#I have so many feelings about dexter and his mum like

[harperonni]

Erotoph hugs

[goldemas1244]

Heyyyy I have a question :3

Do you have any headcanon/s for these character : Scraptrap, Scrap Baby, Lady Dimistrecu, the three daughter of Lady D, Heisenberg and/or Molten Freddy ? :3

You don't have to do all the proposition, you can choose what character you want to do :3

Have a good day/evening and stay safe ! :3

*Cracks knuckles* \(^v^)/

You already know I'm doing all of them! Thank you for the ask! Headcanons under the cut!

FNaF6

Scraptrap

He loves rice and would do anything to get his paws on it. Fortunately, the pizzeria is quite close to a Chinese restaurant so rice is easy to get.

He orders a rice-based menu at least three times a week, so the owners aren't at all that surprised to see a tuxedo-clad zombie-rabbit come in and ask for their signature fried rice with buttered lobster on the side.

Since he like to dine-in there, he usually asks Michael to give him a bath in exchange for pizzeria improvements. Michael usually shrugs and gives him a well-deserved bubble bath and his tuxedo.

He likes it when Michael gives him head pats and rubs. It makes him feel loved and appreciated.

He has a pet pigeon named Fernando Buschmann. It's German and likes to listen to the violin.

He likes ASMR and memes. ASMR makes him go feral with murderous intent while memes make him question the modern generation.

He has social media accounts, all named "Willton-Moldover". He usually posts cosplays and furry art on them and has 93 followers on his Reddit profile, 1.5 million followers on his Instagram, 550 followers on his Tumblr, 35 on his Snapchat, and 3.95 million on his TikTok.

He also has a YouTube channel with 10.784 million subscribers called "Willton-Gameover". He plays videogames one-handed and roasts popular YouTubers and famous people. He would never roast Keanu Reeves though, because Keanu Reeves is precious bean.

Due to his popularity he gets a lot of hate mail and private pics. He doesn't like them at all so he blackmails the people who post them. And if the media and police are involved? Well, he has a strong fanbase that's not going down as well as a good alibi so that works out well for him.

Yes, his fanbase also knows of the Fazbear Murders, and he admits to it but frankly, he's shown them the approving ghost kids (who've bonded and gamed with him) so that's no big deal. Only Cassidy hates him, but it's usually constipated anger.

He's bisexual and has an ENORMOUS crush on one of his favourite game characters, Karl Heisenberg. Something about that man reminds him of himself and Henry, although he's not sure what. Still, don't let that distract you from the fact that he owns a nude Karl Heisenberg body pillow, CAPCOM official.

Scrap Baby

Her favourite Monster High doll is Draculaura. She doesn't understand how pink goes well with black but oh boy, pink goes so well with black.

She knows how to skateboard like a pro. Despite her weight, her trusty skateboard still stands and, if she falls, she's always got her skates to spare. She likes to impress the boys at the skatepark with her ability to perform even the most difficult of moves with ease.

She's subscribed to fifteen different tabloid subscriptions. She likes to read them and criticize the stupidity of the human race, like her father. Hey, it's hereditary.

The lights in her boobies glow in the dark. They also glow whenever she gets tired.

She likes reading furniture and gardening catalogues. She's judgy of the prices though and usually becomes a full-on critic with Lefty listening.

She owns a crab named Mr. Tootie. No I will not elaborate on the name. I'll only tell you that it's taken a liking to kazoos and party favours.

She's listed as the No. 1 Best Fan of her father's social media accounts. Michael's in nineteenth place but don't worry, he's as emotionless as a mushroom.

She likes to make origami lotuses. She's such a pro at it that she's even got a mini-stall at the pizzeria: 1 lotus for 50 cents. It's a lucrative business, and it's still growing. Oh, and she switches to other origami works of art every week such as origami guns and origami nine-tailed foxes.

She's the Restaurant Rescue manager. Usually she saves kids from trouble. For this reason, yes, she's commonly seen in the pizzeria itself. Kids love her though the claw worries the more irksome parents.

She's a professional Karen dealer. Karen comes to see the manager? She's hypnotically talented in weaving her words through the toughest of craniums so don't be surprised if a Karen walks out with a new viewpoint of life.

She performs on stage on the occasion, which usually gets her a lot of fan love. She cherishes everything good they give but ignores the problematic everythings. Problematic stuff? Oh, she's good friends with the police chief.

Molten Freddy

He loves noodles. Give him a bowl of ramen and he'll shut up for the entire night. Enter him in a noodle-eating competition and his high metabolism rate means absolutely non-stop spaghetti.

He misses Bon-Bon very much. To the point where he's even tried to make a scrap version of him. Sadly, it doesn't work. He cried that day.

He dies inside whenever he finds out there's a spaghetti shortage in Utah. Poor Molten.

He's a bit wonky, but if he tries to play with you or get into your personal space, don't get mad at him! He's just lonely and wants someone to talk to and play with.

He likes to play Exploding Kittens. It's the only card game he's good at. It's also the only card game he owns.

He sees Helpy as a little brother and boops his nose on a daily basis. He also likes to reenact The Lion King with him (It's the ciiiiiircle of liiiiiife~). Hopefully Helpy doesn't mind.

He knows a lot of jokes in a lot of languages. So German-speaking Molten Freddy wouldn't be too far away from expectation. His favourite jokes are in French though; the wordplay is just immaculate.

He's good in French, English, German, Russian, and Malay. He's currently learning Japanese because he's a mega weeb.

His favourite cartoon is Charlie and Lola. He just likes to see the sibling shenanigans as it somehow reminds him of the good old days.

His favourite shows would be prankster shows. He especially loves the ones that give him new and creative ideas. He doesn't like the scary ones though. They make him feel unsafe and give him anxiety.

Surprisingly, he has a distinct taste for opera. He can modulate the remnants of his voice box to perfectly sing I Am The Very Model Of A Modern Major-General. This both pisses off and impresses Henry to an extent.

Resident Evil 8

Lady Dimitrescu

She might act like the opposite but she really loves Heisenberg as her little brother. His determination, strength, speed, dexterity, and workaholic nature impresses her, who can't even fit through a doorway. She sometimes wishes she's as short as him too.

She's an avid collector of glass, porcelain, and anything fragile. It's a good reason to always be careful where you tread in her lair. She'll make you swallow every last shard if you don't.

She's an avid romance fanatic and is very loving towards the romance novels she owns. All those books you see in the in-game library? They're her collection of lesbian romances that she's collected over the past decades.

She doesn't like hats and prefers to stick to the one she wears in-game. She DOES have a collection of hats though. Last anyone counted, there were over fifty, one or two for each decade she's lived through.

She files her nails on a constant basis and owns an ornately decorated nail-clipper. Hygeine is of the utmost importance. She doesn't want to be compared to that filthy Heisenberg.

Despite her size and carefulness she keeps losing her stuff. Over the course of a week she could misplace three wine glasses, two reading glasses, and fifteen bottles of wine.

She's an expert at dodgeball and golf and even owns a lifetime access to the most prolific Country Club in Romania. With permission from Mother Miranda she goes there every year for the yearly party. It's one of the times she gets to see modernity (and Ed Sheeran) at its finest.

She loves bands from the 1920s and 1940s. However, she gets bored of them occasionally and switches them to something more modern, like Ed Sheeran. Seriously though, what is up with mums and Ed?

She's into executions and torture methods. So it's no surprise that she's a HUGE fan of Horrible Histories; even if she can't watch the show, she'll binge-read the books over and over again. She's even had the chance to encounter (and receive an autograph from) Terry Deary. They have sworn a bond not to tell anybody about this.

She loves exotic animals like anacondas and jaguars. She may or may not have owned a 10ft long Saltwater Crocodile (which was also about 5ft wide).

She's an incredible physicist and mathematician. She's also created many original formulae but unsurprisingly, she doesn't tell anyone about them, for fear that either more people may know of her, or that she may be wrong.

Dimitrescu Babes

They can devour an entire human being in mere seconds as flies. It's sort of like the scarab beetles in The Mummy movies. However, unlike the beetles, they are able to strip the bones as well. They leave nothing behind.

They all know how to play the piano with varying levels of success. Daniela can already play professionally while Bela is still stuck on Grade 5.

They love to listen to their mother when she tells them stories. Gotta hand it to 'em, when you're a fly, you know how to enjoy life in its most simple of moments.

They all love being around the hunky Soldats of Uncle Karl. Fortunately, they don't know of the rebellious plan to conquer Miranda.

Bela is bisexual, Cassandra is asexual and pansexual, and Daniela is demisexual.

It gets hard when you're a fly during the summer. If it's not the lizards, spiders, and other predators, it's the heat. Because of this, despite the material waste, they have invented the world's first blood-powered air conditioner.

The three girls have never ever ever touched a stove or oven in their life. They HAVE touched the hot end of an iron though. A good reason to not touch a bloody oven. Alcina has though, but doesn't tell them that.

They love puppies! Uncle Karl brought them a baby labrador. For the rest of the week Alcina had lost quite a bit of favour from them. Not that they minded of course. IT'S A PUPPY.

They don't like snow one bit. Not just because it's cold, but because it's too white. Too bright. Too shiny. They just can't focus on their prey!

They like to go over to Auntie Donna to play with Angie. Well, you know what they say, crazies attract the crazies, and the crazy has attracted the crazies.

They also like to go to Uncle Moreau's because he's the only one in the village with a PS4. Usually they'd spend about three-quarters of a day playing his games and eating his cheese.

Karl Heisenberg

He owns a dark blue armchair named Junkyard. Despite the name, he loves it dearly because it was a gift from Alcina for his twenty-first birthday. It became part of his final transformation too. Right under the hat.

He's a little blind in the right eye, much to his annoyance. It was a minor accident with Sturm; another reason for him to hate the uncontrollable wretch. He'll never live that day down.

Somehow, he sees better in the dark, which is why he wears such tinted glasses. He also wears them to hide his expressions, since, more often than not, he tends to end up wearing his heart on his sleeve, and his emotions in his eyes.

He's under a lot of pressure so it's no surprise that he breaks down in his factory when he knows he's alone. And by break down I mean crumple into an exhausted heap on the floor. Not even his Soldat Jet squad can wake him up until he's had a reasonable eight hours of rest.

He bathes once a day, every evening, but only three times a week. Perfume, tobacco, and cologne keep care of the rest.

He's the only Lord with a daily contact with the outside world due to his electrical abilities. Don't tell Miranda, but he can electrically CONNECT TO GOOGLE AND THE ENTIRE INTERNET IN GENERAL. He likes to play funny YouTube cat videos in his head when Miranda's having a boring meeting. It's also how he finds out that Chris is a boulder-punching asshole.

He does stimming! He likes to tap his fingers on his desk and the metal rails in his factory. He also buys stim toys from the Duke and keeps them in a well-kept box. His favourite is a non-ripping squishable toy duck. He also sings to chill out.

He's absolutely in the Five Nights at Freddy's franchise, and may have once believed in the pizzeria's existence. Come on, he's a mutated Overlord with magical magnet powers. Children souls stuck inside animatronics isn't too far-fetched of an idea. His favourite characters are the Funtimes and the Scraps, mainly because of the blueprint complexity. He HAS tried to replicate the animatronics in his spare time, but he's usually too busy with his Soldats so the project gets scrapped. He loves The Living Tombstone's songs and remixes though.

He doesn't like William Afton at all (though he marvels at his survivability). William's nature and habits remind him of Mother Miranda. He DOES however enjoy Michael Afton and often thinks how it would be absolutely amazing to have that resilient being in his Soldat army.

He's scared of what lurks below the watery depths and fire. Ironic because his brother is a literal fish and he works in one of the most hazardous fire-conducting environments. He's also scared of heights, though he doesn't get airsick.

He once died due to a killing electric shock whilst working on Sturm. It's the only time he's felt that sort of pulsing agony and also the first time he's had the confirmation that yes, Hell is real and yes, he'll end up in quite a dark pit in it. Or it could've been an electric dream, who knows? Anyways his soul apparently ran towards the opposite direction of the flames and he woke up alive after the passing of FIVE ENTIRE WEEKS. Oh boy did Alcina get worried when she couldn't find him.

Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

[aeferkssr]

Ohhh, hi there, you do Genshin match ups? 😍 That's so cool! Would it be okay to ask for one too?

I'm a 23 year old straight girl, studying Veterinary Medicine and working at the clinic whenever I have time between Uni days.

