chess pieces? Yusaku’s forgotten memories? The rest of the victims of the Lost Incident? Just to name a few. 

3.      Character relationships are weak to minimal to none. Bonds and friendships – the vital element in all previous YGO series – is practically non-existent in Vrains. Where’s the camaraderie between our main casts (Yusaku, Aoi, Soulburner, Ema, Onizuka, etc…)? They don’t feel like a team fighting the evil together. They’re completely separate individuals who don’t give a single fuck if one of their…acquaintance…dies in a battle. We don’t have heartwarming moments of friendship blossoming and consolidating. It’s honestly such a let down.

4.      Interesting and debatable topics thrown away. The conflict between artificial intelligence and humans could spark so many in-depth discussions, but then the writer just decided its all Lightening’s fault. No morally gray situations, no ambiguity between the line of good and evil. It’s just all Lightening and his petty jealousy… yeah.

Oh and if Ai lives on the world will blow up. Why? Do we have a concrete reason to back that statement? eh...

5.      Overall quality of the animation. I don’t know if its because the animation staff was short on time or low on budget, but for a megacorporation (konami cough cough) that makes billions every year, they certainly are capable of investing more in this anime series. I can count the number of episodes in which the characters don’t look wacky with a single hand.

6.      Character development, wasted potentials. Ryoken is the only character who received decent treatment. The rest of the Vrains cast are all disappointments. Original concepts are cool and promising – Yusaku, a victim of child abuse with PTSD, embarking on a journey to overcome his reclusiveness and learn to open up to people around him? HELL YEAH. Aoi, a teenage idol with depression developing into a more mature and responsible heroine who saves Link Vrains? IM ALL FOR IT.  Soulburner’s character arc is fine overall but personally I don’t feel like it’s expanded enough. Also, there’s the mistreatment of side characters like Onizuka, Ema, Akira, the list goes on. I got so furious just looking at these characters and remembering that they’re all wasted and sidelined.

7.      Incoherent/ random plotlines. IDK all episodes in season 1 (Hanoi’s arc) felt pretty consistent, focusing on a linear theme – Yusaku’s revenge on the Knights of Hanoi. But after that it felt like the writers gave up writing outlines and just wrote whatever he pleased/ considered more convenient for the sake of…a plot…that he had no idea which direction it was headed for. This is reflected in the amount of forgotten plotlines we listed previously.

8.      Weak villains. Kinda related to point 4. Bohemann, Lightening, Windy, and Haru are all one-dimensional, flat, predictable villains with the cliché goal of “destroying humanity cuz humans are dumb and Ais are superior”. Not likeable, not fun to watch, not morally gray (something I expect from well-written antagonists), they are just there to serve as symbol of evil for the protags to defeat.

Honourable mentions - what I personally want to see in Vrains, really. Very biased.

-        The familial interaction between Yusaku and Kusanagi? Brotherhood, perhaps? Without any mention of Yusaku’s parents, Kusanagi is the closest Yusaku has to a brother figure. I crave for some wholesome brotherly moments between these two.

-        More slice of life episodes please.

-        The friendship between Yusaku and Takeru. Please. Please. PLEASE. From the second opening we can see the animation staff CLEARLY intended for there to be a strong bond between Yusaku and Takeru – Takeru probably was written to serve as a Jounouchi/ Johan/ Crow sort of character. Yusaku and Takeru could bond over their trauma and overcome their PTSD together. AND IT WAS SO HEAVILY HINTED AT IN THE 2ND OP!!! fam what the fuck happened to that friendship, Im so robbed.

-        Yusaku and Ryoken’s duel or tag duel. These two haven’t duelled AT ALL since the first season ended. Isn’t Ryoken Yusaku’s official rival? Isn’t it Yugioh tradition for the protag and the rival to duel like, a trillion times? AND ISNT IT ALSO A YUGIOH TRADITION FOR THE PROTAG AND THE RIVAL TO TAG DUEL?????? The fact that Yusaku and Ryoken never had a tag duel haunts me every night in my worst nightmares afjw4ot9wgrk

-        Topologina Nabee

Thanks for coming to my ted talk, this marks the end of my rant on YGO VRAINS DISAPPOINTMENTS. Again, I harboured no malicious intent when I compiled the list – its more like a vent of frustration than actual criticism. I would pay billions to see a Vrains reboot or, if there exists an alternate universe where none of the writing/production issues above are present in Vrains, I would do a Kaiba and build a dimension travelling machine and immigrate there.

TLDR: wasted potentials. wAsTED PoTEntialS. WASTED POTENTIALS!!!!!!

[fuckofffuckofffuckoffloveme]

Runaway - Part Twelve

~Masterlist~

Concept: Hazel Richards is a twenty-year-old woman living in London. When she meets a mysterious time-travelling alien known only as the Hunter, she’s thrust into a world of wonder she could only have imagined.

Warnings: swearing, follows S1 of Doctor Who.

The Hunter looked up as the TARDIS took on a purplish tinge, the cloister bell tolling in the distance. She gently settled Hazel on her bed, then left as quietly as she could to find out what was going on.

By the time Hazel appeared in the console room, having changed her clothes, the Hunter was chasing a small spacecraft, making the ship tilt dangerously. "What's the emergency?" the human girl asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes with one hand as she held onto the console with the other.

"It's mauve," the Hunter replied, her eyes flickering over before returning to the screen she was watching to make some small adjustments to her flying.

"Mauve?" Hazel echoed, frowning.

"The universally recognised colour for danger," the Hunter told her, like it was obvious.

Hazel raised her eyebrows. "What happened to red?"

The Hunter snorted. "That's just humans. By everyone else's standards, red's camp." She stopped flitting around the console for a moment, grinning nostalgically. "Oh, the misunderstandings. All those red alerts, all that dancing." She noticed Hazel looking at the ship they were chasing on the monitor. "It's got a very basic flight computer. I've hacked in, slaved the TARDIS. Where it goes, we go."

"And that's safe, is it?" Hazel checked.

"Totally," the Hunter assured her, then winced as something exploded on the console near her. "Okay, reasonably. I forgot to say reasonably." She was distracted by what she was seeing on the monitor. "Oh no you don't! It's jumping time tracks, getting away from us!"

"What exactly is this thing?" Hazel asked, shouting over the engines as the Hunter attempted to get closer to the ship.

"No idea," the Time Lady replied, shrugging.

"Then why are we chasing it?"

"It's mauve and dangerous, and about thirty seconds from the centre of London," the Hunter replied, grinning as she threw the dematerialisation lever.

***

Hazel stepped out into a dark alleyway between two terraces of crowded housing. The Hunter was right behind her, locking the door to the TARDIS. She looked around and snorted. "Do know how long you can knock around space without happening to bump into Earth?"

"Five days?" Hazel guessed. "Or is that just when we're out of milk?"

The Hunter shook her head fondly. "Must have come down somewhere quite close. Within a mile, anyway. And it can't have been more than a few weeks ago. Maybe a month."

"A month?" Hazel echoed, frowning. "We were right behind it."

"It was jumping time tracks all over the place," the Hunter protested. "We're bound to be a little bit out. Do you want to drive?!"

Hazel grinned cheekily. "Wouldn't mind, actually." She laughed as the Hunter blinked, pulling her coat tighter around her. "What's the plan, then? Are you going to do a scan for alien tech or something?"

The Hunter snorted. "Haze, it hit the middle of London with a very loud bang. I'm going to ask." She showed Hazel her psychic paper ID for the occasion.

"Dr Art Smith, Ministry of Asteroids?" Hazel read, raising her eyebrows.

"Yep," the Hunter nodded as they came up to a door marked 'Deliveries Only'.

"Not very Spock, is it, just asking," Hazel pointed out.

"Haze, it's a piece of paper that reads your mind," the Hunter cocked an eyebrow. "Door, music, people. What do you think?"

"I think you should do a scan for alien tech," Hazel told her matter-of-factly. "Give me some Spock, for once. Would it kill you?"

The Hunter rolled her eyes, opening the door with her sonic screwdriver, then eyed her friend's Union Flag top. "Are you sure about that t-shirt?"

Hazel looked down at it, making a face. "Too early to say. I'm taking it out for a spin."

"Huh. Well, come on, if you're coming. It won't take a minute," the Hunter shrugged, going inside the club.

"Mummy?" Hazel blinked, about to follow her friend in. "Mummy?" She turned around, walking a little ways away from the building and looked around, before seeing a little boy wearing a gas mask on a nearby roof. "Art? Artie? There's a kid up there!"

***

The Hunter followed a waiter through a bead curtain to the main room of the club, where a saxophonist and a jazz band were accompanying a woman in a long red dress.

***

"Are you all right up there?" Hazel called. The child turned in her direction, not moving from the roof.

"Mummy?"

Hazel swore, then saw a metal fire escape and started to climb.

***

When the singer finished, the Hunter clapped with everyone else, then took her place at the microphone. "Excuse me. Excuse me. Could I have everybody's attention, just for a minute? I'll be quick. Hello!" She grinned as the audience focused on her. "Might seem like a bit of a stupid question, but has anything fallen from the sky recently?"

The audience stared at her with varying expressions of confusion, then burst out laughing. She narrowed her eyes.

***

Hazel reached the top of the fire escape where it came out on a flat roof. The child was further up, on a taller, triangular roof. "Mummy?"

"Okay, hang on," Hazel called. "Don't move!" She bit her lip, looking up at the other roof. How the hell was she supposed to get up there? Suddenly, a rope dangled down in front of her. She shrugged, testing it.

***

"Sorry, have I said something funny?" the Hunter asked, frowning at the laughing crowd. This was decidedly not the reaction she had been expecting. "It's just, there's this thing that I need to find. Would've fallen from the sky a couple of days ago."

The laughter was cut off by a loud, familiar-sounding siren. Everyone became silent, bustling around to grab their possessions and leave.

"Would've landed quite near here," the Hunter continued, sighing as her audience all left. Then she saw the poster on the opposite wall that their bodies had previously been hiding - Hitler will send no warning. She sighed again. "I'm an idiot."

***

Hazel had found the rope secure enough and was using to climb the roof to reach the child. How the hell she planned on getting back down with the child was anyone's guess.

"Mummy!" the child cried. "Balloon!" He pointed, and Hazel looked up to see a huge barrage balloon from which she was hanging. The balloon drifted away, and she clung on for dear life, her eyes wide as she dangled above the alleyway.

"Artie! Artie! Artemis!" Searchlights combed the sky in the distance, and she flinched as something exploded nearby and she yelped as a squadron of German planes headed for her. "Okay, maybe not this t-shirt," she murmured shakily.

***

"Hazel?" the Hunter called as she exited the club to find the alleyway deserted. A cat meowed nearby, and she picked it up, scratching its head. "You know, one day, just one day, maybe, I'm going to meet someone who gets the whole don't wander off thing. Nine hundred years of phone box travel, it's the only thing left to surprise me." She paused as the TARDIS' telephone rang, putting the cat down. Frowning, she got closer, opening the small door and staring at the phone. "Why are you doing that? You don't do that, that's not your job. You're supposed to sit there looking pretty." She took her screwdriver from her pocket, absently brushing cat hairs from her coat.

"Don't answer it. It's not for you."

The Hunter whipped around to see a young woman in the alleyway, keeping to the shadows. She narrowed her eyes a little. "And how do you know that?"

"'Cause I do," the woman stated. "And I'm telling you, don't answer it."

"Well, if you know so much, tell me this," the Hunter requested, looking back at the phone. "How can it be ringing? It's not even a real phone. It's not connected, it's not -" By the time she turned back, the girl had gone. The Hunter sighed, then shrugged and answered the phone. "Hello? Hello? This is the Hunter speaking. How may I help you?"

"Mummy? Mummy?"

"Who is this?" the Hunter frowned. "Who's speaking?"

"Are you my mummy?"

"Who is this?" the Hunter asked again, biting her lip.

"Mummy?"

"How did you ring here? This isn't a real phone. It's not wired up to anything."

"Mummy?" The dialling tone hit, and the Hunter hung up, before knocking on the TARDIS door.

"Haze? Hazel, you in there?" She turned when she heard a noise outside the alley, going to investigate.

"The planes are coming. Can't you hear them? Into the shelter. None of your nonsense, now move it!"

The Hunter followed the shouting to a garden wall, which she stood on a dustbin to see over. In the garden, a well-fed woman was ushering her young son into an air raid shelter.

"Come on, hurry up, get in there. Come on. Arthur! Arthur, will you hurry up? Didn't you hear the siren?"

Her equally rotund husband came waddling out of the house, shaking his fist at the sky. "Middle of dinner, every night. Blooming Germans! Don't you eat?!"

"I can hear the planes!" his wife called.

"Don't you eat?"

"Oh, keep your voice down, will you?" she chastised. "It's an air raid! Get in. Look, there's a war on."

"I know there's a war on. Don't push me."

Their voices cut off as the woman slammed the door of the shelter shut, and the Hunter narrowed her eyes as she saw the girl from the alleyway enter the garden and the house. Quietly, she followed.

***

An officer in a WWII greatcoat was standing on the balcony just outside the officers' mess hall, using a pair of very non-WWII binoculars to watch Hazel as she struggled to hold on to the rope she dangled from.

"Get those lights out, please," one officer ordered. "Everyone down to the shelter."

"Jack?" another officer, Algy, called as he put grabbed his weapon. "Are you going down to the shelter? Only I've got to go off on some silly guard duty." He looked in the direction Jack was staring. "Ah, barrage balloon, eh? Must've come loose. Happens now and then. Don't you RAF boys use them for target practice?"

Jack zoomed in on Hazel's flailing body. "Excellent bottom," he drawled, his accent very clearly American.

Algy blushed, thinking he was talking about him. "I say, old man, there's a time and a place. Look, you should really be off."

"Sorry, old man. I've got to go meet a girl," Jack smiled, putting his binoculars away. "But you've got an excellent bottom too."

***

Inside the house, the girl from the alleyway filled a small sack with provisions from the cupboards, then headed for the front door. Outside, she whistled twice, then came back in, followed by a bunch of grubby street kids. "Many kids out there?" she asked.

"Yes, miss." Their eyes widened when they saw the spread on the dining table, and they dived for the food.

"Ah!" the girl called sharply, making them stop. "Still carving. Sit and wait. We've got the whole air raid."

"Look at that," one of the boys said, pointing at the meat the girl was carving. "Bet it's off the black market."

"That's enough," the girl snapped, but she was smiling.

***

Hazel was dangling above Westminster when a bomb exploded below her. She'd been holding onto the rope for what seemed like hours, and she was freezing. When a second bomb exploded, she lost her grip and fell, screaming. Suddenly, her fall halted, and she was caught mid-air in a pale blue beam.

"Okay, okay, I've got you," an American voice soothed, seemingly coming from nowhere.

"Who's got me?" Hazel demanded. "And - well, how?"

"I'm just programming your descent pattern," Jack stated. "Keep as still as you can and keep your hands and feet inside the light field."

"Descent pattern?" Hazel echoed, doing as he asked.

"Oh, and could you switch off your cell phone?" He chuckled as she rolled her eyes. "No, seriously, it interferes with my instrument."

"You know, no one ever believes that," Hazel pointed out, but she did turn her phone off.