I know I'm pretty smart, I'm also pretty dexterous and creative, I like embroidery as much as I like doing sutures, I love reading books, from fantasy, to detective-mystery ones, to classical stuff like Dostoevsky, I love writing stuff, mainly fanfics, and ocassionally doing some drawings. I also love playing all sorts of video games and watching movies and TV serieses, especially Slashers if I want to relax or have a good laugh, or comfort fantasty series like Lotr or Harry Potter if I want to have nostalgia feels🌟

Personality wise, I'm usually reserved and I like my things to be a certain way, I'm pretty quiet in a new entourage and I prefer observing people and see whether I like them or not, so I guess I'm a bit of a wallflower, but I like having fun with my close friends, from cosplaying, taking pics, going to clubs or simply hanging out through the forest.Although I can seem to be cold and mean on a first notice, due to my resting bitch face and aloof aura, I'm pretty much the mega chill and unbothered mum or dad friend of the group, unintentionally taking care of people, giving advice, making sure they're okay and whatever - Tho that can be pretty draining, energetically and emotionally.

I love traveling most of all, I've already been to many places in Europe, and I want to see, learn and experience many more, and go visit other continents as well, I want to go volunteer at animal reservations abroad as well, and take care of sloths and baby turtles because damn so cute ♡

My friends associate me with a fox the most because I have a pretty teasing and all-knowing smirk most of the time, as if I have all the answers and I know everything they're doing ( which tbh I mostly do know anyway ), but I also have a more tender side to me, that likes to be held, kissed, hugged and spoiled with affection.

Not sure what else to say, but anyway, thanks a lot for taking the time to read this, I hope you have an amazing day and take care of yourself ✌🏻

wait your cosplay actually looks so good! (if thts what your display picture is) BUT please be my mom /hj

i see your fate and to whom it's intertwined with, the beholder of your heart is...

• we all knew this was coming

• I knew this was coming

• so lets say that you study veterinary medicine at sumeru and came to inazuma to learn about the animals and different remedies made with inazuman ingredients

• and while you were battling with the lady at the front of ritou thoma comes in and swoops you away from the trouble

• and you two got close from the thing and badda bing badda boom your dating

• we all know thoma’s soft spot for animals so when like one of his animal friends are sick he goes straight to you

“thanks for coming out to help me, love. he really wasn’t feeling too good and i had no idea what to do” your boyfriend thanks you as you take out some medicine from a small satchel you have on your waist. “its no problem thoma! im happy to help your little friends” you say as you turn to the dog who was scornfully looking at the pill wrapped in meat.

“come on girl, it doesn’t taste bad at all, trust me” taking one more look at you, the dog takes what was in your hands and eats it. turning to thoma, you explain to him that the pill is suppost to be pleasing to dogs, but still wrapped it in meat for appearance.

“you’re so thoughtful, i would of never thought of that.” thoma says as he places a sweet kiss on your cheek.

• omg he knits and you do embroidery

• tag team together to make a sweater

• best sweater ever omg

[vermilionwinds]

11. Preaching to the Choir

A continuation of 4. Baleful

The Southern Front was quiet that night, save for the chirp of insects and the far off rumble of engines.

The air was like breathing in hot syrup, though. Remeraux could feel it sticking to her skin, turning the inside of her armor into a swamp. Perspiration collected on her shoulders in rivulets, to trickle clear down the small of her back and right between her asscheeks. Unpleasant. She squinted her one good eye (her swollen eye came pre-squinted, and it smarted something fierce when the rubber eyepiece bumped against it) through her binoculars as she made another sweep of the battlefield. Leaning her elbows lazily against the burlap sandbags that made up their post, she drummed her fingers against the binoculars with one hand while the other went to fiddle with the focus. Her gaze settled on a squat little warmachina, creeping over a muddy ridge on its four flat discs of feet. Remeraux always thought those ones looked a little like ducks, at least in the face. A glowing blue lens made for an eye on either side of its 'head', and a perforated dark metal barrel for a beak. It was scurrying a little too close to camp for her liking.

“Nimrod. Eleven bells. Roundabouts… two malms out, I reckon.”

Remeraux’s voice was the first sound to break the silence.

“On it.”

The second sound, another voice, in reply.

The crack of a rifle, ringing a little in Remeraux’s pointed ear, was the third.

Through her binoculars, Remeraux watched the bullet find her target. Right through that shiny blue lens, exploding that glass into powder. It sputtered sparks and blue flame from the jagged impact crater, and like a puppet separated from its strings it ceased to move. The coast looked clear enough, after that. Remeraux kept her vigil for just long enough to check for any moves of reprisal. It was a relief to find that their enemy was fine to let them take a pawn of their own, for the time being. She lowered her binoculars and withdrew for the moment, sliding down the wall back down into their foxhole.

Remeraux fiddled in the pocket of her thick, armored coat for something as she watched the woman next to her take her knee off its perch on the edge of the sack wall, exiting her perfect rifleman's stance. Joining her within the confines of their cozy little pit, she lowered the butt of the rifle, rich woods and dull metals, to the ground at her side. Remeraux found herself having to crane her neck up ever so slightly to look at her, despite how similar they were in height. It was probably because, unlike her, Misija wasn’t leaning against the wall.

Now that she thought about it, Remeraux wasn't sure that she’d ever seen the woman so much as slouch.

“Chocolate?” Remeraux asked, as she produced a foil-wrapped square from her pocket. She put the fingertip of her padded gauntlet between her teeth and yanked the whole thing off. She wasn't fussy enough to not just open her mouth when she'd pulled her hand free and let the gauntlet just drop right to the floor (just a series of planks pressed into the wet earth). Freshly dexterous, Remeraux unwrapped the foil with grimy fingers. She broke off a messy square of the pitch-black bar with a snap, and held it out to the pale Roegadyn, who just gave a nod in the affirmative and took it first into her hand, and then her mouth. The corners of those equally pale lips turned up, just a hair. Remeraux nodded, smiling in return. She didn’t manage to get many of those from Misija, although to tell the truth they'd only started spending time together recently. But, she had taken plenty of opportunities to glance at her: from across the sands of Gangos, from the other side of Utya's Aegis when she was busy with the Ironworks staff and Remeraux should have really been focusing on taking inventory.

Something about the quiet intensity she radiated, steel eyes like searchlights, gave her the feeling smiling wasn’t something she did often. The few times Misija's own gaze settled on her, though, always made her stomach tie itself in knots. It was definitely doing so now. She distracted herself from the sensation by breaking off her own hunk and shoving it in her mouth. It was shitty chocolate, bitter as sin, but it was better than anything they’d had to eat in a while.

“How’s your eye?” Misija inquired, crossing one arm over her other. Remeraux waved her off nonchalantly with her free hand, as her jaws worked through the dense matter. She swallowed.

“Better than his, I reckon. Fer a soldier, bastard couldn’t throw a punch ta save his life.”

The two women shared a chuckle, briefly flashing teeth smudged with dark chocolate. It was funny, Remeraux thought in the moment before the expression faded from Misija’s face like a snowflake that just touched ground. Usually teeth were the only thing that shone white in faces turned to a sea of brown grime, out there on the Front. For Misija, it was the opposite. Grey hair on grey skin on grey eyes on grey lips. The chocolate on her teeth was the only splash of color present on her face.

“You really didn’t need to get involved, though.” Misija exhaled through her nose, those searchlights of hers scanning Remeraux’s face as if they'd find their answers by scouring them from her skin. “My honor is not a thing that needs defending.”

Remeraux rolled her shoulders. She can’t help but inevitably brush against her ears with her shoulderpads with the gesture, they were just that big. The ears, kind of, but mostly the shoulderpads. “Ain’ just fer you. Don’t stand fer that kinda talk around me. Learned ta punch ta get it to stop a looong time ago.” She chuckled, just a few sharp exhales out of her nose, and popped another square between her lips. She extended another to Misija, who broke off one of her own.

“...The Star may have its depths of cruelties, but few of them are novel, it seems.” Misija mused, her eyes appraising the chocolate as she tilted it side to side between two fingers, before putting it into her mouth.

“Ye’re tellin’ me….” Remeraux just sat in the evening's silence, for just a moment. “Ta find it true o’ Bozja though... that was a bit of a shock, I gotta say.”

The corners of those pale lips dropped back down to a line. “Well. Consider yourself informed.” It was a level response, matter-of-fact and cold. More silence. More chewing. Remeraux couldn’t stand the quality the silence had taken on forever, and was the first one to break it.

“...I know, I know. A mite naive, I s'pose” She shrugged, apologetically. She ran her tongue across the front of her teeth, picking up stray bits of sugar. “Jus’... grew up on folk tales, about it. Bozja, that is. From me mum. An’ she was the child o’ refugees, so I guess the truth got a bit stretched in the tellins." Remeraux scratched the back of her head awkwardly, dragging her nails through short-cropped hair drenched in sweat. "But a kingdom under the sun an’ sand… A goodly queen, loved by her people… An’ a 'fine republic' af’er that.” She sighed, looking around at the wasteland of a countryside. What few structures remained, south of the old ruined capital, still half-melted into crystal at their tips, blasted back and frozen in a photograph of the devastation. ”Even if it was over before my time, it was a nice thing ta hear tell about.”

Misija just took the words in, providing nothing in the quality of her expression to act as commentary. “A nation’s truth is never the stories that it tells about itself." She said pointedly, before turning her eyes back on Remeraux. "Judging by the way you responded to those soldiers, I wouldn’t guess you exactly believe in Ishgard, the good King Thordan and his knights twelve, and the mandate of the Archbishop, blessed first among Halone’s Children…”

Remeraux cocked an eyebrow. Misija just shrugged.

“Unless my intuition is mistaken.”

“Is there somefin’ about my face that just screams Ishgard?” Remeraux gave Misija a playful punch on the shoulder, and got another smile, however slight, out of the woman. "Izzit the ears? The teeth?"

“Mostly just your name. Although I’ll freely admit to having no firsthand knowledge of the place. Imperial education may be broad, but it was rudimentary in some areas.”

Another pause for chewing.

“...Imperial education?” Remeraux asked, as neutrally as she could make the words sound.

Misija gave those silvery eyes a roll, and held out her hand for another break of the bar. Remeraux obliged.

“Don’t look so surprised. Basjalsen himself was a Legion field medic for years. You’ll find that many members of the resistance first lived under the Imperial yoke before turning against their masters.”

Remeraux just shoved the last bit of the chocolate bar in her mouth. The bitterness of it made her salivate something fierce. It was welcome relief from how quickly her throat dried out nowadays, in the moon since... since the gassing.

And it was a better thing to put into her mouth than her own foot.

“...What was it like?" Remeraux mumbled the words from around a cheek full of the candy. "Imperial schoolin', I mean."

“It was… a lifeline.” The way Misija looked at her when she said that… it was as if she left no room for argument. As if it was fact that Remeraux had no choice but to accept. “The fortunate children of Bozja enjoy claiming their homeland of old was a bastion of equality… but, tell that to those not born to the privileged few, eh? You were either born high…”

“Or low.” Remeraux finished the sentence. She spat onto the ground. The chocolate in her spittle made it blend nicely with the mud. “Don’t I know it, sis.”

Misija nodded.

“When the IVth legion took control of the country, they implemented a policy of universal education. I was fed, clothed, taught a trade. I can’t imagine I would have survived, otherwise…" Remeraux recognized that look on her face, suddenly less impossible to read. It was a face she'd seen in herself in mirrors. "...It is hard to not be grateful even. For the occupation.” She exhaled through her nose, and scowled. “The Bozja I knew as a girl deserved what it got, in the end.”

Remeraux mulled the woman’s words over. “...Honestly? I wouldn't hold that against ya.” She gave a sigh as weary as she felt, and rubbed her hands together. One bare, one gloved, crumpling the now empty foil into a ball that she continued to roll between her palms as she spoke. “The Brume, they called it in Ishgard. The ‘wrong’ part o’ town, anyways. Cute little name, ain' it?" Remeraux sneered, choking on the faux saccharinity. "An' a righ' brume it was... stuck us wif all the fog and smog an’ run-off from a city that’s far too vertical. Spent me childhood suckin’ up smoke an’ fumes, as our folks barely could afford us bread on th’ table…” She tossed the ball underhand, caring not where in the foxhole it landed. “Knew I’d go mad if I kept livin’ like that, if I didn’t jus’ starve one day. I jus’... I dunno.”

She could feel those words creep up onto her tongue. They were words that were always rattling around the inside of her chest, until they had to try and climb out of her throat. They tasted acrid, caustic, and had grown in her like bile since the day she returned home for the first time, to a life frozen solid. The day she’d seen what had become of her sister. And every day it seemed, at some point or another, she had to swallow them down hard, and they scratched the inside of her throat as they travelled back down.