"Thank you. That's much better."

She snorted. "Oh, yeah, that's a real load off, that is. I'm hanging in the sky in the middle of a German air raid with the Union Jack across my chest, but hey - my mobile phone's off."

"Actually, it's the Union Flag. You're not flying at sea," Jack told her. "Be with you in a moment." After a minute, he spoke again. "Ready for you. Hold tight!"

"To what?!" she demanded.

"Oh, yeah, actually, that's a fair point," Jack stated, as if he hadn't thought of that before.

Before Hazel could yell at him, she fell down the light field and into his arms.

"I've got you," he assured her, holding her comfortably bridal style. "You're fine, you're just fine. The tractor beam, it can scramble your head just a little."

"Hello," Hazel breathed, staring up at him. For a guy, he was pretty fit.

"Hello," he grinned back.

"Hello," she repeated, before shaking her head. "Sorry, that was hello twice there. Dull, but thorough, right?"

"Are you all right?" Jack asked.

"Fine," she told him. He set her down on her feet. "What, you expecting me to faint or something?"

"You do look a little dizzy," Jack admitted, watching her carefully.

Hazel snorted. "What about you, Ken doll? You're not even in focus." And with that, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she fainted into his waiting arms. He rolled his eyes, putting her into one of his ship's seats.

***

"It's got to be black market," another boy agreed. "You couldn't get all this on coupons."

"Ernie, how many times?" the woman chastised. "We are guests in this house. We will not make comments of that kind. Washing up." The other children laughed as Ernie groaned.

"Nancy!" he complained.

Nancy turned to another boy. "Haven't seen you at one of these before."

The boy nudged the child next to him. "He told me about it."

"Sleeping rough?"

"Yes, miss."

"All right, then," Nancy nodded, then looked around at all of them. "One slice each, and I want to see everyone chewing properly." A plate of the meat she'd sliced was handed around.

"Thank you, miss."

"Thanks, miss."

"Thank you, miss."

"Thanks, miss!" the Hunter grinned when the plate came to where she'd been hiding behind the door. The children yelped, gasping and running away from her.

"It's all right," Nancy told them, eyeing the Hunter. "Everybody stay where you are!"

"Good here, eh?" the Hunter smiled. "Who's got the salt?"

"Back in your seats," Nancy instructed. "She shouldn't be here either."

"So, you lot, what's the story?" the Hunter asked.

"What do you mean?" Ernie frowned.

"You're homeless, right? Living rough?" she guessed.

"Why do you want to know that?" another boy demanded. "Are you a copper?"

She scoffed. "Of course I'm not a copper. What's a copper going to do with you lot anyway? Arrest you for starving? I make it 1941. You lot shouldn't even be in London. You should've been evacuated to the country by now."

"I was evacuated," one boy admitted. "Sent me to a farm."

"So why'd you come back?" the Hunter asked, concerned.

"There was a man there," he shrugged.

"Yeah, same with Ernie," another boy piped up. "Two homes."

"Shut up," Ernie muttered. "It's better on the streets anyway. It's better food."

"Yeah," the boy agreed. "Nancy always gets the best food for us."

"So, that's what you do, is it, Nancy?" the Hunter quirked an eyebrow at the woman.

"What is?" Nancy asked defensively.

"As soon as the sirens go, you find a big fat family meal still warm on the table with everyone down in the air raid shelter and bingo! Feeding frenzy for the homeless kids of London Town. Puddings for all, as long as the bombs don't get you," the Hunter shrugged.

Nancy put her hands on her hips. "Something wrong with that?"

"Wrong with it?" The Hunter snorted. "It's brilliant. I'm not sure if it's Marxism in action or a West End musical."

"Why'd you follow me?" Nancy questioned. "What do you want?"

The Hunter narrowed her eyes slightly. "I want to know how a phone that isn't a phone gets a phone call. You seem to be the one to ask."

"I did you a favour. I told you not to answer it, that's all I'm telling you."

She nodded. "Great, thanks. And I want to find a blonde in a Union Flag. I mean a specific one. i didn't just wake up this morning with a craving. Anybody seen a girl like that?" She bit her lip when the kids all shook their heads. Then she pouted as Nancy took her plate away. "What have I done wrong?"

"You took two slices," Nancy told her, her lips twitching. "No blondes, no flags. Anything else before you leave?"

The Hunter's eyes widened. "Ooh, yeah, there is actually. Thanks for asking, I nearly forgot. Something I've been looking for. Would've fallen from the sky about a month ago, but not a bomb. Not the usual kind, anyway. Wouldn't have exploded. Probably would have just buried itself in the ground somewhere, and it would have looked something like this." She held up a sketch.

A knock on the door made everyone jump, even the Hunter. "Mumm? Are you in there, mummy?"

The Hunter narrowed her eyes. She peeked out the window to see a little boy in a gas mask.

"Mummy?" he called.

"Who was the last one in?" Nancy questioned.

"Her," Ernie said, pointing to the Hunter.

"No, she came round the back," Nancy shook her head. "Who came in the front?"

"Me," one boy admitted.

"Did you close the door?" Nancy questioned him.

"Er -"

"Did you close the door?" Nancy demanded.

He shook his head timidly. Nancy ran to bolt the door as the child kept calling.

"What's this, then?" the Hunter frowned, folding her arms as she leaned in the doorway, watching. "It's never easy being the only child left out in the cold, you know."

"Oh, and I suppose you'd know," Nancy scoffed.

"I do actually, yes," the Hunter admitted. "I loved my brother, but he could be a dick sometimes."

Nancy frowned, then shook her head. "It's not exactly a child."

"Mummy?"

She pushed past the Hunter into the dining room and started ushering the kids out. "Right, everybody out. Across the back garden and under the fence. Now! Go! Move!" She crouched in front of the one remaining girl, who couldn't have been older than four. "Come on, baby, we've got to go, all right? It's just like a game. Just like chasing. Take your coat, go on. Go!"

"Mummy? Mummy? Please let me in, mummy. Please let me in, mummy." A small hand came through the letterbox.

"Are you all right?" the Hunter asked, moving along the hallway towards it.

"Please let me in," the child whimpered.

Suddenly, a vase crashed into the hand, and it quickly withdrew through the letterbox.

"You mustn't let him touch you!" Nancy cried.

The Hunter turned to look at her, frowning in confusion. "What happens if he touches me?"

"He'll make you like him."

"And what's he like?"

Nancy glanced over her shoulder in the direction the kids had gone. "I've got to go."

"Nancy, what's he like?" the Hunter demanded.

"He's empty," Nancy whispered. The telephone rang. "It's him. He can make phones ring. He can. Just like with that police box you saw."

The Hunter picked up the phone. "Are you my mummy?" the child asked from the other end.

Nancy slammed the phone back onto the hook. The radio started up in the dining room, swiftly followed by toys upstairs.

"Mummy? Please let me in, mummy. Mummy, mummy, mummy."

Nancy shivered. "You stay if you want to." She left by the back door, and the Hunter turned around as the child put his hand through the letterbox. She noticed a small fork-shaped scar on the back of it.

"Mummy? Let me in please, mummy. Please let me in."

"Your mummy isn't here," the Hunter told him softly, edging closer.

"Are you my mummy?"

"No mummies here, not anymore. Nobody here but you and me."

"I'm scared."

"Why are those other children frightened of you?" the Hunter asked, curious.

"Please let me in, mummy. I'm scared of the bombs."

"Okay, I'm opening the door now." The child pulled back his hand. Keeping a distance, the Hunter telekinetically unbolted and opened the door, but the street was deserted. She frowned.

***

"Better now?" Jack asked as Hazel came to in the co-pilot seat.

She blinked groggily, yawning. "You got lights in here?"

Jack turned the lights on to reveal they were sitting in a small, cramped spaceship. "Hello."

"Hello."

"Hello."

Hazel narrowed her eyes. "How about we don't start that again?"

"Okay," he agreed easily, flashing a brilliant smile.

"So, who're you, then?" she asked.

"Captain Jack Harkness, One Three Three Squadron, Royal Air Force. American volunteer." He handed her an ID card.

She snorted. "Liar. This is psychic paper. It tells me whatever you want it to tell me."

Jack blinked, taken aback. "How do you know?"

"Two things. One, I have a friend who uses this all the time," Hazel began.

"Ah," Jack sighed.

"And two, you just handed me a piece of paper telling me you're single and you work out," she pointed out.

"Tricky thing, psychic paper," Jack muttered, having the grace to look a little embarrassed at least.

"Yeah," Hazel nodded, grinning. "Can't let your mind wander when you're handing it over." She gave it back.

Jack read it, and sighed. "'Not a chance, Romeo'? Jules, you wound me."

Hazel frowned. "Jules?"

"Juliet," Jack explained, before narrowing his eyes. "That's the right play, isn't it?"

She smiled. "Yeah. Maybe we should try and get along without the psychic paper?"

"That would be better, wouldn't it?" Jack nodded, laughing.

Hazel looked around appreciatively. "Nice spaceship."

"Gets me around," Jack shrugged.

"Very Spock," Hazel complimented.

Jack blinked. "Who?"

"Oh, come on! You know Shakespeare, but you don't know Star Trek? You are so not a local boy."

"A cell phone, a liquid crystal watch, and fabrics that won't be around for at least another two decades?" Jack raised his eyebrows. "Guessing you're not a local girl."

"Guessing right," she nodded, going to clap sarcastically, before hissing in pain.

"Burn your hands on the rope?" Jack guessed.

"Yeah." She froze as a bomb whistled past in front of them. "We're parked in midair! Can't anyoen down there see us?"

"No," Jack said impatiently. "Can I have a look at your hands for a moment?"

She frowned, holding them to her chest suspiciously. "Why?"

"Please?" He gave her puppy dog eyes, and she relented. "You can stop acting now," he muttered as he gently brushed his fingertips over her palms. "I know exactly who you are. I can spot a Time Agent a mile away."

"Time Agent?" Hazel echoed, trying not to sound too confused.

Jack nodded. "I've been expecting one of you guys to show up. Though not, I must say, by barrage balloon." He glanced up at her with a cheeky grin. "Do you often travel that way?"

"Sometimes I get swept off my feet. By balloons," she was quick to specify. "What are you doing?"

Jack wrapped his navy blue scarf around her wrists. "Try to keep still."

"Okay," she frowned. "Kinky?"

He winked at her, then pushed a button on the console. What looked like golden, glowing butterflies flew to her burnt palms, healing them. "Nanogenes," he corrected. "Sub-atomic robots. The air in here is full of them. They just repaired three layers of your skin."

Hazel smiled as the glow dissipated and he untied her wrists, his fingers warm on her chilled skin. "Tell them thanks."

"Shall we get down to business?" Jack suggested.

She blinked. "Business?"

"Shall we have a drink on the balcony? Bring up the glasses." He opened a hatch in the ceiling, and climbed out, carrying a bottle of champagne, before helping Hazel up with the flutes.

She laughed shakily, seeing the fires of London right below her feet. "I know I'm standing on something." Jack pressed a button on a remote control, and the ship appeared beneath them. "Oh, okay. You have an invisible spaceship. That's cool."

"Yeah," he smirked.

"Tethered up to Big Ben for some reason?"

"First rule of active camouflage," he told her, opening the bottle and filling the glasses she'd brought up. "Park somewhere you'll remember."

***

Nancy went to a hidden shack in some railway sidings and carefully hid the food she'd stolen from the house. When she stood up, she saw the Hunter watching her with a grin. "How'd you follow me here?" she demanded.

"I'm good at following," the Hunter shrugged, leaning in the doorway.

"People can't usually follow me if I don't want them to," Nancy frowned.

"Yeah, but there's actually a reason they call me the Hunter." She paused. "I think."

"Goodnight, miss," Nancy turned away.

"Nancy, there's something chasing you and the other kids," the Hunter stated hastily. "Looks like a boy and it isn't a boy, and it started about a month ago, right? The thing I'm looking for, the thing that fell from the sky, that's when it landed. And you know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"There was a bomb," Nancy admitted. "A bomb that wasn't a bomb. Fell the other end of Limehouse Green Station."

"Take me there," the Hunter requested.

"There's soldiers guarding it," Nancy told her. "Barbed wire. You'll never get through."

The Hunter smirked. "Try me."

"You sure you want to know what's going on in there?" Nancy checked.

"I really want to know."

"Then there's someone you need to talk to first."

"And who might that be?" the Hunter asked.

"The Doctor." She froze.

***

"You know, it's getting a bit late," Hazel giggled, downing the last of her champagne as they sat on the roof of the spaceship. "I should really be getting back."

"We're discussing business," Jack told her, filling her glass back up.

She snorted. "This isn't business. This is champagne."

"I try never to discuss business with a clear head," Jack grinned. "Are you travelling alone? Are you authorised to negotiate with me?"

"What would we be negotiating?" Hazel asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I have something for the Time Agency," Jack confessed. "Something they'd like to buy. Are you in power to make payment?"

Hazel bit her lip. "Well, I... I should talk to my companion."

"Companion?" Jack echoed.

"I should really be getting back to her," Hazel nodded.

"Her?"

"Do you have the time?" she asked, sipping her drink. Jack pressed a button, and Big Ben's face lit up as it struck nine thirty. "Ooh, that was flash."

Jack smirked. "So when you say your companion, just how disappointed should I be?"

Hazel smiled at his persistence. "Okay, we're standing in midair..."

"Mmhmm," Jack inclined his head.

"On a spaceship, during a German air raid. Do you really think now's a good time to be coming on to me?" She raised her eyebrows.

"Perhaps not," he decided, nodding.

Hazel shrugged. "Wouldn't have worked anyway."

Jack smiled. "Do you like Glenn Miller, Jules?" He used his remote control again, and Moonlight Serenade began to play. He took Hazel into his arms, and they began to slowdance. "It's 1941, the height of the London Blitz, the height of the German bombing campaign, and something else has fallen on London. A fully equipped Chula warship. The last one in existence, armed to the teeth. And I know where it is, because I parked it. If the Agency can name the right price, I can get it for you. But in two hours, a German bomb is going to fall on it and destroy it forever. That's your deadline. That's the deal. Now, shall we discuss payment?"

"Do you know what I think?" Hazel asked.

"What?"

"I think you were talking just then," Hazel smiled.

"Two hours, the bomb falls," Jack stressed. "There'll be nothing left but dust and a crater."

She snorted. "Promises, promises."

"Are you listening to any of this, Jules?" Jack sighed.

"You used to be a Time Agent, now you're some kind of freelancer," she recited.

"Well, that's a little harsh," he smiled, spinning her. "I like to think of myself as a criminal."

Hazel laughed. "I bet you do."

"So, this companion of yours, does she handle the business?" Jack questioned.

"Well, I delegate a lot of that, yeah," Hazel nodded.

"Well, maybe we should go find her," Jack suggested, keeping them swaying in place.

"And how're you going to do that?" she raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"Easy. I'll do a scan for alien tech."

She grinned. "Finally, a professional."

***

The Hunter was looking through binoculars at the area Nancy had brought her to while the girl pointed things out. "The bomb's under that tarpaulin. They put the fence up over night. See that building? The hospital."