Remeraux looked at Misija, and something about the way she returned that gaze, as if appraising her anew, made the core of her being flare hotter than the air around them. Not for the first time, the thought of pressing her lips against Misija's own came unbidden to her mind. She could almost imagine what it would be like for the woman to explore her mouth. How small she would feel in the light of the woman's intensity. But now... she bet she’d taste those same words on Misija's tongue as she took it between her lips. And with that thought... for once, she let them spill.

“Ishgard deserved a hell of a lot worse.”

The corner of those pale lips turned up. Just one of them, enough to show a flash of teeth. Like a lion reminding you of the quality of its jaws. Something about the sight sent a new thrill through Remeraux. It was a dizzying thing, to let lose with words she'd nearly choked on and still be met with approval. A hungry approval. And for once, it was Misija to push through the space between them. She put a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple thing. A simple touch. Even through her armor, her palm seared into Remeraux’s skin.

“...We should get back to our posts, no?”

"...Righ'."

Remeraux swallowed, her mouth dry all over again, and clambered back up with her binoculars.

“...’Nother nimrod. Two bells. Jus’ over the ridge.”

“On it.”

Another crack of Misija’s rifle, as her bullet found its mark.

[sinkix]

- What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Karasuno edition -

Obviously these aren’t meant to be taken too seriously lol. I’ll probably make this into a series at some point where I include the other teams idk this took me way too long to do JWIDJQENWKJQFN WE’LL SEE. ENJOY! <3

2D men are infinitely superior I said what I said.

Hinata: 

A sucker for motivational speeches or quotes and they always get you hyped up.

Very ambitious and positive despite frequently getting lost in life

Not as innocent as you seem but still a cinnamon roll lololol

You probably eat fruit as a regular snack n ppl judge you for it

Highkey a dumbass but in a very endearing way so people can’t help but like you

Summer is probs ur fave season

Definitely own several plushies and definitely get defensive about it

The friend people go to when they need cheering up.

You either go to bed at 8pm or 3am no in between.

Your texting style consists of several messages as opposed to one paragraph/sentence with the use of MANY emojis.

You 100% fuck with pineapple on pizza. 

Got your head stuck in a cat flap that one time.

Have a hella low alcohol tolerance or don’t drink at all.

Hella clueless when it comes to people flirting with you, they have to hold a neon sign in front of you for you to get the message

“Oh you were flirting with me?” “I was every day for 5 months but thanks for finally noticing”

Definition of a tab hoarder, your pc/laptop frequently crashes because it can’t handle that many but you refuse to get rid of any.

Always get toothpaste stains on your shirt no matter how careful you are.

“Wait we had homework???”

Nishinoya:

You often get random bursts of energy outta nowhere or at 2am and have no clue how to handle it 

You can’t help but head bang and scream the lyrics to your fav songs.

Probably have a hella diverse music taste.

Likely an active/outdoorsy person who either does sports or wants to.

Vvv loyal, type of friend you can call in the middle of the night and you’ll be there.

Chaotic good or Chaotic neutral.

You’re either one of the most responsible people in the room or one of the most fuckin chaotic and irresponsible lmao no in between it just depends on your mood.

Frequently pull all nighter’s and doesn’t even feel guilty about it

Chug soda like it’s water.

An extrovert or one of those introverts that are bat-shit once you actually get to know them.

You have zero shame, can and will run across the street stark naked for a cheeseburger and a can of sprite.

Like fuck yeah who wouldn’t for a burger and some sprite y’know??

Despite being a whirlwind you are actually a hella chill person to have as company.

You own a skateboard or want to.

Own at least one pair of converses or vans.

Probably have a bucket list or tons of future plans for travelling/adventures stored in your head.

You really want a dog and would call it something like Dexter or Human Destroyer 9000.

Likely have had several hair colour phases.

A slut for doritos.

You ate glue once as a kid and it was kinda okay and that fact still haunts you.

Tanaka:

Listen to rap more than any other genre and ur playlist is fire

Punched dry wall that one time

Probably have several piercings and plan on getting more

Prefer sports bras to regular ones.

Intimidates outsiders but your friends don’t take you seriously in the slightest lmaoaoaooa

Ppl find it hard to approach you but you’re actually super chill so you get sad 

Definition of that Kanye meme “before you talk to me” >:( “after you talk to me” :)

Probably don’t trust people easily

Type of person that once you’re challenged/dared to do something they WILL do it regardless of how stupid bc you hate being called a pussy.

Went through a phase where you only listened to Eminem.

Probably is/was the class clown or wished they were.

You have virtually no patience and a pretty short temper lmao.

You’re a go-getter and hate being told you can’t do something

Definitely snuck out the house several times as a teen.

Walks barefoot outside a lot bc fuck shoes lol

The pairs of shoes you do own are mostly worn down sneakers you refuse to swap out.

You’re that asshole that wears socks with holes in for the sport of it and it doesn’t phase you in the slightest. (dw I do too lmaooao)

Could probably bench press someone’s dad

Enjoy’s drinking coffee.

Kageyama:

Such a picky eater bitch god damn.

Usually hella hydrated and judge people that don’t drink enough water.

Eats spoonfuls of chocolate nesquik powder when no one is looking I said what I said

You like stoic and Tsundere guys who have the outer emotional capacity of a brick wall.

You’re probably the same in that sense and don’t enjoy letting people know what you’re thinking/feeling

Poker face 90% of the time

Type of person to pretend not to find a joke funny but then crumble and start crying with laughter.

Probs an introvert

Once when someone asked you what you wanted for Christmas you responded “to be left the fuck alone” and it still applies to this day.

like fr you just wanna be left alone man but ppl keep bothering you.

You HATE it when people tell you to smile and quite literally take it as an insult.

Your bedtime is 9pm and you stick by it religiously 

Always smell really good like damn what you got on??

The most you do with your hair if it’s long enough is throw it in a pony tail and call it a day.

Either have really nicely manicured nails or you’v chewed them down to the nub no in between.

You hate to admit it but you doubt yourself a lot and it really frustrates you.

Probably wet the bed a lot as a kid and you’re still salty about it.

lololol bed-wetter Kags lover

Audibly snorted typing that I’m sorry.

Probably had a ._. face reading that since ur usually hella unamused.

Cute awkward dork though behind that facade it’s just most people don’t see it.

So critical of yourself like chill

An earth sign or an Aquarius idc.

Do not know how to reciprocate a hug but desperately need one

When people flirt with you you somehow manage to make them intimidated with your responses and scare them off.

You called your teacher “mum/dad” once and you get Vietnam flashbacks to this day.

Daichi:

You probably have a daddy kink and lowkey daddy issues with it

Very supportive friend who has a lotta patience

Hella determined and humble.

Mostly wear black because it’s just much easier than colour coordinating and plus you just prefer the simplicity, but you’re pretty vibrant as a person.

The one who stays sober at parties to drive the others home.

Probably haven’t been in many relationships but still do enjoy romance.

seems stern but is actually very friendly and enjoy company bc you don’t like spending too much time by yourself.

Honestly just wants to chill out, go to bed and read a book.

A coffee connessieur but mostly just drinks instant bc ur too lazy to make it properly and just drink it black.

Very reliable.

Often get stuck with most of the work during group projects lololol

People frequently ask you for the answers to the homework/assignment and it really depends on your mood and how charitable you’re feeling as to whether you’ll lend it to them

Low-key a sadist.

100% Old soul

Despite this you are a fuckin dork and have quite an immature but really funny sense of humour.

You have a thigh kink. 

Def grew up reading wattpad smut and most of ur sexual knowledge stems from that

probably prefer manga to animated versions

Absolute pro at winged eyeliner and looks v good in it.

Probably give lectures even without realising it.

Shamelessly watches the nature channel for hours on end and what of it.

Honestly just done with everyone’s shit lmao

Sugawara:

Either are the mom friend or the one the mom friend has to look after.

You vibe with pastel colours

Your fav season is either spring or autumn.

oversized hoodies and knitted sweaters are your vibe.

Enjoy drinking herbal tea

Likes the smell of rain and will purposely step outside after a storm and S N O R T the smell of damp concrete. (srry if ur from some dry ass place like nevada lmao it rains alot in the UK soooOOOoO)

Quiet but have a really creative imagination and has one HELL of a loud voice when they’re pissed off

like,, I wouldn’t dare get on ur nerves ion want my ear drums bursting damn.

Hoards flavoured chapsticks and scented lip gloss

Either did or still have your Harry Potter house in your bio and it was probably Hufflepuff.

Gives people advice that they are fully aware also applies to themselves but doesn’t follow it LMAO.

Listens to K-pop and several Korean and Japanese genres.

Played a dating sim once and you enjoyed it but ur still ashamed and refuse to ever talk about it.

Smells like lavender or something hella floral

Probably reads a lot of Yaoi and no one else knows but you.

Would 100% own a chinchilla

Read Killing Stalking and it messed you up for weeks.

Asahi:

The one who was trying to flirt for months and the other person never got the hint

Probably a really pretty crier and vibe with the mascara running aesthetic.

You tear up easily lol.

Probably a water sign.

Low-key a bad bitch though 

Looks really good in red lipstick

That one person who’s v attractive but completely unaware and v insecure.

That one friend who seems so soft and innocent but can turn into a banshee when need be.

Crying is your therapy.

You overthink a LOT and it often stops you from achieving what you want.

Actually have a lot of willpower despite ur sensitivity.

Was def a pushover as a kid and still have a chip on your shoulder about it.

Hella artsy and day dreams a lot.

You attract broken souls and often get turned to when people’s problems need fixing yet you’re a total mess yourself

Listens to Girl in red while questioning your sexuality

which you do a lot.

You hate being put in a box or labelled.

Gave up on that hobby that one time and you really wanna get back into it.

Always have at least one hair tie on your wrist that’s basically an accessory at this point.

Own a phat ass fish tank with hella pretty fishes bro it’s such a vibe say hi to Nemo for me.

Yamaguchi:

Too scared to ask for extra ketchup packets so you get your friend to ask instead.

Probably have anxiety.

The time you stuttered once when introducing yourself frequently gives you cringe attacks.

Major animal lover and prefers them to people.

Talked to a tree once and it was a pretty cool experience.

Wear a lot of pink or cute colours and radiate babi energy.

Likely wear skirts 

Wear those aesthetic planets necklaces and your tumblr is filled with space related art and themes.

Enjoy staring up at the clouds and figuring out what animal they are.

Has a lot of secrets that they probably tell to their cat.

dw ur cat isn’t a snitch they got you covered.

“meow”

yeah they definitely didn’t just try to reveal ur deepest traumas to your cousin.

If you don’t have a cat you probably would want one and would call it Mittens or sumn.

You’re whipped for freckles and anyone that has them instantly becomes 1000x more attractive to you

Either like 5′2″ or 5′10″ no middle ground

Definitely own a turtle or rabbit and if you don’t then you should.

Forgets your assignments but the professor lets you off because you’re so nervous they can’t scold you.

Oversleeps at least 2 times a week

Will not get up before 1pm on a weekend

Wall flower at parties but people still approach you bc you are so friendly and kind.

Social anxiety intensifies.

Always get’s called on in class when you haven’t been paying attention and it really troubles you.

Has a minimum of 3 blankets on your bed that you cocoon yourself in.

Tsukishima:

Your attracted to snarky assholes.

Sarcasm and insults are your form of flirtation and you get immediately turned off if they can’t take it or get upset.

Probably shy away from your feelings

Random flashbacks to embarrassing events frequently keep you up at night

Judge peoples fashion choices as they walk past you but actually have a really good eye for what works and what doesn’t.

You look like you have your shit together and you kinda do for the most part.

The quiet kid in class that’s listening to some loud ass screamo or rock n roll’ but ppl have no idea.

Definition of the glinting anime glasses pushed up your nose bridge cliche.

When you make a mistake you question all your knowledge and abilities but no one else knows that about you

Refuses to cry since you view your emotions as a personal weakness

If someone hugged you you’d get VERY uncomfortable.

Physical contact is not your forte

Probably a 5′0″ demon.

Would peg a man to assert dominance but you’re actually a lil bitch.

Knows the answer to the question they can’t solve.

Doesn’t study as much as they should but somehow still gets good grades.

Really likes french fries and the taste of strawberries.

Just wants to be left alone

Ennoshita:

The one friend that gets talked over and it really pisses you off but you’re too nice to say anything.

Seems really passive but can actually be hella confrontational when they wanna be

No tolerance for peoples bullshit 

Really stable and just an overall reliable person.

People often forget you’re in the room lmao but it’s okay you’d rather listen anyway.

Actually has a really interesting mind and a lot to say but mostly keep it to yourself unless they’re your friend

Answered for someone else in attendance a few years ago and it still bothers you.

People often come to you to vent and you’re chill with it

Don’t stand out much but honestly it doesn’t bother you

Can and will get through an entire book/series in a matter of 3 days.

Quite a minimalist and organised for the most part

You look like you have your shit together and you def do.

Have a controversial taste in pizza.

You have more acquaintances than friends but the ones you do are a v tight knit circle.

Will re take a quiz several times till you get the character you wanted

Radiate Virgo and Libra energy.

Kiyoko:

Type of person to say “step on me” as a way of complimenting and you mean it literally.

Both a sadist and masochist

When someone tells you their not interested it just makes you want them 100x more and it frustrates you why are you like this.

Doesn’t compliment often but when you do it’s really heartfelt.

Looks like your silently judging people but in reality you really couldn’t care.

Just kidding you low-key judge them anyway.

Very picky when it comes to partners.

Independent but has random hella clingy moments.

Despite being quiet, you are capable of roasting a bitch alive if they test your patience.

Like I would NOT wanna get on your bad side

You could deadass send them to therapy, their emotions fenna need some aloe vera for that burn.

Just really calm and relaxed tbh so people enjoy being in your company even though you don’t talk much.

When you do though it’s usually something really interesting or funny.

You just don’t see the point in talking if what your saying doesn’t hold any value??

You hate small talk and would rather slingshot yourself off a skyscraper than partake in it.

Your face is easy to read and you make no effort to hide it.

If your in a bad mood they WILL know.

Look like your plotting someones demise or questioning life’s theories but in reality you’re really just thinking bout what you want for dinner.

Honestly just a sweetheart tbh.

Low-key have a staring problem.

Has really neat and cursive handwriting like who tf taught you that.

Yachi:

Frequently says something then panics that it could be misinterpreted 

You overthink literally everything you have ever said and the actions you haven’t even committed yet

Really likes the taste of sherbet 

Could cut a bitch if they needed to

You spend most of your money at Urban Outfitters and don’t regret it.

have an assortment of colouring pencils that ppl always try and borrow and never give them back.

You highlight the shit outta your papers and never read them again.

Really like the smell of peaches

Probably have a v interesting earring collection.

Hoard water bottles in your room and you feel majorly guilty about it.

The taste of honey disgusts you but you eat it anyway for some reason.

Somehow managed to burn rice and solidify soup.

You shouldn’t be trusted in the kitchen but you try your best regardless.

I feel like that applies to most things in your life

Like yeah you fucked it up but like you’re trying your best lol cmon

V tolerant of people but have zero time for fuckboys and shut them down instantly.

You frequently get the shakes from caffeine or anxiety

Or both.

You give really encouraging hugs.

Have no clue what you wanna do in life but it’s ok bby it’ll work out.

Takeda:

You’re a very underappreciated and underrated person and I love u

Probably an English/languages major

Really kind and outgoing but high-key mysterious

Actually has a phat fucking temper like damn where did that come from.

Won’t take no for an answer when you want to achieve something.

That one person people don’t realise is there listening to your conversations but you definitely are and now know Becky’s deepest darkest secret.

Fuck you, becky.

Wore contacts once and forgot to take them out for 3 days.

You wondered why your eyes were so itchy.

Your music taste does not match your appearance.

Probably watch a lot of crime shows and imagine you’re an investigator

Aced physics and chemistry.

More than likely an introvert with extrovert tendencies when you feel like it.

Actually quite temperamental but it’s okay since you’re a v genuine person.

Often debate getting a sugar daddy bc that income looking real tempting rn.

Honest to a fault at times but it’s something people come to appreciate about you.

Just really wanna sleep for 15 hours and sit in front of your laptop with some hot coco.

Ukai:

You like older men

The smell of tobacco and coffee low-key comforts you for some reason.

Peed in a bottle that one time while on a road trip and forgot to throw it out until you found it a week later.

You’re a slut for dyed hair and dudes with piercings.

You once got drunk and passed out on a spinning round-a-bout in a park and your friend still has pictures that you refuse to acknowledge.

Bi-curious and just radiate big Bi energy

Would experiment but you’re too hesitant.

Hates the taste of beer but drinks it anyway.

Just wants to be loved man I stg is that too much to ask.

Often wonder if your friends actually like you then realise you don’t really care anyway lmao.

You still love them though.

Tired of working over time and just wanna catch a break.

Amazon Prime is your best friend.

Random ass parcels comin thru’ each day and it feels like Christmas.

A very lonely and one-man party Christmas.

Stop spending your fucking paycheck.

Have a pretty dark/cynical but really funny sense of humour and you often make people laugh.

Have a big ass temper and people KNOW it.

Often fantasised about dropping out and becoming a stripper bc your patience was being TESTED.

Really likes money but who doesn’t tbh.

You radiate Chaotic Evil but keep it under wraps.

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer series - Chapter 8

Chapter title: Consequences Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Trigger warnings for a subtle mentions of an eating disorder and some medical drama A/N: A lot happens in this chapter, and it’s quite dramatic. The chapter bears its name well; you cannot outrun the consequences of your actions, as our beloved Juliette will soon find out. I hope you enjoy this emotional ride! X

Night shoots, I quickly learned, were a special sort of experience. Most of us had tried to nap before the call time, and we were all standing around clutching cups of coffee, full of caffeine and running on adrenaline. The choreography for “Saturday Night’s Alright” required every dancer that was hired, and a cast of extras simply to fill the background too. The amount of crew and the rigging required to give the number an expansive feel also added to the sheer number of people on set at the moment. The volume level was almost too much, with everyone chatting excitedly.

I was standing with my usual group, minus Markus, who was giving me an extremely cold shoulder by not acknowledging my presence at all. I couldn’t blame him, though; I’d told him to never talk to me again, after all. But now that it was the next day and my simmering anger had dulled, and I’d managed to smooth things over with Taron, I wondered if I hadn’t acted out too irrationally. Blame the baby hormones, I thought ruefully to myself.

Being on that carnival set, amongst the twinkling lights and magical atmosphere, made us feel like we were transported somewhere else. And I certainly hoped that effect would come across on film when it was all said and done. My favorite part was the massive Ferris wheel, ablaze with color. I spotted Taron, talking animatedly with Dexter, and when he looked over I gave him a small wave, which he cutely returned.

“Ugh, adorable,” Leah commented, making me smile behind my coffee cup lid as I took another sip. After what felt like a waste of an hour, we were finally called into place. We discarded our coffees and dumped our jackets and bags and went through last-minute costume checks, the costumers nit-picking over the littlest details, adjusting collars here, snipping stray threads there. We had already been walked through some preliminary blocking, but now that the cameras would be turned on, we all wanted things to be as perfect as they could be. The less takes we all had to do for each beat, the better.

Still, that constant ripple of excitement and thrill ran through all of us and kept us going as the nightly hours wore on. Watching Taron in his element really felt like a treat though. How he managed to turn that energy on and maintain his performance level take after take after draining take was mind-boggling, really. And whether he was tired or not, he never showed it, and he stayed positive and kind to everyone around him. But even though the work itself was exhausting, I still loved everything about it. 

The track itself was phenomenal, and Taron’s vocals were strong. I never got tired of listening to it no matter how many takes we did. Giles Martin was a genius, keeping the original integrity of the song but building segments of the different musical influences that Elton had been exposed to and incorporated into his music over the many years, and those flavors had also been used in our dance styles. The choreography was engaging, energetic and exciting, and being a part of this musical number certainly felt like being a part of something much larger than ourselves. The sequence was a crucial part of the storytelling, and needed to feel as youthful and adventurous as Elton’s life was during that time.

I had to admit that I was more than happy when they finally called that night’s filming to a close, as the first creep of dawn was just beginning to tinge the sky. I felt the exhaustion and soreness in every fiber of my body, and blearily changed out of my costume, located my bag in the pile, and wearily made my way off the set and toward the tube station before realizing someone was calling my name. I whirled around, nearly knocking myself off my own feet as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“Juliette! Hey, wait up,” Taron said, jogging over to me and sweetly brushing his fingers over my cheek, still somehow not looking exhausted. “Clara’s with her dad and your mum has Troy. Can I just drive you over to my place?” he asked, and I was so tired I didn’t bother arguing, and nodded instead, letting Taron slip his arm around me supportively.

“How are you not completely exhausted?” I grumbled.

“Well, I’m not pregnant, so that helps,” he quipped lightly. “But I’m also just used to it, I think. Not exactly the first night scene I’ve ever been in.”

“I can think of a few,” I smiled. “Bit of a fan of your work, here,” I teased lightly.

“Well you nearly have to be, now that you’re dating me,” he smirked back, and I cracked a smile despite my exhaustion. I sank gratefully down into the plush of the car seat, fighting off falling asleep right then and there. The last thing I needed was Taron taking it upon himself to carry me to bed, as sweet of a gesture as that would be.

“I think today went well,” Taron spoke into our tired silence.

“Really well, at least on our part. It’s always one thing to rehearse a dance. It’s another to see it in the place, in the world so to speak, the lights and colors and costumes. Something about that just made everything feel much more real today,” I replied. “And you… You totally killed it.”

“I don’t know if I killed it, but I wager I gave it everything I had,” he smiled, looking over at me.

“Well, I think, from what I’ve seen, you’re carrying this whole damn thing.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, running his fingers through his hair in the way he did when he felt humbled by something.

“Well I do,” I smiled, more to myself than anything.

“I am so ready to crash,” he yawned when we finally pulled into the drive and parked. 

“You and me both,” I sighed wearily. We made our way inside, and I realized oddly that I hadn’t been in his home for a fair bit. It felt just as cozy as before as he led me to the bedroom, pulling me to him for a couple of sweet kisses before we both got ready for bed, too tired for anything more. He did his best to try and block the morning sunlight creeping across the floor, able to darken the room a bit, and we curled up together and were sound asleep within minutes, my brain for once too worn out to keep me awake.

The baby, on the other hand, had other ideas, waking me up a few hours later. I stumbled to the bathroom and wretched, hardly anything in my stomach to get rid of. I groaned slightly and splashed water on my face before returning to my slumbering boyfriend. I checked my phone briefly, scrolling through social media mindlessly, waiting for sleep to find me again, but hunger found me first instead.

I got up and, still too exhausted to make anything else, popped some bread in the toaster oven, rapping my fingers on the counter as I waited for it to be ready. I smeared some butter on, then took a few bites, chewing slowly, my hand resting on my belly. But then the part of my brain that worried about calories kicked in, and I found I couldn’t eat another bite. I tossed the rest of the toast in the trash and reminded myself I needed to stay away from carbs as I returned to the bed, not entirely satisfied but at least my stomach had stopped gurgling uncomfortably.

“Mmmm,” Taron murmured next to me, turning over and sliding his arm over my waist and nuzzling into my neck. “Can’t sleep?” He asked, cracking his green eyes open and looking at me.

“I got sick. And then I got hungry,” I smiled, as his eyes drew down to my stomach, his fingers splaying out under my sleep shirt and caressing my skin there sweetly.

“This will be worth it in the end,” he said gently, kissing my forehead. “Try to get some more sleep. Tonight will be difficult if you don’t.” I nodded at that and tried to let him soothe me back to sleep, and I eventually did end up drifting off again.

We woke with enough time to shower, make some dinner, and watch a little telly together before heading to set and doing it all over again. The second night seemed a little easier, but maybe it was just because I knew more of what to expect, the lag between scenes, the flurry of activity, the massive rigs swinging around and being readjusted constantly, the dead space where we had to try and keep our bodies warm, the constant makeup and costume retouches, the attempt to keep our energy up through the slog of what felt like a 14-hour night. We had fun with some bumper cars and there might have been more horsing around than actual dancing during that sequence.

The next two nights felt a little more laid-back, as a bulk of the large group shots were already done. The transitions into and out of the scene, with the bar and with Kit Connor, who played the mid-aged Reggie, were the focus of those days, so I spent more time sitting around than anything else, but that also gave me time to be curious about the behind-the-scenes machinations of putting a movie together. I found it completely fascinating, so different and removed from what I did on the stage when I danced professionally, a completely different set of lingo I didn’t quite understand. What was a grip? A racking focus? A polarizer? I had no idea, but hearing people talk casually about the technical aspects made me feel curious to know more.