"What about it?" the Hunter asked, shifting her gaze.

"That's where the doctor is," Nancy said. "You should talk to him."

"For now, I'm more interested in getting in there," the Hunter stated, indicating the fenced-off area.

"Talk to the doctor first," Nancy pleaded.

The Hunter frowned. "Why?"

"Because then maybe you won't want to get inside," Nancy told her, then turned away and started walking.

"Where're you going?"

"There was a lot of food in that house. I've got mouths to feed." She shrugged. "Should be safe enough now."

"Can I ask you a question? Who did you lose?"

Nancy stopped in her tracks. "What?"

"The way you look after all those kids. It's because you lost somebody, isn't it? You're doing all this to make up for it," the Hunter assumed.

"My little brother. Jamie," Nancy admitted. "One night I went out looking for food. Same night that thing fell. I told him not to follow me, I told him it was dangerous, but he just... He just didn't like being on his own."

"What happened?" the Hunter asked quietly. She could empathise with losing a brother.

"In the middle of an air raid?" Nancy scoffed. "What do you think happened?"

The Hunter shook her head. "It's amazing."

Nancy frowned. "What is?"

"Well, 1941. Right now, not very far from here, the German war machine is rolling up the map of Europe. Country after country, falling like dominoes. Nothing can stop it. Nothing. Until one, tiny, damp little island says no. Not here. A mouse in front of a lion. You're amazing, the lot of you. Don't know what you do to Hitler, but you frighten the hell out of me." She smiled. "Off you go, then. Do what you've got to do. Save the world."

Nancy shook her head at her, and started to walk away.

***

Five minutes later, the Hunter was breaking into the hospital. Every bed she saw was occupied with a very still patient wearing a gas mask. She was looking over one of them when an elderly doctor appeared, leaning heavily on a walking stick.

"You'll find them everywhere. In every bed, in every ward. Hundreds of them," he stated.

She nodded. "Yes, I saw. Why are they still wearing gas masks?"

"They're not," he said. She narrowed her eyes a fraction. "Who are you?"

"Are you the doctor?"

"Dr Constantine," he nodded. "And you are?"

She showed him her psychic paper. "Dr Art Smith. Nancy sent me."

"Nancy?" he echoed. "That means you must've been asking about the bomb."

"Yes."

"What do you know about it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. It's why I was asking. What do you know?"

"Only what it's done," Constantine shrugged.

The Hunter indicated the patients around her. "These people, they were all caught up in the blast?"

"None of them were," Constantine countered. His chuckle swiftly morphed into a racking cough, and he took a seat by the ward sister's desk.

"You're very sick," the Hunter noted.

"Dying, I should think," he agreed. "I just haven't been able to find the time. You said you were a doctor. Of medicine?"

"I have my moments," she inclined her head.

"Have you examined any of them yet?"

"No." She moved over to one of the patients.

"Don't touch the flesh," he warned.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Any one." After a moment of her looking at the patient, he coughed. "Conclusions?"

"Massive head trauma, mostly to the left side. Partial collapse of the chest cavity, mostly to the right. There's some scarring on the back of the hand and the gas mask seems to be fused to the flesh, but I can't see any burns," she reported.

"Examine another one," he suggested.

She took a quick look at the next patient, then frowned. "This isn't possible."

"Examine another."

She did so, and her brow furrowed deeper. "This isn't possible."

"No," Constantine agreed.

"They've all got the same injuries."

"Yes."

"Exactly the same."

"Yes."

"Identical, all of them, right down to the scar on the back of the hand," she noticed, fighting the urge to back up when she saw that same scar on Constantine's hand. "How did this happen?" she demanded. "How did it start?"

"When that bomb dropped, there was just one victim," Constantine stated.

"Dead?" she checked.

"At first," he admitted. "His injuries were truly dreadful. By the following morning, every doctor and nurse who had treated him, who had touched him, had those exact same injuries. By the morning after that, every patient in the same ward, the exact same injuries. Within a week, the entire hospital. Physical injuries as plague. Can you explain that? What would you say was the cause of death?"

"The head trauma," she guessed.

"No."

"Asphyxiation."

"No."

"The collapse of the chest cavity."

"No."

She narrowed her eyes. "All right. What was the cause of death?"

"There wasn't one. They're not dead." He hit a metal waste basket with his walking stick, and the patients all stood up. The Hunter automatically stepped back. "It's all right," he assured her. "They're harmless. They just sort of sit there. No heartbeat, no life signs of any kind. They just don't die."

"And they've just been left here?" she asked. "Nobody's doing anything?" The patients laid back again.

"I try and make them comfortable," he shrugged. "What else is there?"

"Just you?" she checked. "You're the only one here?"

"Before this war began, I was a father and a grandfather," he stated. "Now I am neither. But I'm still a doctor."

She bit her lip. "Yeah. I know the feeling."

"I suspect the plan is to blow up the hospital and blame it on a German bomb," he coughed.

"Probably too late," she guessed.

"No. There are isolated cases. Isolated cases breaking out all over London." He coughed again, and she made to help him, but he waved her away. "Stay back, stay back. Listen to me. Top floor. Room eight oh two. That's where they took the first victim, the one from the crash site. And you must find Nancy again."

"Nancy?" she echoed, eyeing him warily.

"It was her brother. She knows more than she's saying. She won't tell me, but she might - Mummy? Are you my mummy?" Starting with his mouth, Dr Constantine's morphed grotesquely into a gas mask.

"Hello?" an American voice called.

"Hello?" Hazel's voice echoed down the corridor. The Hunter looked up, starting to follow the noise.

"Hello?" The American man smiled when he saw her. "Good evening. Hope we're not interrupting. Jack Harkness." He shook her hand. "I've been hearing all about you on the way over."

Hazel hugged her. "Go with it," she whispered, before raising her voice. "He knows. I had to tell him about us being Time Agents."

"And it's a real pleasure to meet you, Uhura," Jack smiled, then walked past her into the ward.

The Hunter frowned. "Star Trek? Really?"

"What was I supposed to say?" Hazel asked. "I didn't think you'd want him calling you Art. Don't you ever get tired of Hunter?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Nine centuries in, I'm coping. Where've you been? We're in the middle of a London Blitz. It's not a good time for a stroll."

Hazel snorted, grinning cheekily. "Who's strolling? I went by barrage balloon. Only way to see an air raid."

"Wait, what?!"

"Listen, what's a Chula warship?" she changed the subject.

"Chula?" the Hunter echoed, narrowing her eyes.

They entered the ward to find Jack using what looked to the Hunter like a vortex manipulator to examine the patients. "This just isn't possible. How did this happen?"

"What kind of Chula ship landed here?" the Hunter questioned.

"What?" Jack blinked.

"He said it was a warship," Hazel supplied helpfully. "He stole it, parked it somewhere out there, somewhere a bomb's going to fall on it unless we make him an offer."

"What kind of warship?" the Hunter inquired.

"Does it matter?" Jack deflected. "It's got nothing to do with this."

"This started at the bomb site; it's got everything to do with it. What kind of warship?" she demanded coldly.

"An ambulance!" Jack exclaimed. "Look." He produced a hologram of it from his vortex manipulator. "That's what you chased through the Time Vortex. It's space junk. I wanted to kid you it was valuable. It's empty, I made sure of it. Nothing but a shell. I threw it at you. Saw your time travel vehicle - love the retro look, by the way, nice panels - threw you the bait -"

"Bait?" Hazel echoed, frowning.

"I wanted to sell it to you and then destroy it before you found out it was junk," Jack admitted, sighing.

"You said it was a war ship," Hazel narrowed her eyes.

"They have ambulances in wars," Jack said defensively. "It was a con, Jules. I was conning you. That's what I am, I'm a con man. I thought you were Time Agents. You're not, are you."

"Just a couple more freelancers," Hazel admitted, smirking.

"Oh, should've known," Jack shook his head. "The way you guys are blending in with the local colour. I mean, Flag Girl was bad enough, but Ice Queen?" The Hunter shrugged at the description. "Anyway, whatever's happening here has got nothing to do with that ship."

"What is happening here, Artie?" Hazel asked.

"Human DNA is being rewritten by an idiot," the Hunter muttered.

Hazel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Some kind of virus converting human beings into these things," the Hunter guessed. "But why? What's the point?" The patients suddenly sat up, and she froze.

"Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?"

"What's happening?" Hazel wondered, watching them carefully.

"I don't know," the Hunter admitted.

The patients got out of their beds, and Dr Constantine joined them. "Mummy?"

"Don't let them touch you," the Hunter warned.

"What happens if they touch us?" Hazel inquired.

"You're looking at it," the Time Lady replied darkly, backing up as the patients closed in.