Needless to say, I was grateful when night shoots, at least for that sequence, were done. It was kind of saddening to see the carnival get dismantled, but of course it had only been put up for the film and I knew that. I had to return to my own crazy schedule, my daughter and my own students and trying to balance that with further rehearsals for “Bitch is Back” and time with Taron as well, though the next few nights he spent at my home with me. It wasn’t even a conversation we had, he just showed up every evening, joining me in making dinner and helping Clara with her homework and walking Troy and just generally filling a space in my home I hadn’t realized had been empty. Eventually I thought it was high time he had a key, so I made it a point to make a copy and give him one.

“You’re in the special group of people who gets one of these,” I giggled as we cuddled on the couch together, long after Clara had gone to bed.

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “And just how many people get a key to my girlfriend’s abode?” he chuckled.

“My mum, of course. Zayn, just in case something came up with Clara. Now you…” I smiled, as Taron flipped the key around in his palm slightly. He seemed a bit reserved about it, but then he’d been a bit reserved the past few nights. I chalked it up to just being knackered from night shoots until he sighed slightly and spoke my name in a hesitant manner.

“Juliette. I really need to ask you something,” he said, his eyes focusing somewhere just above the crown of my head.

“Anything, T,” I replied, even though a cold knot had formed in my stomach.

“Markus pulled me aside the other day and um, he wanted to pass along a few… things.” It was just like Markus to try and fuck everything up for me, even if we weren’t together. Even if I’d thoroughly ended things. Why could nothing in my world stay perfect, ever? I swallowed past the lump in my throat, willing my voice to not shake.

“I’m sure he wasn’t doing so out of the kindness of his heart,” I said coldly.

“Of course I took things with a grain of salt. We haven’t exactly had the best history, Markus and I, all things considered,” he said, finally focusing on my face, but the look of hurt that knitted his brows caught me off guard. “But he told me that you two were still together, that you slept with him again, when you had told me you wanted to be with me. When you were supposed to have broken up with him. And you never told me about that, and your nonadmission might as well have been as good as lying to me,” he continued, his voice cracking slightly.

“I… I’m so sorry,” I tried, my brain still processing what he was saying to me.

“I’ve been wrestling with this for a few days, whether to ask you about it or not. Whether to strike a divide between us or not. I’m forgiving, but relationships have to be founded on trust and communication, neither of which you’ve given to me, and that hurts.”

“I tried to break up with Markus. I tried to tell you that I failed. I felt so...humiliated and… ashamed. Of my history, of my weakness, of this shitty pattern I’ve never been able to get myself out of. I never meant it to hurt you, so I thought I could protect you from… me,” I said, stumbling over the words, unable to keep the tremor out of my voice. “You have to believe that, please.”

“I believe you, it’s just a misguided principle, really. Relationships sometimes hurt. Sometimes you have to be raw, and open, and vulnerable, and ugly in front of the other person, and sometimes that makes them hurt for you, because they love you. I want to accept your flaws, your imperfections, but I can’t do that if you won’t open up to me. I can’t do that if I can’t trust you to be honest with me. I can’t do that if you try to protect me from the difficult, painful bits. I can’t do this, if you won’t extend that to me,” he said into the dead silence of the room. My heart was near pounding out of my chest and I felt the need to get sick.

“What are you saying, Taron? Are you breaking up with me?” I asked softly, tears already threatening in my eyes.

“I just need...some time. To think. To know where I stand. I am hurt, and you’ve got to learn that there are consequences for your actions. But I’m not leaving you, no,” he said as evenly as possible. “I told you I loved you, through the hard times too. I stand by that. I just need you to try and earn my trust back,” he said softly, brushing his fingers lightly over my chin.

“Okay,” I sniffled slightly, feeling the shame burning in my chest.

He leaned over and set the key on the coffee table, the clink of the metal against the wood top making me cringe slightly, before he stood up and turned to me.

“I’ll see you around at the studios. We’re not going to be strangers. But there is this wedge we need to deal with, and I hope you can understand that.”

“I created it,” I said, a couple of tears rolling down my cheeks. But I couldn’t pity myself; I had done this. I had turned Taron away from me, yet again. I had made a muddled mess out of something that should have been good and pure.

“Hey, no need to cry. We will work through this, alright?” he said, tipping my chin up to look at him, but his face was fractured into a thousand tiny pieces through my tears.

“Why would you want to? Why aren’t you pissed off at me?” I asked, pulling away from his touch, his arm returning to his side awkwardly.

“I was, at first. But I try incredibly hard to not act out in anger. It never leads to anything good; it tends to cause more problems than it solves. I also know that even while you had promised to choose me, you really hadn’t, not yet. I wanted to believe I’d be enough to convince you...” he trailed off.

“Fuck, of course you are, T. You’re the best thing that’s ever really happened to me. And I keep trying to ruin it, so maybe you’d be better off without me dragging you down,” I said harshly.

“Stop, stop. I won’t let you talk about yourself that way,” he said, kneeling down in front of where I sat on the sofa, directly into my line of sight again. “Your self-loathing won’t help anything. Please see that.”

“Maybe I’m one person you can’t fix. Maybe no one can,” I said shakily, and Taron sighed deeply.

“I hope this feels better in the morning, but going around in circles on it with you all night won’t help either. I’m going to take my leave, and you should get some sleep, and we’ll figure out how to move forward together. That is, if you still want to.”

I couldn’t give him an answer so the silence between us yawned open until he stood up and placed a soft kiss on my forehead before gathering up his jacket and letting himself out the door. I’m not really sure how long I sat there, staring at nothing, thoughts whirling around my head. Time passed me by unnoticed until Clara padded barefoot into the room.

“Mum?” she asked, and I startled back into reality.

“Yes dear?” I asked, trying to push back the edges of darkness I felt threatening to overcome me.

“I got sick in my bed,” Clara said, starting to cry.

“Oh, honey,” I said, instantly sweeping up off the couch and going to attend to my sick daughter, cleaning the linens and giving her medicine and crashing in my bed with her that night, her feverish little body shivering next to me as I held her tight. At least I had this; I could look at my bright, inquisitive, beautiful daughter and know I had a hand in bringing her up in this world, hopefully teaching her how to avoid the pitfalls I’d fallen into in so many ways. I was grateful she was still young, that boys still had cooties and she was still years from her first kiss, her first love, her first heartbreak.

By the time the morning rolled around, neither Clara nor I had gotten much sleep, as much from Clara’s illness as from my dark thoughts. I called my mum to see if she could watch my sick kid while I went to teach classes and later Rocketman rehearsals, and of course my mum was all-too-kindly available to come over. I tucked Clara in her own bed, glad that her fever had come down overnight, and called school to tell them she wouldn’t be in that day while I waited for my mum to arrive. I made some coffee, desperate for the caffeine boost, and when my mum finally made it across town I blearily stumbled through my day. 

I couldn’t help glaring daggers at Markus’ back during rehearsals every time he wasn’t looking, which was most of the time, but I knew that was petty. It certainly wouldn’t make him apologize for ratting me out to Taron, and it wouldn’t take back what happened between us either.

By the time I got home I was completely exhausted, but Clara was feeling better and I couldn’t just crash out, even if my mum offered. I shook my head, telling her she’d done enough already for me, and sent her home with a thank-you pound note she tried to protest but I slipped into her purse anyway when she wasn’t looking. I ended up tossing a frozen pizza in the oven, but found it difficult to choke down the calories, while Clara didn’t seem to notice how little I ate as she chowed down on her slices. We watched a movie together, and I admittedly might have nodded off a few times, the Disney songs drifting in and out of my dreams.

I was so happy once Clara was tired enough to put to bed; I even skipped a shower just so I could faceplant in my bed that much quicker. I missed Taron’s warmth next to me as I pulled the blankets tightly around me. He promised we’d be okay, but what if he found more reasons to stay away from me in this temporary absence? What if he didn’t really miss me all that much? What if I was the one that was unlovable? I shivered slightly under the covers, the darkness creeping even closer than it had before in my mind, threatening to take over as I sank into a restless, dreamless sleep.

That darkness that resided inside my brain manifested itself in my attempt to control my calories; every little thing I put in my mouth had to be accounted for, and controlling my diet seemed to help me calm my nerves. Even when everything else felt like it was spiraling out of control, this one thing I could have total control over. I had exactly one scrambled egg white and 8 ounces of a protein shake in the morning, a 150-calorie protein bar at lunch, a handful of plain unsalted nuts for a snack to sustain my energy, and usually made some fish and vegetables for dinner. Eating for two was an absolute myth; I was religious about my prenatal vitamins and making sure the growing baby inside me was still getting the crucial building blocks it needed. But overeating wasn’t going to help either of us so I stuck to my routine, obviously varying things up for Clara so she wouldn’t be bored or wrinkle her nose up at my dinners. 

Over the next couple weeks of classes and rehearsals, I started to see an instant change in my arm and leg tone, and that made me at least happier. I had been needing to lose that unnecessary weight for years, and even if I couldn’t stop my belly from getting bigger, I could stop the rest of me from following suit.

As we headed full on into the summer months, the weather grew hot and sticky, as London weather was wont to do. We’d been rehearsing the Broadway musical-style choreography for “Bitch is Back” for a while in the studio, but were finally taking rehearsals outside, into the back lot to do some initial blocking. Taron was of course there, sporting some mockup cardboard wings that looked completely ungainly to manage. But somehow he did, as we danced our way through the piece and Dexter showed Taron and Matthew Illesley, who played the youngest version of Reggie, how the scene would operate.

I could feel the sweat trickling down my back, down my arms and legs, dripping off the edge of my nose. We were all allowed to wear our sunnies since it was a rare bright day in London and we weren’t officially filming yet. But when the production was able to secure the Pinner Street location, we would all need to be ready to go, so putting in this work now was important. They made us take a lot of breaks, providing Gatorade and water in massive jugs to keep us all hydrated, but I was beginning to feel rather sick to my stomach and had to fight through the nausea for the rest of the rehearsal.

Seeing Taron there, being so close to him and yet feeling far away, was painful. He acknowledged me, but it was mostly in a professional manner, and I could feel the difference in my bones. I wanted nothing more than to have him scoop me up in his arms and hold me to him, but that reality had been shattered. There are consequences to your actions, Juliette, the words popping into my brain and making my heart ache. I couldn’t run from those consequences; the only way to move forward was to accept them and move through them.

But how was I going to be able to prove to Taron that he could trust me, when we weren’t even spending time together? What grand gesture could show him how much he meant to me? I wasn’t really sure, and these thoughts hounded me throughout the day.

The next few days were much the same, the temperatures staying sticky hot and making me feel worse for wear. Pregnancy and heat did not go well together, and I found myself taking a few more breaks than everyone else, coming up with some lame excuse as I hadn’t told anyone on set I was pregnant. Only Taron and Markus knew that, and well, we all know who actually did his part to check in with me, concern written all over his face.

But then rehearsals suddenly ground to a halt, and we were left in a strange holding pattern as the production moved onto other scenes, keeping to its schedule and of course keeping Taron very busy. We had a couple short rehearsals to keep the choreography fresh in everyone’s brains, but there wasn’t much else for us to do. I focused more on teaching my classes, texting off and on with Taron when he’d ask how Clara was doing.

<She’s got a recital next week, if you’d like to go. She’d probably like that; she’s been wondering why you haven’t been around as much. I just told her it was because of work.> I responded one evening.

<Of course, I’d love to go. Text me the details and I’ll be there.>

And be there he was, dressed in a sharp navy suit coat, a white shirt underneath, and pressed slacks, looking as handsome as he ever did. Sitting next to him was almost intimidating, stealing glances at each other, sharing awkward smiles with each other as we waited through student after student, some well-practiced, others not so much, waiting for Clara’s turn.

When she got up on the stage, I could hear a bit of an audible gasp from the crowd; my opinionated little girl had chosen to don a sequined, sparkly pink jacket over her recital dress, and she had on a pair of star sunnies too, “just like Elton!” she’d declared when I’d tried to convince her otherwise.

“That’s our Clara,” Taron grinned over at me with a chuckle, before looking down at my hand and slowly taking it in his. I sucked my breath in slightly, still staring straight ahead as Clara took a seat at the piano. “You look beautiful today,” he whispered in my ear, taking in the light summer dress I’d chosen.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing over at him, those dimples of his causing my heart to flutter again. That special thing we had, it wasn’t gone by any means. We sat through my daughter’s songs, Clara gamely making it through Bach and Debussey with only a few stumbles, before getting to play a chosen song. And of course she’d chosen “Your Song,” playing it with gusto to much applause and appreciation from the audience. She gave an enthusiastic bow after her performance and skipped off the stage, returning to us excitedly as we were still clapping for her.

“Lovely job, sweetheart,” I said happily, giving her a huge hug.

“I think Elton himself would be very proud,” Taron added, making Clara grin so big she was showing off her toothless gaps.