"Help me, mummy."

~~~

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[imaginejamesandsirius]

based on the movie 1917 - James dies with Sirius hands on his stomach trying and failing to stop the bleeding.

((A/N: I've never seen that movie and I wasn't able to get my hands on it, so I used the prompt as the second half only-- James dies while Sirius tries to save him. James dies, but it’s temporary.))

Even as Sirius pressed his hands to James's stomach to staunch the bleeding, he knew it wouldn't do any good. He'd lost his wand. He couldn't apparate them to St. Mungo's, and he couldn't cast any spell that might buy them time. With the hole in his side, there was no telling if the healing spells that Sirius knew would even do any good if he could try them. He didn't have his wand. Merlin, why didn't he have his wand? Sure it had been taken from him and he'd been lucky to make it out of that room alive, but what was the fucking point if James was going to die from it now? 

The others were around. For once, they outnumbered the Death Eaters instead of the other way around. All James had to do was last until someone came 'round to find them. More of James's blood seeped around his fingers, and Sirius bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. "Hold on James, just- just hold on. A little bit longer and you'll be fine. We'll get you in hospital, and you can-" he choked on a sob, tears blurring his vision. 

James knew just as well as he did that he wasn't going to be getting up and walking away from this. "Sirius..." There was blood in his teeth. That couldn't be a good sign. He was trying to hold on Sirius's arm, but his grip slipped and he didn't have the energy to try again. "It's- cold, innit?" 

Sirius pressed down harder, then eased up at the grimace of pain on James's face. He shook his head. "It's bloody hot out here, James." 

"Huh. It's..." 

Sirius waited for him to finish. He never did. 

By the time Fabian and Gideon found them, the blood had stopped. Sirius had it all over his hands, and it had sunk into his trousers from where he'd been kneeling next to James. He didn't remember much except that he was crying, and they tried to pull him off of James and he'd started screaming that he wasn't dead. Remembering anything more probably would've destroyed him. He didn't want to think about it. James was... gone. And that was bad enough. He didn't need to have every detail burned into his brain so he could over analyse it. 

Looking back, he didn't know what he'd said to James. He couldn't remember what James said to him. He couldn't remember the exact moment that James had died; he didn't even know if he'd noticed that moment at the time that it had happened. 

The first thing he really remembered about the whole ordeal was about a week later, when Dumbledore asked him if he was going to be alright. 

"No." 

"Can you keep going?" 

"No." He'd left. He hadn't looked back. He went straight to Lily. 

Harry was asleep in her arms, and she smiled sadly when she answered the door. It used to be that if Harry went to sleep, she would immediately put him down. She couldn't stand to let him too far from her though, not after James... "It's good to see you Sirius," she said. She had to wipe at her eyes a moment later. She pulled him into a one-armed hug. "I'm glad you're here." 

Sirius swallowed, hugging her back while being mindful of Harry's position. "Yeah. It's good to see you too." 

"Come in?" Lily asked hopefully. 

He nodded, and she stepped aside to make room for him. He looked at Harry for a long moment. Longer than he'd meant to. He looked so much like James had as a baby that it hurt. Potter-Mum and Potter-Dad had taken great pleasure in showing Sirius the baby pictures when he moved in with them. James had been a little embarrassed but mostly rolled his eyes, and now he would never get to see how far that resemblance carried with Harry. The messy hair that marked the Potter Family was already distinct atop Harry's head. His colouring was more like Lily's, and his eyes had settled into familiar green a few months ago. Everything else screamed James. The shape of his head, the chubby cheeks, hell, even the ears. This was the same baby that James had handed to him the day he'd been born, and Sirius had sworn he would do everything he could to protect him. It had been a promise to Lily, to himself, to Harry, and to James. He wasn't about to break that promise. "We should go." 

"Go?" She didn't get it. It was so far from what she expected from him that she couldn't even guess what he meant. "Go where?" 

"I dunno. Somewhere. Out of Europe. Get some space." 

"I-." Lily blinked. "Sirius, this is our home. We can't just leave. There's a war on. Our friends are fighting out there." 

"Yeah. I don't know about you, but I can't fight anymore." Lily hadn't been able to since getting pregnant, and raising Harry had taken up the rest of her time. Sirius had felt nauseous holding his wand. If it were a life or death situation, he wasn't sure that he'd be able to cast a simple Protego to protect himself-- or anyone else. "Look, you can stay if you want, but I'm going, and I'd like if you and Harry came with me." He knew that they were the only other people who understood what it was like to lose James. Everyone thought they knew because James had that easy friendliness with everyone in the Order, but he'd always been more to the three of them. Well, the two of them. Harry was too young to understand why his father wasn't around anymore-- too young to really understand this loss. Lily didn't love James the same way that Sirius did, but she was the closest. He knew this was hitting her hard for more than just the-father-of-her-child; they'd been best friends too. 

"How can you leave? That's not like you." Her voice was low so as to not wake Harry, but there was an intensity there that meant, were the situation different, she might be yelling at him-- or at least she would be close to it. 

"Maybe not, but I'm going." Truth be told, it left a sour taste in Sirius's mouth, but he knew that he couldn't stay here. It felt far too cowardly, running away, but staying would be nothing more than a death wish in action for himself. "You can think about it. I'm leaving on Friday." He needed that time to pack up his shite and take care of James's desk at the Ministry. He had to clear out his flat and talk to the landlord too. He'd be able to cram it all in one day if he wanted, but Lily needed time to think, and it was difficult to force himself to do anything out of the flat. 

*

Lily didn't need until Friday to come up with an answer. She showed up the day after they talked, Harry in her arms and a bag on her shoulders; Sirius didn't need a peek inside to know it had the whole of her worldly possessions in it. 

With Lily and Harry around, Sirius didn't need until Friday to get everything done. They were out of Great Britain-- and all of Europe-- on Wednesday. 

*

Fourteen Years Later

"Why are you giving me that look?" Lily asked suspiciously. It's not that Dumbledore was being mean. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was being far too nice, considering that her son had just broken into the Ministry and destroyed an entire subsection of their building, including several irreplaceable magical artifacts. Neville was the official leader of the group, but he was also the Boy Who Lived, and Harry seemed happy to take all the blame for things that went wrong. 

It's not as though Dumbledore ever yelled at her or summat, but he did occasionally get a pinched look about his eyes when they talked about Harry. This wasn't like that. This was a look more like he was trying to give her bad news. She had no bloody idea what that bad news could be since she'd seen Harry not ten minutes ago, and he'd been fine. Shaken up, but unharmed. 

"There was... an event." 

"An event," she repeated flatly. "Other than a bunch of teenagers breaking into the Ministry of Magic with no problems?" 

"After they were there." 

"Okay?" 

"James..." 

Lily stiffened. Sirius had gotten a bad fever a few months back, and his insistence that James was in the house somewhere had broken her heart. His death was a wound that had never healed, and she knew that it never would. Any time they talked about him, it was tinged with sadness. "What about him," she asked tightly. 

"He's back." 

"The dead don't come back. Not whole." 

"The impossible has a habit of happening around young Mister Potter. It's him, Lily. James, as he was the same day that he died." 

She grit her teeth. This couldn't be. She knew that it couldn't be, but there was still a treacherous flare of hope in her stomach. "I need to see him before I believe it." 

"Of course. Come with me." 

"Have you told Sirius?" 

"I thought it best for you to believe it first, before speaking with him." 

Yeah, that was probably a good idea. Sirius wouldn't exactly take this well if it turned out to be a trick. She wouldn't take it well, but she could come back from it far easier than he could. She hoped. 

Lily had a million worries as she followed Dumbledore, but all of it evaporated the moment she saw James. It was him. It shouldn't have been possible, but it was him. She didn't have to ask him anything to be sure; there was just the sense of life, of soul or whatever you wanted to call it that made her certain that it was him. His presence felt the same. 

And then he saw her, grinned, and said, "Hey Lily, did you see how big Harry got?" 

She didn't have it in her to be embarrassed that she was crying in front of the kids as she threw her arms around him-- of course Harry had wanted to spend as much time with him as he could, and his friends had all wanted to stay together-- because it was James. It was James, and he was here, and he was real. Buggering hell, he even smelled the same. She couldn't call up the memory of his smell on command, but she could recognise it now that it was back. He didn't fit the same way in her arms, not anymore. Her body had changed, gotten older, and she didn't mind it one bit. 

James looked the same. Like nothing had changed. He smiled the same way. No one smiled the same after everything, but James did. Unbidden, she wondered if he remembered dying and that Sirius had been there when it happened. It had been bad enough for her to hear about it, but Sirius had been there as his life slowly drained from him, with nothing to do except watch it happen. James glanced behind her, searching. "Did Sirius not come with you?" 

"No, he er-" she wiped at her eyes. "He's probably yelling at the Minister right now." 

"Sounds like something he'd do," James said, aiming for teasing. He sort of hit it, but it was obvious that he didn't understand why Sirius wasn't here to see him. "So am I going to him or are you calling him here?" James asked Dumbledore. 

"I'll go get him," Lily said quickly. Sirius would take it best coming from her. "You stay here and get to know Harry a little better. He's-" her throat closed up, and she had to swallow a couple times before she could continue, "He's almost as old as you are." 

"That's going to take some getting used to." 

Lily went around the table to give Harry a tight hug before she left. Then she gave James another hug, because this whole thing was utterly unbelievable, and she wanted to know that she'd kept her family as close to her as she could. Dumbledore went to the floo with her, and she turned down his invitation to join her. He'd done all he could at the Ministry; Sirius was blowing off steam and a whole lot of panic from Harry nearly getting killed. Bringing Dumbledore back to that wouldn't end well, and she wasn't looking for a confrontation. She wanted to grab Sirius and bring him back here because every moment that he wasn't with James was a moment that had been wasted. James was back-- alive-- and Sirius didn't even know about it. 

She interrupted where, sure enough, Sirius was giving the Ministry officials a piece of his mind. "Sirius, you need to come home." 

He frowned a little, confused. 

"Now," she added with a meaningful widening of her eyes, and he didn't know what was going on, but he knew that he should listen to her. 

She pulled him through the floo, then took a deep breath. This was it. This was one of the most important things she was ever going to tell him, and she didn't have the words. 

"Everything okay?" he asked. 

"James is alive," she blurted. "Or- resurrected, I guess. It's him. Not a ghost or an Inferus or anything. It's him." 

"That's not possible," Sirius said immediately. 

"I said the same thing, but Sirius, I swear that it's him. Go in there," she said, pointing to the dining room door where everyone had convened. "See for yourself." 

Instead of heading straight there to either prove her wrong or have it confirmed, he stayed standing where he was. There was a mixture of hope and pain on his face, and she knew that he was feeling the same way she had before she saw him. 

"Come on," she said, tugging on his arm. When he easily followed her, she knew that all he had needed was a nudge. If he did it himself and it turned out to be nothing, he'd only have himself to blame for hoping for the impossible. But like this, he was following Lily, same as he'd done for years while they raised Harry. She pulled him over to the door and pushed it open, both of them stepping inside like they'd done a dozen times since the Order re-formed. 

It was a tangible thing, the way the air stilled when Sirius and James saw each other for the first time in over a decade. Sirius was frozen in place at her side, but James was on his feet, barreling into him and hugging him so tightly it had to have hurt. 

There was a pause, where Sirius's eyes widened, and he was taking in all the same details that Lily had. The way James felt, the way he smelled, the way he looked like not a damn thing had changed since his death. His death could be seen on both of them, but not James. The small defense Sirius had built up to protect himself from disappointment crumbled in an instant, and he was hugging James back, just as tight. 

"Don't ever do that again, you tosser," Sirius muttered. 

*

James asked if he could stay with Sirius that night, and Sirius had immediately said yes. 

"Oh Merlin," Sirius said, looking around the room. "I know I've got your old clothes here somewhere, but I can't remember where I stashed them." Lily had thought that he'd gotten rid of them, but he couldn't bear to get rid of a single thing of James's. Every last scrap of paper he'd written on was preserved and stored, tucked away so it couldn't be damaged. Sirius needed to have it for peace of mind, but he never looked at them. Knowing that they existed was enough. The trouble was that he'd been so determined to never look at them that he'd completely forgotten where they were. 

"It's alright. I can borrow some of yours, yeah?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, I don't know why I didn't think of that. Dresser's over there, pick out whatever." 

It took a little bit of rifling, but James grabbed some loose, comfy clothes and changed, utterly unashamed of his audience. Of course, it was Sirius, and they'd done this a hundred times before in the course of living together. It was only after he was once again dressed that James looked nervous, ruffling his hair. He didn't have his glasses on, which served to make him look younger and his eyes more wide. "I know this isn't... the best time, but I wanted to tell you. I mean, I never did before, and what good did it do me, you know?" 

"What're you talking about?" 

"I love you." A quick inhale. "I'm in love with you. I should've told you ages ago, but I always thought that I had more time and- and obviously I didn't. It's- it's better late than never, isn't it?" James asked, looking at him desperately. 

Sirius couldn't feel anything but a sinking numbness. This wasn't James. He'd been so happy for the idea of having him back that he hadn't investigated it. 

"I know it's been- Merlin, a decade for you, so even if you used to feel the same, you probably don't anymore, but I had to tell you." 

He'd wanted so badly for this to be James, and it wasn't. It was a projection. A damn good one. So many details were perfect. The way his hair stuck up on the right side-- never the left. How, when he smiled, his eyes would crinkle until they looked nearly shut, but one eye was always a little bit wider. The little wiggle he did with his nose to get his glasses back in the correct position when his hands were occupied. The way he acted like it was his personal duty to make sure Sirius had positive, casual physical contact. 

"Sirius?" 

It had all been a dream come true, and Sirius hadn't questioned it. He'd been doubtful when Lily told him, it's true, but the moment he laid eyes on James, all of it had been gone. He'd been so happy, so relieved that he'd stop feeling like half a man walking around, that every doubt had vanished in an instant. 

"Sirius?" James said again. He took a step forward and put a hand on Sirius's arm. 

Sirius jerked back. This wasn't James. He couldn't stand here and pretend like it was. He couldn't lie to his face to keep suspicions down before he talked to Lily. Under usual circumstances, he would've already gone to her, but she'd fallen asleep happy and deserved some rest. Sirius fumbled for the doorknob and practically ran out of the room, the door slamming behind him. 

James didn't remember dying. He was pretty sure that this was worse though. Merlin, Remus was right; he really was over-dramatic. But right on the trail of that thought was the idea that it was accurate to how he felt. It wasn't just a rejection; James could handle a rejection. Hell, that's what he'd been expecting when he made the decision to tell Sirius. He'd been expecting a sad smile or maybe a stricken expression as Sirius said that he didn't feel the same way-- or that he had, once, but it was so long ago for him and James had been gone for so long that he'd moved on. James had been prepared for that sort of heartbreak. 

But Sirius hadn't just said no, it had been a vehement no, like he was upset with James for even thinking it, let alone saying it. Then he left. No words of comfort or denial. Nothing. He left like he couldn't stand to be in the same room as him. Rejection was one thing; revulsion was quite another. He would've been able to take Sirius turning him down, but he couldn't handle losing him entirely. 

Numbly, James backed up to the bed and sat down. He'd lost him. 

He hadn't been back for twelve hours, and he'd lost one of the most important people in his life. Would Lily hate him for it too? Would Harry? He'd seen how close all of them were. He'd thought, earlier in the evening, that he didn't really fit there anymore, and this was more reason to think that he wasn't going to get anything like his old life back. He'd known that from the moment he got spit out and told what year it was. There was no going back, no fixing the mistakes he'd made. 

He knew how everyone thought of the whole ordeal with him coming out of the Veil, and their way was more accurate even if it didn't feel that way to him. They felt like he'd died and come back, but as far as he was concerned, he'd been on ice for a decade and a half, then come out to see that everything had changed without him. 

James remembered getting up that morning for work, and he remembered getting to the Ministry. Everyone in the entire world could tell him that he'd died later that night during a fight between the Order and the Death Eaters, but it sounded like a weird story and not something that had happened to him. He didn't have any memories from that. He left the flat for work one morning like he always did, and that night, Sirius was older and freaking out. Lily had gotten older and, with nothing else to do, had put her entire heart and soul into raising Harry. Harry had gone from a chubby little baby to a self-confident teenager, and all of it happened in less than a day. 

He'd lost the life he'd made, got introduced to the world he'd have to get used to, then lost Sirius. 

He didn't know when he started crying, but he wasn't surprised. He bent his head down and tried to keep quiet; he didn't want to wake Lily or make Sirius mad at him. 

*

Lily awoke to a very tense household, although she couldn't tell straight away. She padded to the kitchen to start some tea and spotted Sirius already sat at the table like he'd been there all night. She figured it had been all night because there were half a dozen dirty mugs by the sink that hadn't been there when she went to bed. Not to mention that Sirius usually didn't get up a minute before he had to. It didn't sound like James was up yet, which made it more strange that Sirius was out here. 

"Have you been out here all night?" Lily asked. 

Sirius jumped. He hadn't heard her walk in. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair as if to fix it even though it didn't need fixing. "Yeah." 

"Everything okay?" 

"That's not James." 

"What? What are you talking about? Of course it's James." 

"Did you check?" 

"No, but I'm sure they were certain before they brought him back and told everyone he was alive." She didn't mean to snap at him, but that's how it came out. Lily took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. "I know that you're having trouble accepting it, but can't you just be happy? James is back, and we never thought that would happen. Enjoy it." 

"If you didn't check for yourself, how are you so sure?" Sirius asked, looking up at her. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, and he had a haunted cast to his eyes that reminded her of the first couple years after James's death. "Did you ask him anything at all? Or did Dumbledore-- a man who barely knew him-- say that it was him and you took it as fact?" 

"Do you really think that Dumbledore would've said it was him if it wasn't? What could the two of us possibly know more about death magics than him that could help us here? It's James. I know it's hard, and I- yeah, okay, it's unbelievable, so much so that I almost wonder if it was real. But couldn't you tell, the moment you saw him, that it was truly James?" 

"Yes, but what if that was a compulsion too? This is complex, woven magic that-" 

"Have you found any evidence of magic on him?" 

Sirius scowled, and Lily took the seat across from him. 

"What happened to make you so suspicious? You were happy yesterday." 

Sirius's jaw clenched. "He said something that the real James never would have." 

"I don't want to say it, but how can you be sure of that? It's been a decade. Things change. Memories change. We're not going to turn him into a lab rat because he said you like earl grey the best." 

"The bloody hell is a lab rat?" 

"That's not the point. What did he say?" 

"If you think it's nothing, why do you want to know?" 

"Because you're my friend, and I'm not going to let you drive yourself mad when you could be happy." 

*

The next time Lily saw James, he was crying quietly. Sirius had told her what James said, and it looked like he'd been telling the truth, if not the entirety of the situation. "Hey," she said softly. 

James wiped at his face a little and tried to give her a smile. "Hey. What's up?" 

"Sirius told me what happened. You okay?" 

"I'll get there. Sometime. Assuming that he doesn't want me dead," he muttered. 

"He doesn't want you dead; he's worried that you're not really yourself." 

"What?" 

"He took your confession to mean that you're not really James Potter. I agreed to get you tested to ease his worries, so let's get some breakfast, get dressed, and go to St. Mungo's. Nothing invasive, I promise." 

"Yeah." James wiped at his face some more. "That's probably a good idea. They weren't very thorough before. Dumbledore asked me a couple questions before and said that it was me." 

"James... you're not doubting it, are you?" 

"'course not," James lied. He'd always been bad at lying unless it was life or death. 

Lily bit back a sigh. She understood. She knew that this situation was shite and they were all having trouble dealing with it, but she just wanted for everything to be okay so they could be happy. Harry was going to be home soon, and it wouldn't do any of them good if they were all dealing with it poorly. 

*

"Do you want the good news or the bad news?" Lily asked Sirius. James was clear on the other side of the room, talking to Harry, and no one was close enough to them to overhear the specifics. 

"I don't see how the good news could be better than the bad, so spit it out." 

"The good news is that it's really James, and he's healthy and he's here to say." 

Unconsciously, Sirius brightened. "How is there any bad news with that?" 

"Well, it's only bad news for you." 

Sirius frowned at her. 

"He told you that he loved you, and you were so convinced that it wasn't true, you thought it wasn't even James. So er," she pat him on the shoulder, "have fun with that." 

Sirius cursed under his breath and rubbed at his eyes. "Put yourself in my position, Lils. He never said anything, gets... resurrected and suddenly says that he's been in love with me for ages? Would you have trusted that?" 

She wouldn't have, but that's not the point. Agreeing with Sirius wouldn't help him any. "I'm not the one you need to tell it to. Look, I'm not in James's head, so I can't say for sure what he's thinking, but it seems to me like he took that as a rejection." 

"What makes you think it wasn't a rejection? It's been... over ten years, and he's still twenty. I'm not anymore." 

Lily's gaze on him was steady. When she smiled at him, it was small and fond. "I know because I know you. You look at James the same way that he looks at you. Now, did I know before that that look meant love? No, but now that I know that it's true for James, that means it's true for you too." 

"I would hate you if you weren't so helpful," Sirius muttered, hugging her. 

"Does that mean you're going to talk to him?" 

"Well. It means I won't be avoiding him," Sirius said, and she was going to take that as a good thing. 

Sirius set his drink down and made his way over to James, wading through the crowd of people like a man on a mission. She was to take it as a very good thing. 

"Hey James?" 

"Yeah?" James said automatically, looking over at him. Then he saw that it was Sirius, and he straightened. "Hey." 

Sirius turned to face Harry. "Mind if I steal your dad for a bit? I think Lils might want to talk to you about where you're staying." 

Harry nodded, gave James a slightly awkward goodbye and went one direction while Sirius and James went the other. 

"I'm er, cleared," James said. "Officially me, officially not a danger to you or anyone else." 

"Yeah, Lily told me." 

"Oh. Good. So erm what, what are we doing?" 

Sirius knew that he should be smarter about it, and he was aware of that while he was doing it, but he still pushed James up against the wall after they were alone in the hallway and kissed him. "I... James..." Sirius swallowed thickly. "I should've done that when we were fourteen." 

James laughed, quiet and relieved. "I'm just glad you're doing it now." He leaned up, and Sirius leaned down, and they were kissing again. 

[adversitybloomed-a]

CHARACTER INTERVIEW.

Real name: Hua Mulan ( when Married Last name is either;  Zuburi, Kapoor, Safiya or Shimada ). Single or taken: Married. Abilities or powers: please see docs for info.  Eye colour:  Black ( dark brown ). Hair color: Onyx.  Family members: From my own lore; 

PARENTS: Hua Zhou ( Father ), Hua Hsien ( Birth Mother, Deceased ) & Hua Li ( Mother Step Mother ). 

GRANDPARENTS: Grandma Hua ( Dependant ) & King Yama ( unknown)

SIBLINGS: Hua Xianglang ( Older Sister, Alive) &  Hua Xiu ( half,  younger sister, Alive )

Something they don’t like: Mulan is not a fan of those who lie. She does her best to try to be herself and prefers to be honest over lying to someone. She also is not not a huge fan of hurting others, especially when she knows that there was another way of handling the situation.  Hobbies / activities: Mulan is a huge fan of horseback riding, archery, martial arts, sword fighting. But she also enjoys going to hang out with her friends, especially to eat, spending time with those she cares about. She loves watching cdrama, jdramas & kdramas. She loves to travel, and is down for a sense of adventure.

Ever hurt anyone before: Yes, though she is not proud of it. Ever killed anyone before: Yes, but she rather not talk about it. Ever killed anyone before: Yes, but she rather not talk about it. Animal that represents them: A Tiger. Worst habits: Mulan has a sense of trying to save everyone, even at the cost of her own health and happiness. She does not care if she is injured, she will push herself past her limits to make sure that they are okay and happy. She also has a bad habit of not sleeping, especially alone for more then 3 hours. And if she is upset, or her depression kicks in, she will not eat. She has had issues with a eating in the past which has affected her health. She has suffered with depression for a long time, but refuses to get help for it, and will instead try to change the subject to help someone else. If she sees herself as a burden, she will try to remove herself from the situation, because she does not want to trouble those she loves. & she has a terrible jealousy & or possessive habit ( mostly shown for those she has a thing for ) if she sees someone trying to flirt. Role models: Her father ( verse dependent ). Horus, Nefer, Apis, Seth, Upa, Tayna, Vihaan & Vahn ( @skjebne​​​ ). Chung'e ( moon goddess ). Anna ( @xthesparequeen​​​ ) Sexual orientation: Demisexual ( leans more towards heteroromantic ) Thoughts on marriage / kids: Mulan has been told her life, she need to focus on becoming a wife, and mother to a son. She has seen & hated meeting with a matchmaker, and used to hate the thought of being with someone because it is expected of her. However, she does want to get married ( she is ), but she never truly thought about it until after meeting her said partner, because she realized it was them that she had wanted to be with. She does want children ( she has a few with her partners ), and longs for a large family and family gatherings. Fears: Mulan has a few deep fears that end up sometimes triggering her depression. She struggles with the idea of losing someone she loves, and will go to great lengths to make sure they remain safe, even if it means risking herself. She has a strong fear of failure, as well as bringing dishonor to her family name, as well as not being strong enough to protect those she cares for. She does have a deep fear of swimming  ( sometimes she can’t swim ), but it mostly stems from going in water she can’t see through & the thought of what could be underneath the water sending her into a panic. Style preferences: In more modern verses, Mulan has a very punk style dress style. She enjoys pants, and shirts with sayings. colors are a choice of mood for her. However, she does enjoy wearing dresses ( flats with it as she does not like heels ), and will once in a while throw on a skirt. In more of the time period attire, she prefers wearing hanfu, however she does enjoy travel clothing with light leather and pants that make it easier for horseback riding as well as fighting. Someone they love: Upast Safiya & points to @skjebne​ & their muses, because she would die for them in a heartbeat. Approach to friendships: Mulan always tries to gain friendships. She gives people the benefit of the doubt and will go out of her way to be nice and as helpful as possible. It takes a lot to get her not to like someone, and usually it is based off of feelings. She will always try to introduce herself, be respectful and with a small smile on her face. Thoughts on pie: Delicious. Favorite drink: Tea, Boba Tea, & Iced Tea. Favorite place to spend time at:  In the arms of someone who she loves and who loves her. ( she’s cheesy gosh. ) Swim in the lake or in the ocean: Neither. Not unless someone she trusts is around, and even then she will rather watch them. Their type: COUGH COUGH   uhhhhhhi mean. Bad boy looks, but with hearts of gold? lmao i’m not going to lie, i really don’t know how to answer this other then to look at  Seth, Vihaan, Upa, Hanzo, Genji, Tayna or Vahn ( @skjebne​​ ) & at Caleb ( @dissolvedshadows​ ), because they are her types. Camping or indoors:  Mulan loves both the indoors or outdoors & enjoys spending time with those she cares about in either or situation.

Tagged by: @ka-go-me ( thanksies <3 )  Tagging: @skjebne​ @xthesparequeen​ @lcvelj​ @oraclefreed​ @universestreasures​ @sheresists​ @dissolvedshadows​ @manaborn​​ & or steal and tag me <3

[craftmanatee]

Dread X Collection 3 Games Review

Once again, my friend and I have played through a new Dread X collection and I would like to make a short concise review for each game including the Hub area. We each played 1 game resulting in 6 each. The order of games reviewed is not the recommended order to play as we went on a very simple roundabout on the graveyard, and the games have a strong sense of quality unlike Dread X Collection 2 which had many great quality games and many low quality games.

Lets go!

Game X: The Castle (A bit unremarkable)

Scare Type: Cute

Player: My friend

The castle in some way is a step back from the awesomeness of the house. As it proceeds with forced dialogue cutscenes with your character and a ghost character that possesses in you. The puzzles and areas are also larger and more spread out and easier than the house. The Dialogue cutscene itself even give the idea to not compare the two, which is understandable. But let me tell YOU that I enjoyed the house more than I did the Castle (Even if it was not I who was doing the Castle Bit), so even if they are different, one was in my opinion better than the other.

The forced Dialogue cutscenes weren't to bad. The Voice Acting was not bad. Its rather the script and subjecting the player to sit through it. Its not the most fun to sit through and could have been handled better. In the house, a dialogue still happened but you were still free to move around while listening to the pre-recorded message. The ghost possessing you could have done the same with you, but instead this YOU is a character that must go into a dialogue and stop your gameplay.

The STYLE of the castle is where I think it wins the best. The very cute spooky aesthetic is great, and hold a lot of details we noticed near the end of the game. Like the paintings being famous paintings, replacing the characters of the paintings to goofy ghosts. Time passing between each game is also a great detail, making the castle ever so slightly different all the way to night time. I love the castle for this.

We quickly figured out that the theme for this Dread X collection was not just Cute and spooky, but also the inevitability of death.

Nate Berens – SATO WONDERLAND (Ok)

Scare Type: Surprising!

Player: My Buddy

This game was alright, nothing too amazing as pulling different topics to make a new dialogue box appear was tedious and a bit annoying. But the story itself was pretty cool, resulting in a surprise ending. Each game have different endings which we did not try to explore, but for this I think we managed to get the best ending. Not much to say about this one.

Blood Machine – Soul Waste (Eh...)

Scare Type: ...None?

Player: Me

Soul Waste is a 3D action platformer about this... post apocalyptical world, and you happen to be the “Saviour”. We got Ending C for this as we felt the tedium of the collectables and we weren't going to sit around collecting them all in this weird to navigate map. The enemies did not make much of a challenge making the game bit boring. The end boss was the only thing that gave me some ounce of real fun. There was a lot to explore, but my patience wore thin due to not being that interesting of a platformer. Although it did look good for what it did. There is some to explore which we did not, but I simply noticed that there was some things here and there that we did miss. We just did not feel the need to go back.

Bryce Bucher – Disparity of the Dead (Great!)

Scare Type: Horror that sticks around even after the game.

Player: My pal

This game I think pulls off the themes of Dread X Collection 3 very, very well! Perhaps the best thematic one? Nevertheless, this is a 3D platformer that lets you talk to fun characters collecting collectables and piece together a mystery. The topics that which the game introduces to you are all very good and sad in many ways. It also had a lingering effect on me personally. This lingering horror reminded me of SOMA by Frictional Games. Anyways, the game in general is not horrifying until you get to a certain point. Then when the actual ending plays, it all gets sad. We do not know if there are different endings, but the ending we did get was a sad one in my opinion and was great.

Amon Twentysix – Bete Grise (Cool!)

Scare Type: Uneasy, then relief!

Player: Me

I really liked the aesthetics of this game, reminded me a lot of some obscure old-school games. The gameplay is mostly of you going floor to floor doing cleaning and... repairing? Anyways, there are a few hints here and there that foreshadow the great revelation at the end. I saw some of them and felt very uneasy when going through the process as it all felt like a facade. But once the revelation hit, the game turned into something more funny, stylish and well, just felt good. Its rare for a horror game to kinda blue ball you into satisfaction.

DIRIGO GAMES – REACTOR (Disappointing)

Scare Type: Betrayal

Player: My Homie

This is a game I spoiled myself with, which is why I had my friend play it instead. The game is mostly a walking simulator in which it feels like you shouldnt be there in the bad/useless way as there is a robot buddy who keeps you company and doing everything for you. When the time comes, you are then obviously, chased to the ending of the game. Its not scary, sad. Its just a simple experience. The aesthetics of the game is great, by being a gradient of blacks and whites as well as minimal uses of colour. Other than that, this is disappointing.

Moya Horror/Amos – Nice Screams at Funfair (humorously frustrating)

Scare Type: Dont fail

Player: Me