“Yeah, if only he’d been able to watch it,” she sighed, making us both laugh.

“He’s a very busy man, but maybe some day you could play for him,” Taron said, as I playfully slapped his arm.

“Don’t promise her that!” I hissed slightly under my breath, but Taron waved it off.

“I’m sure I could get it arranged,” he said, as Clara fairly begged Taron to stay around for dinner. He obliged, and it turned into a really decent evening, the first one I felt I’d had in a bit, even after Clara commented “ewww, fish again?” when I served us dinner. He stayed long enough to tuck my daughter into bed, but said he probably shouldn’t wear out his welcome, though we lingered too long at the doorway, unspoken words and feelings passing between us.

I was actually at the academy when I got the phone call that the Pinner Street location had been secured, and that we’d be needed on set within a few hours. I scrambled to get my afternoon classes covered and made sure mum could pick up Clara from school before heading over to the studios, arriving just in time to get through hair and makeup. We changed into our costumes and were all boarded onto a shuttle and driven across the city, dropped off on a suburban street where crews were already busy setting up rigging for the cameras.

The place was an absolute blur of activity as us dancers huddled in the shade of some trees, trying to stave off the bright sunlight. We used each other to stretch and warm up, a steady hum weaving through the shimmering air as directions were shouted loudly, people running frantically to and fro. I hadn’t imagined this much chaos as the rest of the production had always been incredibly orderly. But I supposed this could happen with locations in the streets; it probably was a pain in the ass to secure city permits to shut entire blocks down for filming. When the city gave you a window of time, you had to spring into action; there would be no dragging feet here.

This sequence, of course, was an important element of the story that brought Taron into the picture as a sort of segue from rehab into his childhood years. It involved the other patients in rehab and the counselor, a brass band, and Taron in a bright orange neoprene Elvis-inspired devil costume with massive wings. The first time I saw him in it I nearly tripped over my own feet. The costume left very little to the imagination, but it was also somehow fitting to the vision of Elton that Dexter and Taron had created for the film. Elton at times played the devil, but he could also be the angel, and in many ways he was neither and both at the same time in his own story.

I loved the energy of this part of filming; the heat, not so much. The makeup crew constantly had to step in and powder us all between takes, and I’m sure our costumes weren’t going to smell very nice by the end of it. The filming day was kept short, as there were heat advisories and the production certainly didn’t want anyone to pass out. The heat sapped the strength right out of my body, and I wondered at how weak I felt as I made my way home, knowing I’d have to fight through the next few days in the same way.

The weakness in my body didn’t really abate the next day, and was joined by more nausea. Even if I didn’t get sick, I still felt turned inside out. I could barely stomach water, but I made myself push it down nonetheless. If my performance suffered for it, no one said a word to me. The third day, the dizziness hit me like a sack of rocks, making me stumble into another dancer and completely ruining the take. I mumbled my apologies and tried to concentrate the best I could. My muscles knew the motions; my brain couldn’t keep anything straight so I tried not to think too much and let my body do the work it knew by memory.

But some things you cannot win against, no matter how hard you fight. Weeks of undereating had caught up to me, leaving me emptied out; spots began to dance across my vision, my skin flushed cold despite the heat, and I found it difficult to breathe. I vaguely thought someone was calling my name, but I couldn’t hear them over the rushing in my ears. The music continued on, but my body did not; I dropped to the ground and stayed there. I don’t remember hitting the pavement, but I came to with my face burning, pressed against the hot surface. I was dimly aware of people gathered around me, and I thought I heard Taron yell at someone to “get these bloody wings off” before bright orange swam into my view.

“Juliette, can you hear me?” he asked as he knelt down beside me, the material of his costume stretching taut over his thighs. I don’t know why my brain focused on that, but I couldn’t move my head enough to look up at his face. The crystals glittered almost painfully bright in the sun as my vision went in and out of focus.

“She’s probably got heat stroke,” one voice said.

“Give her some space,” another added.

“Where’s the fucking medic?” someone else in the throng of voices shouted, my brain picking these out amongst the murmurs.

Did I really look that bad? I wondered, unaware of how crumpled I must have looked. Someone brought over an umbrella and at least shielded me from the sun; someone else tried offering water but I could neither hold the bottle nor swallow when it was poured into my mouth, vomiting onto the pavement instead, a strange thought that I should be embarrassed weaving its way through my brain, too wispy for me to grab onto.

I felt my body being moved as my pupil reaction was checked, my pulse taken, my body fussed over. Words were said that I didn’t understand and then I was being lifted through the air on a stretcher and pushed into the back of an ambulance. I flicked my eyes around at the faces staring down at me, the hands pushing IV lines into my arms, everything blurry and strangely in slow motion. 

And then I felt the sharpest pain in my abdomen, making me cry out. I instinctively tried to curl into a ball but the straps held me down, and I started to feel panic rising in my chest as another sharp pain wracked my body. I clutched at my stomach, gasping out something incoherent; this wasn’t right, and I knew it could only mean something terrible was happening.

“Oh god, the baby,” I heard Taron say, his voice sounding too loud and tinny to my ears, my secret spilled out for everyone within earshot to hear.

What was happening to my baby?, I thought, as more hands poked and prodded me, more needles stuck into my flesh, more words were said I couldn’t make sense of. All I could understand was the shivers that shook me, the pains that tormented me, the blackness that threatened to overtake me. The noise was too loud, the siren, the beeping machines, the medics’ voices, the rattling of wheels over roads as we sped toward the hospital, the hush of the cast and crew we left in our wake, growing in a cascading crescendo inside my brain until, mercifully, there was silence. 

I began to float into the void, the absence of noise, of feeling, of the physical realm, detached from what was happening to my body. The darkness came up to meet me, soothing me, warming me, easing me into slumber, the medicine working through my veins, easing the fire in my body. And then everything, everywhere, went black, and I was gone.

This is not the end of the story. Read Chapter 9 HERE.

[fanficimagery]

Imagine Malfoy being lonely on Halloween since you had graduated from Hogwarts.

Prompt courtesy of @spilledcoffeestudios

Author's Note: Voldemort never returned to wreak havoc on our favorite characters.

Draco X Reader

Hogwarts was a bit set in their ways about what holidays they celebrated and which ones they did not. Halloween, for example, was not celebrated as it should have been even though a lot of students had made inquiries about it. The most the Headmaster did was add more floating candles and pumpkins, as well as have the school elves bake up some Halloween treats.

But after putting some pressure on the professors and gathering enough alumni students to help chaperone, Halloween at Hogwarts was about to be one for the books. While those students who still followed old tradition were allowed to give their blessings outside under the careful eye of a Professor or two, the other students were to dress up in whatever silly or student appropriate costumes they had and enjoy a dance in the Great Hall after supper.

Having been informed a couple months prior to Halloween night, a majority of the students are eagerly bouncing in their seats as dinner winds down. You, however, as alumni are standing just outside the Great Hall doors and peeking in to await when dinner is officially over. Then glancing towards the Slytherin table you see him- the him in question being Draco Malfoy.

Though you were a year older, and a Gryffindor of all things, you didn't let petty House rivalries keep you from making friends outside the red and gold. Any and all Slytherins had been a bit tough to befriend, but you eventually wormed your way into the lives of a select few. Over the years, much to the surprise of everyone except his parents, you and Draco became quite close. But then graduation came and went, and while Draco still had one more year at Hogwarts, you had to become an adult nearly over night.

So while you were busy looking for a job and a place to live, you might have neglected Draco a little more than you had ever before. And while the two of you weren't in a romantic relationship, your friendship wasn't exactly platonic either.

Dinner is finally proclaimed over and while many students scramble out of their seats, Slytherin take their time. Many Gryffindors are happy to see you and you greet them back while also encouraging them to go get dressed for the upcoming dance. Then glancing back at the table, you grin at Draco and his morose expression. His elbow is resting atop the table and his chin is resting in his hand. He looks rather bored and not a bit excited for the Halloween dance, and then he looks rather annoyed as Pansy Parkinson pushes her way into the small spot between him and Blaise.

Showtime.

As you walk towards the Slytherin table and then turn to head down the aisle so you'd end up at Draco's back, you wink at every other Slytherin who takes notice of your presence and then stare immediately at Draco who's being pawed at by the one girl who never took no for an answer.

"..but Drakey-"

You wrinkle your nose at Pansy's cooing voice. "Honestly, Parkinson, no means no." Draco's gaze immediately darts to you and his chin leaves the palm of his hand as he sits up straight in surprise. Pansy sneers at your interruption. "I'm gone for a couple of months and you think Draco will be dumb enough to slip his dexterous fingers down your knickers? Get over yourself, Parkinson. You're not that much of a catch."

"Y/N! Blimey it's good to see you." Before Draco can stand from his seat, you find yourself wrapped up in the arms of Theo Nott. Several Slytherin snicker as you have to peer around him since he's so tall and you fondly roll your eyes at Draco who's now grinning. "The girls have gone absolutely barmy now that you're gone. Poor Drake can barely find any time alone. He’s really missed you."

"Buck up, Nott. It won't be long until you're all out and joining me in the real world. Enjoy the barmy girls now because it'll be sad and lonely when you leave here." Squirming out of Theo's hold, you fondly pinch Blaise's cheek who swats at you and then wink at both Greengrass girls who are all too amused at Pansy stewing in anger.

Finally finding her voice, Pansy begrudgingly asks, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to make sure Draco has fun tonight, of course." You smirk at her glowering expression and then turn your attention to Draco as you lower yourself into the spot next to him that had been vacated as you walked up. "I even got us matching outfits for tonight, babe. We're going to have so much fun."

"But you're alumni! It's inappropriate to escort a student to a school function."

"Oh stuff it, Pansy," Millicent Bulstrode grumbles as she passes by. "Draco has been Y/N's for years. You've just been too jealous to accept it."

Numerous Slytherin's explode into laughter as Pansy's shriek of, "I'm not jealous!", and laugh even harder as she flees after Millicent to most likely berate the poor girl in the privacy of their dorms.

"So," Draco drawls as he places an arm around your shoulders and drags you closer to his side, "matching outfits?"

"Don't get your wand in a knot, Malfoy," you grin up at him. "Your mum helped me picked out a muggle suit that you're going to look absolutely dashing in and a masquerade mask."

"Merlin I missed you, witch." Draco presses a kiss to your temple, his lips then moving near your ear. "Hogwarts just isn't the same without you."

"Of course it isn't."

Leaning back, he then asks, "And what will you be wearing?"

"A dress and mask as well."

Blaise groans. "Please tell me this dress has a slit?"

"Hey!"

Blaise grunts and holds the arm Daphne had punched at Draco's exclamation. "What? She's got lovely legs."

Astoria giggles and you shrug. "Well he's not wrong." Draco huffs and you gently elbow him, placing your hand on his knee below the table and squeezing once. "Not only does my dress have a slit, but it's got two! Mrs. Malfoy nearly disapproved until I reminded her that I was no longer a student. Then she got a really devilish smile and piled on a bunch of accessories. It was almost terrifying."

"Almost?" Draco chuckles.

"Yes. Because the dress is slinky with high-riding slits and with a neckline nearly down to my navel and your mother approved it! Your mother, who might I remind you, is very conservative when it comes to dressing young witches."

Blaise snorts. "It's obvious, isn't it? Narcissa is trying to get her son laid."

The table falls silent as Blaise's words sink in and then as every stare is directed towards you and Draco, you can feel your face heating up. Sighing in resignation, you lean into Draco and rest your head on his shoulder. "Your mother is going to be a nightmare." Astoria and Daphne start to giggle, Blaise and Theo following with their deep rumbling laughter. "I hate you all."

"You'll get over it come morning." Draco moves to stand and tugs you up with him. Then without letting go of your hand, something which you encourage by sliding your fingers between his, he leads you out of the Great Hall. "Hurry and get dressed so we can take some pictures for mother. I'm sure she'll want to see her darling witch in whatever  risqué costume she chose for you."

"Yes, well, fair warning," you chuckle. "Be sure to keep your eyes on my eyes. The last thing we need is our gits for friends snappin' a pic of you staring at my chest and sending that one to your mum."

"If mother were to receive a picture of me staring at your chest, I'm sure I'd go home after graduation to her planning our wedding."

You scoff. "I doubt you'd have to wait that long. I'm pretty sure your mother has been plotting since you introduced us."

"Well they do say that your mother is always right."

Rolling your eyes, you throw your elbow into Draco's side before unclasping your hands since you were about to head in different directions anyway. "Draco Malfoy, you are not going to let your mother do all the hard work for you. Now go get dressed, while I do the same, and ask me out properly. Maybe then I'll actually let you get a peek at what color my knickers are since you and the boys were always placing bets on them." Draco's jaw drops open and you smirk at him. "Tick tock, Malfoy. The sooner you get dressed and ask me, the sooner the real fun can start."