This is a very short game that was short enough for us to also explore a different ending. There is no real inherent horror here. Its mostly thematic to being like Halloween. The game has you serving icecream to people, the challenge is to serve them the ice cream that they want, and take the money into your tip jar or cash register. The real challenge is the controls, as throwing ice cream into the ice cream cones often fails for no reason, and clicking on to activate anything just sometimes did not work. Resulting in funny scenarious. We got 2 different endings for this, one that made sense, and another that we didnt understand. The game looked great, the intro did not have to be as long as it did but it was a fun little ride.

Basalt Tower – Matter OVER Mind (Woah!)

Scare Type: Loosing progress...

Player: My Amigo

Matter over mind absolutely felt like an old-school platformer, it was also unique, colourful and funny/cute! Crawling around as a little parasitical monster and possessing scientists in order to escape the labs just looked great. Like many of these games, it had a collectible that meant... NOTHING. And if you died collecting them, you will loose them all. Prompting you to reset the entire game. Nevertheless, it was an impressive game that felt great.

Corpsepile – Submission (Fuck yeah!)

Scare Type: Scary, but also funny

Player: Me

This game had so many unique and cool twists and ideas. Maybe one of the best games in this collection. It was absolutely creative, funny... everything! It was also scary at times, referencing P.T. Its puzzles were great and fun, so much good about this one! The gameplay switches often, the horror amps up... Man... Submission was super good! Cant really say much other than that.

Torple Dook – Chip’s Tips (Funny!)

Scare Type: Friendly?

Player: My guy

Super creative point and click adventure game, hamming it up to 101%. It is also so patronizingly friendly that it becomes funny. Probably the most unique game on this list. And you can pet the dog in this game. I absolutely love the aesthetics of the unhinged masked textures, as well characters being flat cutouts. What is sad is this game feels like the end to Torple Dook’s streak of being in Dread X Collection games as it references his previous 2 games as well as more.

Breogan Hackett – Bubbo: Adventure on Geralds Island (Woah! x2)

Scare Type: JUMP

Player: Me

A very well done 3D platformer, with some challenge. The game is not scary, although it does come to a point. The platforming was very good albeit a tiny bit weird when turning in a specific way. It also features hidden collectibles that we unfortunately did not find all and left it at that. It sounded and felt good, looked good and was fun to get to the end with. There are different endings, we (me) only got to see 1. I jumped at the right time and made my way out!

Modus Interactive – EDEN: Garden of the Faultless (Chaos?)

Scare type: None, just weird.

Player: My hombre

This is literally a game akin to raising your Chaos in Sonic Adventure games. Just that you raise your little Evangelion. This game I think, has the best Ps1 look than the other games. It has a very weird control scheme, as well as being weird in its own right. And it nails the aesthetics very well. Too bad the game is finicky or boring, sporting long paths and lots of waiting. I guess you could have some fun minmaxing your wittle angel. I guess you always need at least one super unorthodox entry in a collection.

Adam Pype & Viktor Kraus – SPOOKWARE @ The Video Store (Quintessential)

Scare Type: brief moments of panic

Player: Both of us

This game... is actually really fun. Spookware is literally Wario ware but with horror movie themed events. The style, game and everything is perfect. Although very short, I would honestly buy a game like this if it was fully complete. I also think this is the most fitting game for the theme of the collection. Although, not much is done about the “inevitability of death” theme here, but everything else about it carries the collection thematicly. Such a fun and quirky little game.

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

Conclusions

And so, the best games in the collection In my opinion were...

#1 Submission AND Spookware

#2 Chips Tips

#3 Disparity of the Dead

The collection was not at all as scary as the first or the second collection. Although, that is understandable as it had a more Fun and goofy vibe to it. I love seeing these collections and it introduces me to people ive never heard of before. Like Viktor Kraus who made the music, like in the trailer for the collection. Thats a great one. I wish to keep seing them make these and I hope that it is profitable for them in the end as well.

[finchbaggins]

Carrot Cake

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston AU / OFC

Authors note: For @redfoxwritesstuff 500 followers writing prompt challenge #Kitkats500 

Prompt: “Did you do something different with you hair?”

“Fuck.”

The curse left my lips in a frustrated hiss, and I threw the poppy red beret I’d been trying to style my hair under for the best part of half an hour to the floor. I stared at my reflection in the mirror above the dressing table.

My stupid reflection.

My hideous, god awful, embarrassing, reflection.

You’d think, when you were paying someone a decent amount of money, a professional no less, at a top salon, to restyle your hair, that they might have some idea what they were doing. I’d expected to come out of that salon feeling like a new woman, heaven knows I needed it after the month I’d had.

Work had been hell, what with two people handing in their notice and one of the team had just gone on maternity leave, which meant the number of FTE’s (Full time employees – junior management jargon) was down to just four on my team, and reallocating everyone’s workload’s had kept me tied to the office, sometimes late into the night.

This unusually busy period, and my unforeseen extended hours, had been seemingly the only excuse that Dan – the guy I’d been sort of seeing for almost a year to get bored and find someone else to do his laundry, cook his dinners, and suck his cock.

I wasn’t as upset as I ought to have been, if anything I was relieved. I’d known the guy was a leach and I was better off without him. But somehow being thirty-two and dating him seemed more appealing than being thirty-two and single, going home to an empty flat and microwave meals for one every night.

It had however, been the kick up the backside I needed to get my shit together. Work had finally sorted its self out. I booked a Friday off so I could enjoy a nice long weekend. I enjoyed finding any tiny possession that Dan had left in my little one bed flat, and putting it in a black sack, before hauling it all down to the communal dumpster. Then I’d cashed in on a voucher I’d found on Groupon – Colour and Restyle at Top London Salon – fifty pounds.

That probably should have been my red flag.

But money was tight, and I was determined to push forward with the whole, out with the old and in with the new.

I’d attended the appointment with several images saved on my phone with what I wanted. I wanted my dull light brown hair transformed to a vibrant copper, with choppy layers and a heavy fringe. What the stylist – or apparently blind, trainee stylist – managed to achieve was shade of orange which could be described as radioactive, and an uneven, long bob which made me look like I wanted to ‘talk to the manager’.

The worst part was, because I’d already had a voucher which meant the treatment had been greatly reduced, the salon could not issue me a refund. Although they did invite me back to try and ‘correct’ the colour. But I’d have to wait at least a fortnight, as putting more colour on it straight away could cause serious damage to my hair. Apparently.

So I was stuck with this horrific orange blob on my head for at least a fortnight. Probably longer, as there was no way I was setting foot back in that salon and letting any of their stylists lay a single finger on my hair again. So that meant waiting until my next pay day so I could go to a better salon. But pay day was three weeks away.

In the meantime I had to go to work, in an office full of people. Looking like Chucky.

Worse still. I had to face Tom. Tom, my annoying, shithead of a colleague. Tom who was in equal measure the bane of my existence and the closest thing to a real friend I actually had. Tom who was also devastatingly gorgeous and he knew it too.

I’d just about managed to twist and clip the fringe out of my face, and I’d attempted to do some type of vintage up-do that I could tuck under my beret and hope it just looked like a new style I was trying out. My fashion sense was normally a little off beat and loud so it was unlikely anyone would comment.

But no matter what I tried, I just couldn’t pull off the beret.

Eventually, another brainwave, I pulled out a pretty silk scarf. It would at least offer some cover from the embarrassment of my morning commute on the tube. I couldn’t see my boss standing for it though.

∞

“Kara,” my eyes shot to my boss, who tapped his wrist and frowned at me from the doorway to his office, “Was there something more pressing for you to do this morning, than show up to work on time?”

“No, Nick, sorry, I missed my alarm,” I apologised hastily, as I passed, “I’ll take ten minutes off my lunch.”

“Whatever, Kara,” he chuckled, and shook his head. He wasn’t really mad, I’d worked for him for too many years for him to really care about the odd ten minutes here or there, “Get that stupid thing off your head, we’ve got clients in today.”

When I finally made it into my own office everyone was already there. The small team were quiet and hard at work, Tom was leaned up against the end of one of the newer team members desk, chatting away quietly, but didn’t miss the opportunity to roll his eyes at me as I hung my coat on the back of the door, and hurried over to my desk.

The next fifteen or so minutes were spent logging into my computer and putting an eye over my emails. Long enough for Tom to fetch our morning coffees and put one on the end of my desk and take his seat across from me.

Everyone worked in comfortable silence and I waited for Tom to settle into his work before I shifted and started removing the pins I’d used to hold my scarf in place, hoping to just slip it off and carry on and maybe no one would say anything. But the second I pulled it off my head I could feel the burning of Tom’s gaze on me.

I tried not to look at him, and fixed my stare on the screen in front of me, trying to focus on the monthly audit spreadsheet. But of course my eyes darted to the side and I caught him, sitting across from me, his eyes sparkling with delighted amusement. I looked away and tried hard to ignore him.

“Good weekend?” his voice drifted over the space between us, and I couldn’t bear to look at him.

“It was fine,” I muttered, “Yours.”

“It was good, got drunk with Pete on Saturday. That new bar on Green Street, with the cocktails that turn your tongue black.”

“Nice.”

“So…” he trailed off, and I could hear in his voice that he was holding back laughter now.

“So?” I shot back abruptly.

“Did you do something different with your hair?”

I looked him dead on now. He was lounged back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. God, I wanted to smack the stupid fucking grin off his beautiful face.

“Obviously,” I hissed, looking away quickly, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of seeing how distressed I was. Made worse by how amused my misfortune was making him.

I tried to press on with my work.

“It’s very –”

“Don’t,” I snapped, quickly, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish.

He finished anyway.

“Orange.”

I said nothing, and kept my eyes firmly fixed on my screen. Tom obviously realised he wasn’t going to get a rise out of me now, because it seemed his attention was also back on the job. So, when it seemed like I could finally settle into my working day and hope that was the last comment I’d get regarding the disaster on my head, I shot off a few emails and then looked at the internal audit from my superior.

Everyone worked in silence, which wasn’t always the case. Generally we were a lively office, but the mood was dampened by the clients due in. The office manager was strict on professionalism, and whenever we had visitors he insisted chitchat was kept to a minimum.

“Christ, Kara. What happened to you? I think you were better off with the head scarf on!”

I’d not heard my boss enter our office, and my eyes shot up in time to see Tom bark with laughter, and a collection of snickers rose from around the office.

“Sorry, Nick,” I mumbled.

“Not me you want to be apologising to. Poor Tom here needs sunglasses sitting opposite you,” Tom chuckled and greeted his bosses high five.

I huffed loudly, “Hilarious. Glad you’re all getting a good laugh at my expense.”

“Talking of expense,” Tom started, his eyes were bright and twinkled with humour, “How much did you sell your soul for, for that haircut?”

“Ha, fucking, ha, Tom, gingers don’t have souls, I get it. You’re a fine one to talk with the ginger Jokes, at least mine will grow out,” I groused, annoyed that now Nick had basically given permission for open season on the hair jokes, Tom was going all in.

“Mines auburn, the ladies love it.”

“Sure.”

“Besides there’s ginger, and then there is that,” he waved a pointed finger in my direction, “It looks like you’ve fallen in a vat of chemicals.”

“Fuck off.”

“Language, Kara,” Nick said, suddenly more serious, “That’s quite enough. You can’t expect to turn up looking like that and not get a few jokes made at your expense.”

“Obviously it’s not meant to look like –”

I tried to argue, but my boss held up a hand to stop me.

“I just came in to let you know I’ll be showing our visitors around within the hour. If you could all just be on your best behavior. Tom, perhaps you can bring up some of the recent stats for them to have a look at, I’d like you to talk them through.”

“Nick, I completed last months internal, perhaps it would be better if I did that.”

“Given your vile mood this morning, Kara, you are the last person I want left alone with one of our highest paying clients.”

My lips parted in surprise. No, shock and humiliation.

I wouldn’t even be in such a foul mood if it wasn’t for his and Tom’s jibes at me. I wanted to walk out, but if I did that I’d only make it worse for myself. So I pressed my lips together and gave a short nod.

In his favour, Tom did give me a sympathetic look, as he picked up his laptop and followed the boss out of the office.

∞

If I’d even hoped that might be the end of my ridicule, I was sorely mistaken.

When I arrived back to my desk after lunch, a bowl had appeared, full of fresh oranges, and a two litre bottle of Tango orange was there too. Tom had returned from his meeting with the visitors, and only glanced from his screen briefly, long enough for me to see the smirk on his lips, as I picked up both the bowl and the bottle and marched them to the shared staff canteen.

When I returned, he looked pretty pleased with himself.

“Chill out, Weasley.”

“Oh fuck off.”

Then not long later a tap on the office door. It was Barbara from the bakery down the street, carrying a small white box. The types they delivered their cakes in, because we always ordered from there on birthdays.

“Hi, Kara,” she chirped, placing the box on the end of my desk, “Special occasion?”

I looked at the box, with a post-it on top reading my name and office number. I frowned, then looked back at her.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Oh, well… must have an admirer. Enjoy,” with that she skipped off.

I could feel all eyes on me as I pulled the box towards me. When I glanced across my desk, Tom looked about ready to implode.

“What? What did you do?”

“Me?” he exclaimed, holding a hand to his chest, having the gall to look insulted at the accusation.

So I flipped the lid of the box open, and there, inside was a small, but perfectly delicious looking carrot cake. Complete with cream cheese frosting and little decorative iced carrots.

“I…” The tears rolled down my cheeks and splashed onto the cake before I even realised I’d started crying, “I think…I think I’m not feeling too well. I’m going to go home.”

I closed the box quickly and dropped it into the bin under my desk. Then picked up my handbag. It was only when I strode across the room, and reached for my coat that Tom spoke up.

“Oh come on, Kara. Don’t be like that.”

“Tom, I think you should leave it, mate,” I heard Paul, the usually quieter member of the team, pipe up. But his warning went ignored.

“Kara, it’s just a bloody joke.”

“Yeah, well it’s not funny, Tom!” I shouted, spinning back to face him, “Do you think I wanted my hair like this? Do you think, if I could have done something to make it look less hideous, I wouldn’t have done it before having to come in and face you.”

“It was just a laugh.”

“For you, maybe. Not for me,” I sniffed, “You’re meant to be my friend. I know we wind each other up, but I can’t believe you’d go so far out of your way to get a laugh at my expense. It’s bad enough having to leave the house looking like this.”

“Kara, I didn’t…”

“Don’t even bother, Tom. I’m going. Tell Nick I’m ill.”

With that, I turned back and hurried from the office, leaving Tom, and the rest of the team in stunned silence. Not once, in all the years I’d worked there had I walked out like that, or out rightly shouted at Tom. We bickered, sure. All the time actually. We wound each other up, but we were never cruel.

∞

I waited until I arrived home to completely lose it.

A text came through from Nick, saying Tom felt bad about how he’d behaved, and they both meant no harm, and hoped I was okay.

I cried. Tears streamed down my cheeks and my body wrecked with harsh sobs.

This was ridiculous. It was just hair, why did I care so much? Some people had it worse. My own mother had lost all hers when she’d undergone Chemotherapy, and she’d not cried about it once. Alright, she wasn’t okay with it, she hated it. But she got on with it.

So why was I so upset about my hair? It would grow out, eventually. And in a few weeks I’d be able to colour it and maybe get the cut sorted. It was fixable.

More so, why was I so bothered by what Tom said?

Oh yeah, right. Because the office banter and bickering had been my own, so far, successful way of staying in control of the stupid crush I’d been harbouring from the day we were assigned to work with one another.

It’s not like I’d ever stand a chance with him anyway, he’d never paid me the slightest bit of interest. I’d have known if he had, because Tom was a notorious ladies man and when he liked a woman he let her know very quickly. He always said it was because he had impeccable taste, so he didn’t like to hang around. If he didn’t get in there, another man would.

I called him a slut.

But only because I was jealous.

Jealous of every girl who was better than me.

And now I was heartbroken because I’d now made myself look repulsive, and stupid and I’d managed to bump myself further down Tom’s list. Not that I was even on it to start with.

The truth was, of the women Tom had dated, there had been a fair few red heads. These stunning women, with long, scarlet tresses. Usually tall, with fair skin, blue eyes, and so very striking to look at. Women who were so extra, that next to them, I looked positively dull.

I bathed, and washed my hair. The stylist said after a few washes the colour would ‘settle down’. It wasn’t working, but I tried anyway. After blow drying it, it looked brighter than ever, and I shed a few more tears in front of the mirror. I couldn’t stay away from work until it was fixed.

It had just gone seven o’clock in the evening when my door buzzer went. I wasn’t expecting visitors, and my phone had been quiet since I’d ignored my bosses text. So I was a little nervous when I picked up the entry phone and asked who was there.

“Hey, Kar…It’s Tom,” I could heard the uncertainty in his voice. I’d already given him one dressing down today, was he expecting another one? “Can I come in?”

“I don’t know.”

“I’m not here to take the piss.”

“I hope not.”

“Well, can come in then?”

I glanced back into my little flat. It wasn’t too untidy. I looked down at myself. Old leggings, a band t-shirt which I’d cut the sleeves off of, and my fluffy bed socks. I suffered from cold feet. What the hell? He’d seen me in worse states.

“Sure,” I pressed the button and heard him push the door open.

Tom had only visited my flat once before, for a little gathering which I’d had for my thirtieth birthday. Whilst we were friends, it was usually reserved for work, and occasionally nights out. My place was small, and I wasn’t overly fond of having guests.

It only occurred to me when I heard the tap at my front door, that Tom lived the other side of the city. Coming to Croydon was well out of his way, considering his own place was in North West London. No closer to work, than me, really. Just in the complete opposite direction. The fact that he’d made the effort to come all the way to see me, gave me pause for thought.

When I opened the door, Tom was standing on the other side, clutching a bottle of white wine, and wearing a very sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” he said, the instant I beckoned him through the threshold of my doorway, and he thrust the bottle of wine into my hands. It was cold, and had clearly been picked up on his way over from a Newsagents with a chiller. The sudden cold in my hands took me by surprise and I bit back a gasp. Tom frowned at me, waiting for my response.

“Erm…okay,” I nodded slowly, closing the door behind him, “You didn’t have to come all the way here to say sorry. I probably over-reacted.”

Probably. I had definitely over-reacted. Most people would see the funny side. Hell…I’d have normally seen the funny side. Except, when it was at your expense, and the subject of the joke was actually something that was quite upsetting to you, it wasn’t very funny. But how could I expect Tom to understand why I was so upset over my hair. It was just hair.

Hair which he was now looking at with a renewed interest.

Of course. At work, it had been clipped up. But now, post blow dry. He could see the dodgy style in all its horrifying glory. Wonky fringe, and uneven layers, the lot.

“Wow… Kar… that hairdresser’s really did a number on you, didn’t they?”

“Tom, you’ve come here to apologise, but if you’re going to start on me again, I’d rather you just left,” I thrust the wine bottle back in his direction, and pointed at the door, “You can take your cheap bottle of plonk, and bugger off.”

“No, no, I’m not taking the piss, Kara. I promise,” Tom held up his hands, palms out, as if to show he wasn’t there to hurt me. “And I’ll have you know that wine just cost me ten quid.”

He looked sincere. His eyes were wide and full of concern. That’s what  set me off again. As if I hadn’t wasted enough tears over a stupid haircut already.  

“Oh, no…oh Kara, love. Please don’t cry,” he lunged forward, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his chest. Completely forgetting the bottle of wine, which was now trapped between our bodies still in my grasp.

“It’s…so…stupid,” I sniffed and wiped my face on his jacket, “It’s just hair.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is though,” I hiccoughed, and pulled away from him, “Sorry, I’m crying all over you.”

“Listen, I’ve got a friend, he works for Toni and Guy, he’s a top level stylist. I’ve had a chat, and he says he can see you tomorrow. He’s based not far from work, and Nick has said you can take the morning off.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Because I told him I’d been a complete knob, and I wasn’t sure if you’d ever come back, if I didn’t try and help you put this right.”

“It doesn’t matter. I can’t afford it anyway, and the salon said I probably shouldn’t put anything on it for a few weeks, or it’ll all fall out or something,” I shrugged hopelessly.

“Well, that might an improvement,” I knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but his jibe cost him a harsh glare from me, “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he said quickly, “Anyway, I spoke to my friend, he said he can help, and he definitely knows more than those idiots that fucked it up in the first place. And as for the cost, it’s my treat. Don’t worry about it.”

“I can’t let you do that. It’ll cost a fortune.”

“Kara. I wasted money on a homemade cake, for a joke today. I can afford a haircut. Besides, I want to do this for you. I hate seeing you so upset. Especially when I’m the one whose fault it is.”

“You didn’t do this,” I gestured to my hair, “How is it your fault?”

“Well, I’m supposed to be your friend. Friends don’t kick each other when they’re down,” Tom shrugged, “Anyway, you’re seeing my friend tomorrow and he’ll fix it for you.”

“Well…that’s very nice. Thank you. Do you…want a glass of this?” I held up the bottle of wine.

“Why do you think I brought it?”

I went into the kitchen, Tom was hot on my heels, and hung behind me whilst I fetched two glasses from the cupboard and poured us each a glass of wine.

“Here,” I turned and put a glass in his hand. We went through to the living room, and sat together on my little sofa. We both sipped our wine quietly, and I wondered how long he would stay. It would take him well over an hour to get across London this time of the night. I couldn’t help but feel bad that he’d felt the need to make the effort, all because I couldn’t take a joke.

“I don’t mean this to come across the wrong way, but I’m not sure why you felt the need to change your hair anyway. It was fine as it was,” Tom said, somewhat out of the blue. I’d thought the topic of my hair catastrophe was done with.

“It wasn’t fine, it was boring, and dull.”

“It was lovely, and natural.”

“Since when do you have an opinion on my hair.”

“Since you felt the need to ruin something beautiful,” he shot back without a beat.

“Beautiful,” I scoffed, “Since when have you considered anything natural about a woman, as beautiful?”

“I beg your pardon?” Okay, maybe they was harsh, and I shouldn’t have been surprised by his insulted expression.

“I didn’t mean…I just…” I stammered trying to explain myself, “I’ve seen the women you date, Tom. We’ve worked together long enough. You can’t sit there trying to tell me I shouldn’t be changing my hair because it’s beautiful in its natural state, when I know for a fact that in your eyes, me and beautiful are two things which don’t go together.”

“Oh you know that for a fact do you?” Tom spat, looking surprisingly, more annoyed than I’d ever seen him. And I’d seen him lose a contract he’d worked on for over three months, “You think because I date a lot of women who bleach their hair and cake on make-up, that I don’t appreciate natural beauty. That I don’t think of you as beautiful?”

“You’ve never given me reason to think you do. But that’s fine, Tom, you’re allowed to have a type. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just…don’t judge my decision to try and change my appearance, in an attempt to appear more aesthetically pleasing, when you’re in no position to do so,” I exclaimed, truly exasperated. I didn’t expect him to sit there and lie to make me feel better. Or to try and justify his proclivities.

“I like all women, Kar… all shapes and sizes, it doesn’t bother me. I’m not picky.”

“You are a bit,” I muttered under my breath.

“Well, alright, yeah, I can be a bit picky, but it never has anything to do with looks.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” I wondered, finally. I didn’t want to talk about Tom’s dating catalog, it was literally the last thing I needed right now.

“Because, you seem to be under the impression that I don’t think you’re beautiful. Which I do, actually,” Tom stated, very matter of fact.

“Tom, please don’t do this. I know you think it’s making me feel better, but it’s not. I appreciate you coming here, and also sorting me out an appointment with your friend. But you don’t need to shower me with fake compliments. I don’t…what you think about me doesn’t matter. It’s fine,” the words were rushed, and Tom’s brow furrowed in frustration.

“You’re not listening to me, Kara. I’m not trying to make you feel better, and my compliments are not fake. I’m trying to tell you that I like you, that I have for a while. Which is why I feel so awful for upsetting you today. And I always think you’re beautiful,” he paused, taking a short breath, before adding, “Even with your god awful Toyah hair do.”

“What?” I asked, bluntly. Ignoring his comment about the hair.

“You heard me, Kara.”

“You like me? Like me, like me?” he nodded, “Since when?”

“Well… a while. I don’t know?”

“But… why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was trying to be professional, we have to work together. Also, I didn’t want to make a move unless I knew you liked me too, because it would make things awkward,” Tom explained, as if it was the most obvious reasoning in the world, “And up until very recently you were still dating dickhead Dan.”

“But all you do is wind me up, and argue with me.”

“You argue with me too! Plus…I like it when we bicker. I like your fire, Kara. I purposely try to get a rise out of you, because…well… it’s sexy as hell.”

“Oh come on!” I scoffed, incredulous.

“You don’t believe me do you?” He set his wine down on the coffee table.

“I just… you date so many women, really stunning ones.”

“I date a lot of women, because I’m single and I like female company. Am I seeing any of them more than once or twice? Am I looking for anything more than dinner, and maybe sometimes sex? I’ve not had a proper relationship in almost two years Kar…because I’ve been too hung up on you.”

“Oh.”

“I hated that I made you cry today. I never, ever want to hurt you. Although I didn’t plan on telling you quite like this –”

He didn’t get time to finish, because I cut him off, with my lips against his.

Tom froze momentarily, and I wondered for a second, if kissing him had been a mistake. Just because he apparently liked me, it didn’t mean he wanted to make a move. I went to pull back, parting our lips, but as I did so, I felt Tom’s hand grasp the back of my head, pulling back, and he  mumbled his disapproval of my intention to pull away.

He kissed me back this time, his lips insistently working against mine. I flung my arm out, the one still grasping my own wine glass, feeling for the table until I could set it down. Then once it was safely out my hands, I moved back into the kiss properly, maneuvering myself, until I could clamber up and push Tom against the back of the sofa, and straddle his lap.

“Fuck, Kara, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you like this.”

“About as long as I’ve wanted you,” I responded, moving back to press little kisses along his jaw and neck.

“But…but you were with Dan?”

“Only because I couldn’t bear the thought of being single. It took him cheating on me, to make me realise that I’d rather be on my own, than with him. My self esteem isn’t great, but I know I’m better than that.”

“He cheated on you?” I hadn’t meant to let that lip, I’d not told anyone that part.

“Yeah.”

“What a fucking idiot,” Tom mumbled, tugging me back towards him and kissing me again. When his hand travelling from my hip to my right breast and squeezed trough the worn fabric of my t-shirt, I gasped. The second my lips parted, his tongue plunged into my mouth. He worked a nipple between his fingers, and I groaned loudly into his mouth, grinding myself down into his lap.

“Tom,” I whimpered his name, breaking the kiss, “I wanted you too. For a really long time. I thought… I never thought you could like someone like me.”

“What on earth, Kara?” his hand left my breast and settled back on my hip, he pulled back and his eyes searched mine, “Someone like you? You’re wonderful. You’re beautiful, smart, and incredibly sexy. I’m so incredibly lucky to even know you, to have you as a friend, let alone, on my lap, rubbing yourself on my cock like it’s your fucking job or something.”

I giggled, and ground down again, giving him a playful smile, “Like that?”

“Fucking minx, I always knew you’d be like this. Please tell me I don’t have to go home.”

“You don’t have to go home,” I answered, placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth, pleased that he was thinking the same as me. I couldn’t think of letting him leave now.

“Thank god,” he breathed, “Now… lets find you a suitable hat, to cover that monstrosity on your head, then I’m going to take you to bed and fuck you so good, that tomorrow you’ll go into work with a bad limp and a huge smile, and no one will have any doubt exactly what you’ve been up to.”

I didn’t even have time to formulate a suitable sassy response, before I found myself lifted off the sofa and marched across the flat, and thrown, unceremoniously onto my bed.  

[ladykeane]

Bertie and Reg dress up for Halloween at Dahlia's!! and the party!!!

To the lovely Nonny who sent this, I profusely apologise if you’re not the massive weeb/animation geek that I am. But this idea stuck, and I couldn’t help myself!

Fair warning, it’s quite silly, most definitely cracky, and completely self indulgent…

There was a lesson given to me by my drama teacher at school, Mrs Irving, that has always stayed with me. The gist of her teaching was that a good actor must have a sort of dual consciousness. I suppose what she meant was that a chap should have the power to transform his mindset into that of the character he plays - and then just as easily slip back into his usual mental space, once the curtain falls. There must co-exist a Bertie-the-Wooster and Bertie-the-Prince-Hal within a single animal. Well, I suppose I have put this lesson to good use in my adult life, as I can attest that Bertie-the-Drone, Bertie-the-obedient-nephew and Bertie-the-seducer-of-certain-Jeeveses manage to be conjured at the drop of a whatsit.

A particularly surprising example of this dual consciousness wheeze occurred just recently, on the night of Aunt Dahlia’s annual Halloween bash. I suppose the lifted veil to the spirit world aided this shift of the Wooster disposish. (Well, the costume probably helped too, not to mention my dear auntie’s insistence that her party guests never drop out of character for the whole of the evening. That can make certain things a tad awkward, such as bathroom ablutions. One must ask: does Superman use the lavatory at all?)

I was given the scoop on the event by my ancestor over the phone, as I sat digesting a fourth-or-fifth slice of Reg’s birthday cake. (This year he had requested a Black Forest, and I have to say that I outdid myself. The leftover kirsch was also a boon.)

‘Super-groups?’ I asked. ‘You mean like the Travelling Wilburys?’‘No, young clot, I mean super-groups like the Avengers, Justice League, and their lycra-clad ilk. The group with the best costumes and most convincing delivery will receive a prize from your Uncle Tom and myself.’‘Ooh! And what is that?’‘For one, a cooking lesson with Anatole. Apparently he owed Reg a favour, and your man generously donated said favour to me.’I glanced an appreciative glance at my beloved, who sat perusing the W.H. Auden anthology I had given him.‘Secondly, a near-pristine Nintendo Gamecube, complete with controllers and a collection of best-selling game cartridges.’‘You mean the one you confiscated from Angela and myself? I still think that was an unfair punishment.’‘I say, it was entirely fair! Do you forget that I got stuck with the bill to clean your old headmaster’s office!? I am told that the stench of baked beans can still be detected throughout the school halls, to this very day! Anyway, I would advise you to get cracking. The competition will be stiff, I hear Angela’s little friends have been working on their costumes since August. Perhaps you and Reg could go as Batman and Robin!’‘Perhaps, auntie.’‘Well, pip-pip then. I’ve got many a fake tombstone and skeleton to haul down from the attic.’

As I hung up, Reg raised his head from his book. ‘I believe Mrs Travers has briefed you on this year’s Halloween festivities?’‘Indeed. She’s never offered a prize for the guests before. They’re real plums, at that. I reckon it would be well worth the splurge to get some first-rate togs.’‘May I ask what this year’s theme is?’‘Super-groups. By which I mean, groups of superheroes. She suggested we go as Batman and Robin! We’re already quite the dynamic duo, anyway. What d’you think?’

As I uttered these words, the Jeevesian brow began sinking south, until the look on his face chilled the lukewarm cup of tea sitting at my elbow.‘I should say not, Bertram.’‘Oh. Well… what about Danger Mouse and Penfold? You could be DM, of course.’‘I regret that I shall be unable to attend this year’s festivities. I have much to do to complete the Earl of Rowcester’s living will.’

Of all the paper-thin excuses! ‘Oh, don’t give me that Reg! What is it? You don’t care to be in the same room as all that brightly-coloured spandex? You fared just fine at last year’s “Stranger Things” soiree, and we were surrounded by a multitude of eighties fashion, at that!’(He made quite the dashing Steve Harrington, actually. Aunt Dahlia cast this Bertram as Dustin, so while I was able to tag after him all night there was an unfortunate dearth of snogging.)‘I am afraid I must insist. I do not care to be dressed in the bright, garish apparel that is requisite of superheroes.’

Given that it was the lowly rotter’s birthday, I held on to the flames that should have escaped from my nostrils. ‘Oh, very well, Reg. Have it your way.’ To ensure that none of my internal invective against him slipped past the Wooster lips, I left the flat for a sullen trudge about Mayfair.

***

That very evening, Bingo Little summoned self and several other Drones to dinner. He was in town with his husband Randy, to look for a property where they could spend their Winters. While the reports given indicated that all was spiffy within their NYC townhouse, Randy wanted to ensure that his paramour did not lose touch with his British roots. And I think I remembered him saying that his next novel was to be set in South Kensington, inspired by the likes of Richard Curtis and Hugh Grant. All rather convenient, no?