[fearsfelt-blog]

beep beep, heeeere’s bobby as penned & loved by kat ! take a look under the cut for his super snazzy intro and more 

[ cismale, he/him, jacob elordi, twenty-two ] there goes ROBERT KEENE walking down center street ! i can’t believe they’ve been living in derry for TWENTY-TWO YEARS. last i’ve heard, they’re AWARE of the existence of pennywise. i wonder if BOBBY is going to stay and fight or watch the town burn to the ground. perhaps it’s because HE reminds me of SINKING MELANCHOLIA FEEDING NOSTALGIA, DEEP PURPLE ON REPEAT, A PLATE OF HOMEMADE CHERRY PIE, but i think they might FLEE. either way, they’ll never be the same after this year. [ kat, she/her, 21, gmt, n/a ]

listen . . my creepy smol 6′3′’ and a bit tall child, i could ramble on for ages but i’m trying to stay focused. anyway, let’s start!

background -

true it stans probably already recognised his last name: keene ! as in norbert keene, the guy with big glasses who works as a pharmacist at the center street drug store and i’m pretty sure he owns it in the movie version so i guess i’ll go with that ! yup, mr. keene is his grandpa, still kicking it but he can’t really work anymore cause of old age so who does the job? ding ding, bobby here to help. 

now that makes greta keene, legend to call bev a ‘little shit’ and a ‘slut’ in the same breath, his mama! (FUN FACT: in the book she died at age 18 bc of drugs and booze and a car accident but in the movie she remained unsuccesful in life doing her father’s job at the drug store). greta might have peed rose water in high school and lived a great life in a pretty house, but instead of making it out of town and into a good college, she stayed. first, doing plenty of assistant jobs, shady jobs at the side. briefly, life started to look grand bc she started an affair with her boss, a well known attorney at the law firm she was working at, but things came to a quick end when she got pregnant at nineteen. his father, 25 at the time, didn’t love that, broke it off and well . . greta got fired and paid off to please keep quiet and raise the child on her own. thankfully, the keenes aren’t poor and were able to keep up a good life standard for their daughter. during the first years of bobby’s life, his mum was a good stay at home mum, really bored and cranky, but she at least loved the little bug. 

so he was raised by his mum at his grandparents house, a good house, a decent house, but not perfect. when bobby was put into kindergarten, his mum started looking for jobs again, eventually ending up as a waitress making poor money and choices, then as the right hand of her father as the drug store. surely not the life she ever wanted for herself. that was only the start of her manners growing frozen, cold, bored to death with no goals.

bobby had a relatively normal childhood despite his mother’s many adventures. he’s always been on the quiet side, a sensitive child who feels things that aren’t there to others. call it a presence, intrusive thoughts or simply tingly senses of something dark about to grow. though his interest in other kids , playing with them , never really developed. he was fully invested in what his mama called creep stuff, playing in the dirt, analysing roadkill, asking questions only an adult would ask. that kind of behaviour continued into middle school.

at the age of six, he got a younger sibling, yay ! not another baby tho, no, a three year old, the daughter of his mother’s best high school friends who had just passed away in a tragic manner. greta and the keenes took in her little girl and ever since then, bobby slowly started to grow to like company. he feels very strongly about his sister, despite not really feeling strongly about anyone ever.

around that time, the visions started: he sees, what it does. what it wants to do, wants to do with him, wants him to do. in a way he’s sort of the herald of clown, a bit of a vessel and before he knew what was going on, he thought he was a psychic or some kind of stuff. though already being a bit on the wacky side, he’ll eventually have to ask himself if the base of wanting to hurt people hasn’t always been there and derry’s famous presence isn’t just encouraging him. think dexter’s dark passenger ! that’s what it feels like.

during his second year of high school, grandma keene died, rip that good old woman ! he was sad to lose a constant in his life and things seemed to be shaken up a bit at home, as the sadness impacted everyone in a different way: his mum started going out again more, meeting shady men at shady bars, growing more and more distant from her kids. his grandpa, however, no matter how cynical or weird people found him, remained good with the kids. he’s taught bobby a lot of norms and morals of society he just never quite . . understood.

this guy wasn’t mr. popular in high school, think somewhat of a jughead jones type. he’s weird, he’s a weirdo, he doesn’t fit --- BUT have u seen his face?? pretty. so he always got a lot of attention from the girlies, even though it never really interested him beyond surface level. in fact, he ditched his prom date to go to burger king a town away with his best friends.

he graduated, decided to take over his grandpa’s position as a pharmacist and is now an apprentice learning as much as he can, y’know it’s not exactly his dream job but it’s fun and he gets a lot of the town gossip, which is a bonus. 

on the side, he’s already planning his escape, drawing pictures at night of things he’s seen that could be the clown. the most re-occuring one: a weeping bride, all black and muddy with rotten flesh, crying and asking for her husband and son. the stories of pennywise came to him during a tale of his grandpa, who’s been around for way longer and some final research on whether that could be. bobby’s often re-visiting places of brutal happenings in the dark, trying to make his tingly senses pick up anything. though 6′3′’, that boy is a little scaredy cat and will flee.

personality -

like i said, think jughead jones, john cleaver from i am not a serial killer or dexter morgan

he’s a scorpio sun with a virgo moon ! very distanced with emotions, analytical

a bisexual legend, sort of closeted as it’s a small town, but ! who writes straight charas in 2019

tw /// has a history of self harm, inflicted to distract him from bad thoughts

loves loves working out, obviously, bc it helps him channel his emotions and distracts him

is looking to move out but doesn’t want to leave his sister behind

doesn’t get if u flirt with him

how to win his heart? vintage music, homemade food, pie !!

i know that was semi long but i have soo much more i could write down regarding his family dynamics, darker self, etc, but maybe a bio? will come? stay tuned. anyway if u read all this ur braver than the us marines ! like this to plot and i’ll hit u up baby beans. or slide into my dms haha and then what.  BTW i already have wanted plots here and stats here.

[dcublogger]

Sarah | Psychology

Hi, my name is Sarah and I am a mature student studying Psychology. I hope you enjoy my blog about my experience in DCU.

Semester 1 - 2019

December 20th, Semester 1: Finishing Semester

At just like that it is over. Semester 1 of year 3 is complete! It is honestly so hard to explain how quickly each semester goes. One of my friends said it best when she told us that we have 6 semesters done and only 3 more left until we graduate. 

I wish my semesters we more balanced for me personally. I have not found a balance between college time and mom time. Each week that passes I think next week will be better, next week I will be more organised. But then life happens and my little one gets sick. (Trying to leave for college when your three-year-old is pleading with you to stay, is an actual test I have only seldom passed!) 

But look, I have made it. There are still assignments to do and exams to prepare for but I have survived and made it through! Take that anxiety! We had an amazing end to this semester. We had to present our preliminary finds from our research project on the last day of the term. It was an amazing way to finish up. Getting to see everyone's hard work presented in a mock conference-style was incredible. 

Here we are, if you look super close you can see that there is a buggy in the background and a small person’s feet hanging out! Yes, listening to me present made my daughter fall asleep!... Now I know how to get her to bed early on Christmas Eve! 

Now, only four more sleeps everybody!

December 2nd, Semester 1: Managing Anxiety

Okay, the final stretch of the semester. So far this semester is going much better than this time last year! Last year, I developed extreme anxiety. I have probably always had anxiety on some level without knowing it really. Despite reading about anxiety and talking to many different people who experienced anxiety and all the bits that go with. I never recognised it in myself. I always just thought I was a bit weird! Last year though it passed my normal threshold of just negative thoughts and feeling worried about not being able to complete a task. Usually, I would take some time to myself and focus on some soul searching and in a week or two the moment would pass and I would return to normal functioning. Last year though this was not the case. I guess this time I was almost finished semester one of second year which was an achievement for me personally. The fear of not belonging or not being good enough, that someone would soon figure out that I was not a good enough student and would kick me out of college became so overwhelming. (Of course, this is a completely irrational thought, but that is the mechanism of anxiety!). 

I felt that I wasn’t doing well enough (I was really doing fine) in college and I wasn’t being a good enough mum to my daughter either. So two of the things I love more than anything imaginable, I was failing at, or at least that is what I thought. My anxiety manifested in panic attacks, which I believed to be some kind of issue with my heart (yes, really). I would shake for hours uncontrollably and was unable to sleep. I remember hearing someone talk about their anxiety and not being able to move out of bed in the morning time, in the morning they felt like a zero. After spending hours just trying to talk themselves to leave the house, they finally managed it and everything was okay. So at night time, late at night, finally they felt like a bit of a hero and could not sleep, and so the cycle would continue. 

This is anxiety. This is the dark passenger (Dexter quote), that has been around me for a very long time, the only thing with college is that I could just stay inside for two weeks until it passed. I had to keep trying to get there, trying to do my assignments, and the vicious thought pattern of ‘I’m not good enough’ is not a friend when you are doing course work!. My anxiety was crippling, the fear was so real. I have to point out here that DCU has an on-campus doctor and health centre which is staffed by some truly incredible people. They helped me work through all of my anxiety and to understand how to manage it better.  I was able to communicate my experiences to my lecturers, without their understanding and encouragement to just keep going little by little, I would not be about to finish this semester now. 

The reason I wanted to talk about this is that I know so many people who have experienced similar experiences to the one I have described. Many people might worry about not being good enough or able to complete something they really want to do. You absolutely can. If you are reading this and are really thinking that this is something you can relate to, know that anxiety or any mental health difficulty does not have to define you, it does not control you. I have learned over the last year that my anxiety is a guide, a little Jiminy Cricket (less friendly at times). My anxiety was telling me I needed to take a breather, regroup and remember what is important. My path has brought me here, and there is a bigger picture that is being built around me. I honestly believe this. I feel that Psychology in DCU has been so much more than just a college course, a thing I put down on my CAO form. It was a conscious decision that has brought me on an incredible journey of understanding my world, myself and my life. Little by little, it has rippled down through my family and huge. This course has already been so much more than just an academic education. 

Just remember...

 November 3, Week 7: Reading Week

So the weeks are flying by, we are already in week 7! This week we have a reading week. This is fantastic, it really gives everyone a great chance to get some reading in and some space to organise for the second half of the semester, as well as preparations for assignments and continuous assessments.

This year we have a big group project for our Research Methods module. It is an amazing opportunity to really see what it is like to get stuck into different types of research. I have to say this practical side of the Psychology programme is amazing! A lot of our modules have a lecture and workshop or practical based session throughout the weeks. If you are like me and you learn better by doing then this is an amazing part of Psychology at DCU! We have been building up our research methods and statistic experience over the first two years, each week theory comes in the lecture and then we have gotten a chance to run some statistical analysis in our practicals based on the theory we have covered in class. I was not a mathematical person what so ever, to say I feared numbers is putting it mildly! This module has become one of my favourites! I am not saying I am amazing at it by any ‘means’ (another statistical joke), but I love the module, something my family could never have imagined me saying... ever!

Aside from catching up on some course work, I had an amazing start to the week. On Monday, I was helping out at the World Online Learning Conference, which was an incredible experience, to say the least! It was a huge amount of fun and I got to meet some amazing people from over the world who were working or teaching in some way through an online platform.

...As you can see there was a lot of fun as well as a huge amount of organisation, work and dedication from all those involved from the National Institute for Digital Learning (NIDL) at DCU. Below is Mark one of the organisers and one of my fellow student ambassadors (I am safely behind the camera!)

Before I head off this evening, I really just want to remind you guys about the Open Days which are coming up very soon, (November 15th &16th). These days are so much fun, you get to come and visit the campus and meet some of the students and lecturers. There will be talks about the Psychology programme and a whole lot of lovely people to chat with, if this doesn't tempt you enough, I will also be there to answer (as best I can) any questions you have at all! Check out the website for more details.

The link is right here:  https://www.dcu.ie/studentrecruitment/openday

I have so much more news to tell you all but right now is bedtime, so I am off to read Christmas stories and tuck a whole lot of teddy bears into a bed while somehow fit a 3-year-old in there too.

Until next time (hopefully the weekend), wish me luck for bedtime!

October 22, Semester 1: Thinking Back

I can not believe that I am beginning week five of my third year of psychology. I have just finished preparing my CV for Intra (work placement) applications. I can not help but think back to my first week in first year…

In that beginning week, we all sat in HG50, a room that would soon become like a new home to us. I had met some of the mature students from my class already. During the Summer there was a mature student evening and then before the semester started we had the option to be involved with a mature student writing week. We all sat in that room, excitedly waiting and anxiously whispering to each other. Probably all of us still in disbelief that we had somehow managed to find ourselves here sitting in a room with some of the brightest leaving cert students in the country.