‘That Gamecube and cooking lesson with Anatole is as good as ours, lads. I have the perfect idea for our super-group.’ Here Bingo took a long sip of tea, leaving us in a state of eye-boggling suspense.‘Christ and his disciples?’ suggested Stinker.‘The Bloomsbury Group?’ queried Boko.‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles?’ asked Gussie.

‘Better,’ Bingo finally replied, a rivulet of tea dribbling down his chin. ‘Do you know “Sailor Moon”?’

‘Sparkly schoolgirl with the pigtails? Yes, I recall watching the English language version with Angela sometimes. Quite a cheesy romp, that.’‘Oh, you ought to read the original manga ,’ said Boko. ‘A perfect blend of costumed superhero action and romantic high fantasy!’

For the next half hour, we were subject to Boko and Bingo giving us a full synopsis of the dratted space opera, complete with character studies, mythological references, and feminist overtones. Now, I have known my fellow Drones to sometimes possess hidden depths, but I was unsure whether this encyclopedic grasp of a Japanese super-girl-group was more of a mild pathology instead.

‘So,’ Bingo announced, ‘I believe I’ve figured out the perfect casting for each of us. I shall be Sailor Venus, of course, the soldier of love. Randy does call me his golden love god, after all.’ (Pause here for requisite retching.) ‘Gussie can be Sailor Mercury, given his general… wateriness. Boko’s love of house plants is perfect for Sailor Jupiter. And due to his spiritual calling, Stinker will be Sailor Mars, the shrine-maiden.’

I was trying to picture each of my chums kitted out in a colour coded schoolgirl costume. Perhaps we would score points for comedic effect, if nothing else.‘And what about me?’ I asked.‘Well, you’ll be our Sailor Moon, naturally.’‘Golly! I must say, Bingo, I’m quite chuffed to be given the starring role. I assume that it’s due to my former experience with drag, not to mention my theatrical prowess and general heroic gravitas.’‘Well… I suppose. It’s also because Sailor Moon is supposed to be a ditzy blonde crybaby.’‘Ah.’The judicious nods that the others gave were a tad insulting.

‘Does this mean that I’ll have to wax? ’ asked Gussie.

***

Now, if you’ve ever seen the much-celebrated cartoon, you’ll know that one of the highlights of every episode is the spangly transformation sequences, where each heroine morphs from humdrum schoolgirl into celestial warrioress. Our first go at donning the famous fuku was much less glamorous.

Boko knew a chap who knew a lass who worked at a highly-regarded fancy dress company. Apparently, many a masquerade-goer and cosplayer has raved about their beautifully crafted goods. As we trundled our way out their HQ on the tube, we were all in high hopes of scoring the perfect outfits. As it happens, the fitting session that followed made me appreciate just how inadequate the standard sizing of womens’ apparel really is.

Bingo and I had the best luck, but the costumes closest to fitting us were narrow in the shoulders and wide in the hips. Gussie managed to squeeze into one of the larger sizes, but resembled more of a wrinkly chicken sausage than a cute superheroine. (The skirt was appallingly short on him, and when he bent over to grab his phone from his bag I was quite traumatised.) Stinker, who is built akin to a silverback gorilla, utterly utterly destroyed the costume he attempted to yank on. I offered to foot the bill for that one, as a vicar’s salary can only cover so many breakages per month.

‘It’s no good, boys,’ sighed the seamstress who had patiently assisted us, ‘you’ll need to get these custom-made.’‘And how long will that take?’ asked Bingo.She put on a brave face. ‘I’ll do my best to get them ready for Halloween, but bear in mind I’ve already got a backlog of orders to finish.’‘Chin up!’ I replied. ‘I can probably ask a favour of the drag queen who did my costuming for “Legally Blonde” - Reg cut her a sweet deal with a new agent at the time. I’ll ask if she can source the shoes and wigs and things.’

A level of relief washed on to the girl’s face at this. I’d feel the same, if I were freed from the task of cobbling a pair of Stinker Pinker-sized red pumps.‘Even so, we’ll be cutting it close with this order. I doubt I’ll be done before the morning of the 31st.’‘Send me the bill for your energy drinks,’ I offered.‘It’s a deal.’

***

Time ticked on, and All Hallows Eve drew near. While I did my best not to harbour any full-on wrath against Reg at his blowing-off of the party, I couldn’t help but act a tad pipped towards him. Were lurid leotards and shiny accessories really so horrid?When he snuggled close to me on the sofa, I scooched away. When he dropped a kiss upon my map, my only response was tight-lipped disinterest. The blighter refused to compromise, so wherefore should this Wooster succumb to his entreaties? I took a lot of cold showers that week.

The big day came, and still nary a costume was yet received.‘5pm, she said,’ Boko told me, ‘and we’ll have to go and pick them up ourselves.’‘Hm, that is cutting it close. Well, bear up, old fruits! Leather Smalls will be along this arvo to do our make-up and hair.’‘Leather Smalls?’‘Didn’t I tell you? She’s part of an all-drag M People tribute act.’

If I can impart to you the experience of tubing it across suburban London in a long blonde, pigtailed wig, a full face of makeup, and masculine civvies, accompanied by four other similarly styled blokes, you probably wouldn’t doubt my claim that it was one of the more surreal experiences in my life. Halloween is not quite the big deal here that it is across the pond, so we got quite the share of wolf whistles, disapproving auntly glares, and ‘yaaaas, queen’s from our fellow travellers.

At last, at last, we arrived at Brinkley Court, freshly finished costumes in hand. The coloured lights, costumed crowd, and strains of ‘Monster Mash’ from within indicated a party already in full swing.As we entered the front door, I grabbed for the first bowl of sweets I could find, given my lowered blood sugar.‘That’s it!? Gawd, Bertie, you could have at least made an effort!’

Angela had grabbed one of the sweets from my hand and popped it in her mouth. I wasn’t quite sure who she was supposed to be, but her costume was really quite the thing.She was caked head-to-toe in light purple body paint, with a long wig in a paler shade of the same colour. A brilliant gem was affixed to her chest, and she wielded a long double-headed whip. I did not feel inclined to backtalk her.‘So who’ve you come as?’‘One of the Crystal Gems, obvs. Anyway, you need to go easy on those. Mum says that some neighbourhood bullies have been stealing sweets from the trick-or-treating kids, and she’s promised to recompense them.’‘What!?’My blood was now boiling - what lowly cad felt the need to scam helpless rugrats out of their jelly babies and smarties?

‘Oh, it’s awful,’ said Aunt Dahlia, swiping the remaining sweets from my hand and depositing them back in their bag. ‘I just saw Captain America crying his poor little eyes out, being comforted by Bucky Barnes. A whole evening’s worth of trick-or-treating swag, stolen from them by three nasty teenagers!’‘She means Thos and Edwin,’ Angela translated.‘What teenagers?’ asked Stinker.‘Some of the nastier upperclassmen from Eton, apparently. Captain America tells me that they have a reputation for bullying even the house masters and head teachers. Great brutes.’‘Rum,’ I said. ‘But, Aunt Dahlia-’‘Who?’I took in my auntie’s costume.‘But, Catwoman, hasn’t anyone tried to pull them up for it?’‘They’ve been too wily. I was told that they also egged the Emsworths’ place, running off onto Ham Common before anyone could catch them.’‘Travesty!’ cried Boko. ‘They can’t get away with this!’‘Too right!’ I said.‘Well? You lot are supposed to be the Sailor Senshi, aren’t you? You fight for love and justice, yes?’‘Er…?’‘You must transform, and thwart the damned villains!’

The Drones and I shared a look askance. ‘Um.’‘May I remind you, Sailor Moon, of the video games and French cuisine that are up for grabs for the group who best embodies their chosen superheroes?’‘Right ho. Moon Prism Power Make Up, then!’

***

We stampeded upstairs, bottlenecking on the landing, and Stinker stumbled noisily upon the top step. Into my old bedroom, and our everyday trappings were cast off in favour of our splendid, sparkly sailor ensembles.It was a bit of a muddle - the others needed help donning their padded brassieres, not to mention adjusting their skirts to preserve modesty. But after a few fumbling minutes, we were ready to go, as resplendent a team of magical girls as Brinkley Court had ever seen.

I allowed myself an indulgent linger before the full-length mirror. I really did look cute. The big pink bow was quite flattering to my proportions, and the blue skirt and collar set off my eyes nicely.‘Come on, Sailor Moon! We’ve got a contest to win!’With a flick of my pigtails, I was off.

Bursting out of Brinkley’s front door again, we charged into the gloaming. The place looks directly out over Ham Common, and on the great stretch of lawn, it did not take us long to spot the perps.

A juvenile, quivering Wallace and Gromit were surrounded by three of the largest, most grotesque teenage boys that I’d ever beheld. Though a good decade younger than myself, they looked to be twice my height and about four times my body weight. Most ghastly of all were their choices of costume: the ringleader was dressed as Pennywise the Clown, with his two lieutenants cast as Thanos and a zombie version of Napoleon Dynamite. I admit that the hint of rotten green brain showing through his blonde afro was an impressive use of make-up, but it did turn my stomach a tad.

Just before they could rip the trick-or-treat bags from the youngsters, I put a solid, heeled boot forward.‘Leave those beloved icons of childrens’ entertainment alone!’‘Hurrr,’ slurred Thanos, ‘check out the anime drag queens.’‘Wanna come party with us, girls?’ said Pennywise. ‘We got heaps of sweeties for the sweeties!’I puffed out my padded chest. ‘Never! I stand for love and justice! And… by the Code of the Woosters, I shall punish you!’

And so it began. We swooped upon them. Wallace and Gromit scarpered, and we were met with a barrage of large humbugs. When thrown with enough velocity, those things can leave a bruise.

Behind me, Gussie boldly came up bearing a large garden hose. He turned the nozzle on the head, but instead of dousing the monsters, the force of the spray was a bit too much for him, and he clung on for dear life as the hose thrashed about in his arms. He quickly went down in a self-inflicted mud puddle.

Stinker managed to plant a shiner of a right hook on Thanos. The brute staggered away, doubled over in pain. He threw off his plastic infinity gauntlet, upon which Stinker tripped magnificently, going pumps over skirt into the turf as well.

Boko fearlessly leapt upon Napoleon’s back, wrapping his noodly arms about an equally noodly neck. Napoleon bucked about like a bronco with a bad itch. Boko did his best to hang on, but the slippery satin gloves ultimately betrayed him, and the poor soul was flung off into a nearby rose bush.

The three monsters continued running from us. It was just me and Bingo now. We exchanged a silent glance of Sailor Senshi solidarity, as we pursued them towards a clump of oak trees.With a well aimed stomp, Bingo got Pennywise right in the oversized foot, with the heel of his pump. However, before I could back him up, the two lieutenants grabbed my chum and snatched his wig by its red ribbon, hurling it up into the branches of one of the trees.‘NOT MY VENUS WIG!’Abandoning the skirmish, Bingo pathetically began clambering up the branches to try and retrieve the thing. (I mean, it was a nice wig. And if it came back damaged, I would be owing Leather Smalls big time.)

And so, the beasts turned their attention to me. Three cruel grins bore down upon me like vultures on a dying wildebeeste. They looked like they could easily pummel me into a boneless mush, and not even feel it the next day. I’m not too proud to admit that I quivered in my heeled boots.‘What was that about punishing us, sweetie?’‘Let’s hang her from the branches by those stupid pigtails!’‘Yeah! And then we’ll-’

All of a sudden, something sleek and sharp came whistling through the night air. It popped Pennywise’s balloon, and struck Thanos right between the cheeks of his ample bum.‘Ow!’‘What the…’It was a fine, thin blade, attached to a deep red rose.

The four of us whipped our heads towards the source of the floral projectile. Imagine my total astonishment to perceive, perched upon a high stone wall before the radiant moon, none other than Tuxedo Mask. Gosh, he was splendid, with his billowing black cape and aura of general rakishness.‘How dare you blackguards steal from innocent children and assault these brave soldiers. Sailor Moon, I know you can defeat them.’‘But how, dash it!?’

He tossed me a bright pink plastic object. It took me a moment to discern that it was an external hard drive. It bore a little decal of one of those colourful cartoon pony characters.I looked back at the monsters, to find Pennywise agog.‘Wh… WHERE DID YOU GET THAT!?’‘Uhm…’‘Dude… is that what I think it is?’ said Napoleon.‘GIVE IT BACK!’ cried Pennywise.

Tuxedo Mask and I shared a single silent, meaningful glance, and I dropped the thing to the grass, raising my heeled boot above it, primed to smash.‘Well… I might, if you agree to apologise to every last child you terrorised, AND return their sweeties.’‘But we already ate some,’ said Thanos.‘Alright… maybe just give them a few quid, in that case. AND you’ll be cleaning the egg off Mrs Emsworth’s front stoop.’‘Anything, ANYTHING!’ begged Pennywise. ‘Please just give me back my-’‘NIGEL!!!’

A robust, sour-faced Jean Grey was stomping across the grass, her fiery gaze fixed on Pennywise.‘You have a lot of explaining to do, young man!’‘But Mum-’‘I should confiscate your little pony stories this instant!’‘No! Please…’‘Instead, you will do exactly as Sailor Moon says, and apologise to all the people whose Halloween you have ruined! You too, Cyril, Edgar! Don’t think I won’t be telling your mothers what you’ve done!’

The clown was dragged off by his ear to begin his penance, but not before he could snatch up his pink hard drive. Now that the leader had fallen, his two henchmen slunk along in his wake.

The Sailor Senshi had regrouped, and Angela, Thos, and Edwin (sorry, Amethyst, Captain America, and Bucky) had also dashed up to join us.‘You know who that was?’ said Angela, ‘Little Nigel Belfry. I went to St George’s with his big sister Diedre. Rotten little punk. One of the worst trolls in the online “My Little Pony” fandom too.’‘He bullies us all the time,’ said Thos.‘Well, dangle the name “Eulalie” in front of him. That’s his username on all the major MLP forums. Not sure he’d like that info getting out at Eton.’ Here she thumped me on the back. ‘Well done, Sailor Moon, you gave him the punishment that he sorely needed.’‘Oh, but I couldn’t have done it without…’I turned towards the stone wall. Of course, Tuxedo Mask had already biffed off. Probably to go hunt down the Silver Imperium Crystal or something.

***

Now that the drama had wound down, we finally had a chance to mingle. I got to take in the costumes of Angela’s group: Honoria was some sort of giant magenta woman with sunglasses and boxing gloves; Florence looked lovely and delicate in a gossamer tutu, and gleefully swung about a rather frightening spear; while Madeline was surprisingly dressed in drag - some charming little chap by the name of Steven, I think. The craftwork of their outfits was simply matchless, and they were clearly the ones to beat for the contest.

After Time-Warping and Thriller-ing and Caramelldansen-ing the night away, as well as quaffing some questionable looking cocktails with names like Chemical X and Radioactive Sludge, it was time to announce the winners of the costume competition.Uncle Tom (sorry, the 4th Doctor) killed the music, and tapped a fork against his glass of Chemical X to call for silence.Dahlia-or-Catwoman hopped up on the coffee table, to better survey the throng. ‘The door prize goes to Winnie the Pooh, who clearly misunderstood the assignment.’Spode-the-Pooh shuffled up to grab his bag of humbugs, and Madeline-or-Steven applauded wildly.

‘The runners-up are Wario and Waluigi, who regrettably stayed true to their despicable characters all evening!’Claude and Eustace collected their swag of Quality Street and Jack Daniels, fighting over who would get to carry them.

Angela and I exchanged a tense side eye. Could one of us really have been left out?

‘And the first prize… is a joint win, between the Crystal Gems and the Sailor Senshi! Come on down, ladies!’Well, everyone pooh-poohs nepotism until they benefit from it. Angela and I joined hands, and led our respective groups to their shared moment of glory. (And after a little bartering, we agreed to let the girls take the cooking lesson, while we scored the Gamecube. I know that Angela has long been an avid fan of Anatole’s show ‘Cuisine Inferno’.)

***

After a little more merrymaking, the music changed from novelty festive monster songs to the cheesy fodder of slow dancing. As couples began to pair off and pitch woo, a thought occurred to me: where the devil had Tuxedo Mask gone?

At the very least, I wished to thank the fellow. It was anyone’s guess as to how he had picked up on Nigel-or-Pennywise’s little secret, but he had truly been my saviour.

I squeezed through the waves of slow dancers, trying to keep my eyes peeled for a top hat or a black cape. Alas, the only capes I could spy were of bright and garish hues.

I escaped to the quiet of Brinkley’s large, rambling back yard, in the hopes of getting a little air. As I ankled along the gravelled drive in my heeled boots, I couldn’t help but let a little melancholy sink in. Despite my search for Tuxedo Mask, I well knew who I really wanted to spend this night with.I reached the fountain, ornamented by Aunt Dahlia’s favoured statue of Artemis, and plonked my sorry self down upon its edge.‘Sailor Moon… we meet again.’

He emerged from behind the shadow of the trees, and I leapt right up.‘Tuxedo Mask! Ah… I really did want to thank you for your help back there. Awful solid of you, old chap.’

He did not come closer. ‘You are most welcome. I had been charged with organising the family affairs of the Earl of Rowcester. I encountered his youngest son, who proved to possess a most malicious and scheming temperament. I felt the temporary acquisition of the lad’s most prized digital information would prove a useful bargaining chip at some juncture.’‘And right you were, Tuxedo Mask! What a bally stroke of genius you…’

He stepped forward, and removed his eyemask.

‘Bertram, I am sorry that I was so intractable about tonight.’‘Oh… Good Lord… Reg, I hoped so dearly that it was you!’

I flew to his arms. And Angela, the sneaky brat, managed to get a good number of happy snaps of Sailor Bertie and Tuxedo Reg locked in a passionate embrace.

‘Reg?’‘Yes, my moonbeam?’‘Keep the cape.’