Somehow I had managed to finally get here. I had been a self-proclaimed life wanderer, weaving in and out of jobs that were underpaid and where I was overworked with huge amounts of stress and little space to grow. A person who had longed to be an excellent student in school but had fallen, unnoticed through the cracks of teenage school life like an Alice tumbling down to Wonderland. School had been a frightening experience for me in my life and probably an experience that up until that first week in 2017 sitting in a DCU lecture room, was an experience I did not wish to repeat.

As our soon to be lecturers filed into to room, making their way to the very front, all smiling and talking quieting amongst themselves I couldn’t have felt more excited. One by one, they introduced themselves to us and briefly highlighted the modules they teach on and their own area of expertise.  Almost all of them spoke in some way about how not so long ago they themselves were sitting in a room much like us and in the blink of an eye that moment had passed. It couldn’t possibly happen that way for me I thought, no way. This is going to be a long journey, four years is a ‘significant’ [psychology joke, after 1st year research methods you will get it more] amount of time and it will feel that way I thought.

The first two years of university was personally tough for me. My dad had become quite ill in the Spring of 2017. Very quickly, the mixture of caring for a sick parent while negotiating being a parent to a one-year-old, attending lectures, tutorials and practicals, volunteering and somehow squeezing in a homelife became real. It was like just one morning I woke up and all of a sudden I was an adult! 

I was alive with life, soaking up every drop of university I could, the no sleep didn’t matter because I was learning. I was learning so much about so much that I wanted to learn about, and that is honestly a life-changing thing…

But that is enough about my thinking back for now. For now, I just want anyone to know, that for me the last two years have been a test. I am not sure what the universe was testing me for but all I know is that everything that is possibly imaginable as stress has happened to me within two years. All squeezed together for maximum effect but here I am about to begin applications for a work placement and hopefully neuroscience-related (my dream).

If you are in any way thinking that you want to study psychology as a mature student or other, and if you are worried that it will be hard to manage, all I can say is, yes it is hard but you absolutely can manage it. You will absolutely not regret that choice. You will grow and develop in so many ways you never expected. I like to think in ways I am stronger after those two years, I am better for it. And all those lecturers, who might have seemed like just faces I saw on my first week, the ones who introduced themselves and their area of study to my class. Each and every one of them supported me and encouraged me to follow my dream and to keep going when things got the hardest. That is why DCU is different, I am certain that in any other place in time, I would not have survived, I would not have managed, and quite frankly I could very well be curled up in a ball somewhere crying.

And so here I am writing about it, almost halfway through my first semester of my third year as a psychology student. This can absolutely be you too (minus the personal stress of course!).  If you like Alice in Wonderland, then follow that white rabbit and let yourself fall into the madness that is the land of psychology. You will not regret it.

Lastly the DCU Open Days are on the 15th and 16th of November. These Open Days give you a great opportunity to talk to loads of people about courses that you might be interested in and you will also get to see the DCU Campus and go on a tour of the campus too. To register and find out all the info click here: https://www.dcu.ie/studentrecruitment/openday 

[wondroussimmer-blog]

GET TO KNOW ME-

Basically, no one actually tagged me in this, but I thought i’d give it a go anyway seeing as this is a new blog and you guys can get to now me a bit, so I tag anyone who sees this and also wants to have a go...

________________________________________________________________

1. What is your full name? I’m not putting my last name on here, but my first name is Maja (Miya) 2. What is your nickname? I don’t really have one 3. Birthday? January 1st 4. What is your favourite book series? I don’t really read book series’ 5. Do you believe in aliens or ghosts? Not 100% sure, I don’t believe in the sort of ghosts you see in films, but I think I believe our loved ones stay with us in some way. As for aliens, idk, we can’t be the only life but idk.  6. Who is your favourite author? I find the fault in our stars quite overrated, but i’d say John Green because some of his others are my favourites! 7. What is your favourite radio station? BBC Radio 1 8. What is your favourite flavour of anything? this is such a weird question, how can you have a favourite flavour for everything? but if it’s sweet, definitely strawberry! 9. What word would you use often to describe something great or wonderful? Again, weird question, but i use so many words for this, my most used are probably lovely and amazing 10. What is your current favourite song? this changes alll the time, but right this minute it’s probably sunflower by post malone and swae lee 11. What is your favourite word? is this a thing? 12. What was the last song you listened to? vacation by hippo campus 13. What TV show would you recommend for everybody to watch? big mouth, orphan black, queer eye, dexter 14. What is your favourite movie to watch when you’re feeling down? the breakfast club or mean girls probably 15. Do you play video games? only the sims 16. What is your biggest fear? probably the death of people close to me, and in the future not being able to have children 17. What is your best quality, in your opinion? probably that i’m a friendly person  18. What is your worst quality, in your opinion? i’m v insecure 19. Do you like cats or dogs better? DOGS... always dogs! 20. What is your favourite season? autumn/winter 21. Are you in a relationship? yes 22. What is something you miss from your childhood? having way more friends and barely any responsibilities 23. Who is your best friend? my boyfriend 24. What is your eye colour? blue 25. What is your hair colour? brown 26. Who is someone you love? my boyfriend and family 27. Who is someone you trust? my boyfriend and closest family 28. Who is someone you think about often? okay wow, so much variety in these answers but the same as the previous two answers 29. Are you currently excited about/for something? christmas and my birthday 30. What is your biggest obsession? probably sims 31. What was your favourite TV show as a child? Probably Tracy beaker or that’s so raven  32. Who of the opposite gender can you tell anything to, if anyone? my boyfriend 33. Are you superstitious? only slightly 34. Do you have any unusual phobias? cracking knuckles, moths (but only indoors), realistic looking mannequins and gas masks... so not much 35. Do you prefer to be in front of the camera or behind it? behind, every single time 36. What is your favourite hobby? playing sims, graphic designing, video editing 37. What was the last book you read? The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat by Oliver Sacks 38. What was the last movie you watched? Muppet’s Christmas Carol 39. What musical instruments do you play, if any? I play a bit of guitar and can play the mr bean theme song on piano if that counts 40. What is your favourite animal? dogs 41. What are your top 5 favourite Tumblr blogs that you follow? I definitely have more than 5  42. What superpower do you wish you had? be able to teleport and go invisible  43. When and where do you feel most at peace? probably at home with my boyfriend 44. What makes you smile? sorry if this is becoming a boring answer... but my boyfriend! also my dog :) 45. What sports do you play, if any? I don’t at the moment, but I have done tennis, dance (ballet, tap and modern), swimming, karate, speed skating and netball 46. What is your favourite drink? water... how boring ik 47. When was the last time you wrote a hand-written letter or note to somebody? Last month, I made my boyfriend a scrap book as one of my boyfriend’s presents for our anniversary and wrote some letters as part of it  48. Are you afraid of heights? not if it’s a secure height 49. What is your biggest pet peeve? I have wayyy too many and so many grammatical ones, I absolutely hate when people incorrectly use was and were, so if someone said ‘we was going’, I think it’s quite an essex thing but I hateeee it, I can’t stand bad grammar, but also slow walkers, people who walk through the door without looking behind them to hold the door open for people behind, other drivers not indicating, people that have to be louder than everyone else, people that chew with their mouths open... basically I have a lot and this list could go on and on and on 50. Have you ever been to a concert? I’ve seen all time low, the 1975, imagine dragons, sunset sons, ed sheeran and paramore in concert so far and i’m seeing panic! at the disco in march which i’m MEGA excited about!!! 51. Are you vegan/vegetarian? vegetarian 52. When you were little, what did you want to be when you grew up? This would change all the time, it went from radio dj, to dancer, to teacher when I was really young, then architect when I was a teenager, and now it’s clinical psychologist which i’m slowly working towards 53. What fictional world would you like to live in? I’ve not got a clue 54. What is something you worry about? EVERYTHING! I get a lot of social anxiety, so basically whenever i’m out of the house i’m worrying about absolutely everything and it’s the worst and gets me super down, so yeah, love that 55. Are you scared of the dark? okay so I don’t like leaving the dark, i’m fine being in the dark but I hate when i’m home alone and have to turn the lights off in the living room, kitchen and hall to go to bed... if that makes sense 56. Do you like to sing? i’m someone that, at home, is constantly singing, and when it’s only my boyfriend around, if one of us says a sentence that can in some way relate to a song, i’ll immediately sing it, but I suck so I won’t ever sing in public 57. Have you ever skipped school? in school I faked being ill a few times to get off of school, but in uni i’ve skipped way too many lectures over the past 3 years 58. What is your favourite place on the planet? I absolutely adore Spain, but also Belgrade (i’m half Serbian) 59. Where would you like to live? If not my current home town, i’d love to one day live somewhere like Norway or Sweden 60. Do you have any pets? yep, i’ve got a french bulldog 61. Are you more of an early bird or a night owl? I wake up pretty early, but I hate to start the day early 62. Do you like sunrises or sunsets better? sunsets. 63. Do you know how to drive? Yep 64. Do you prefer earbuds or headphones? the sound of headphones but I normally use earbuds 65. Have you ever had braces? nope, thank god 66. What is your favourite genre of music? this really ranges from charts, to indie rock, to ‘former emo kid’, to early 2000s r&b, to musical theatre 67. Who is your hero? probably my boyfriend 68. Do you read comic books? no 69. What makes you the most angry? as we’ve already gathered, I have a lot of pet peeves, so a lot! 70. Do you prefer to read on an electronic device or with a real book?a real book! 71. What is your favourite subject in school? I currently study psychology which has been my favourite subject since A levels, but during GCSEs I enjoyed maths  72. Do you have any siblings? 1 younger brother 73. What was the last thing you bought? some christmas presents for my boyfriend’s cousins 74. How tall are you? 5ft4 75. Can you cook? yes 76. What are three things that you love? spending time with people I love, travelling, collecting photos  77. What are three things that you hate? busy places, cheats, confrontation 78. Do you have more female friends or more male friends? I actually barely have any so this is kind of hard to answer 79. What is your sexual orientation? straight 80. Where do you currently live? England 81. Who was the last person you texted? my mum 82. When was the last time you cried? I’m not actually sure, which is funny because I cry all the time and super easily 83. Who is your favourite YouTuber? I have so many: in terms of sims: lilsimsie, urbansims, sophsims, simkim, plumbella, in terms of lifestyle: louise pentland, in terms of fashion and beauty: samantha maria, tati westbrook, busybee carys, patricia bright, antonio garza, and others: shane dawson, sarah baska, kendall rae, jaackmaate, and loads more! basically, if i’m not on tumblr, i’m on youtube, if i’m not on youtube i’m playing sims, and if i’m not on sims i’m on tumblr... 84. Do you like to take selfies? rarely 85. What is your favourite app? any social media  86. What is your relationship with your parent(s) like? fab 87. What is your favourite foreign accent? Australian and Scottish 88. What is a place that you’ve never been to, but you want to visit? I have so many but I won’t bore you with another long list, so just a few: Sweden, South Africa, Iceland and Canada 89. What is your favourite number? 1 90. Can you juggle? no 91. Are you religious? I was baptised but don’t really consider myself religious 92. Do you find outer space or the deep ocean to be more interesting? both as interesting as the other 93. Do you consider yourself to be a daredevil? not really 94. Are you allergic to anything? no 95. Can you curl your tongue? yep, one of my weird ‘party tricks’ is I can actually curl it 180 degrees 96. Can you wiggle your ears? no 97. How often do you admit that you were wrong about something? not as often as I should 98. Do you prefer the forest or the beach? probably the forest 99. What is your favourite piece of advice that anyone has ever given you?my dad probably gives the best life advice but there’s too much to put here   100. Are you a good liar? It depends 101. What is your Hogwarts House? Hufflepuff 102. Do you talk to yourself? All the time 103. Are you an introvert or an extrovert? I N T R O V E R T, i’m so introverted to the point I hate it but seriously struggle to change it 104. Do you keep a journal/diary? no but I have in the past 105. Do you believe in second chances? it depends 106. If you found a wallet full of money on the ground, what would you do? Hand it in 107. Do you believe that people are capable of change? It depends 108. Are you ticklish? VERY 109. Have you ever been on a plane? manyyyy times 110. Do you have any piercings? nope, I have but not anymore 111. What fictional character do you wish was real? no idea  112. Do you have any tattoos? nope 113. What is the best decision that you’ve made in your life so far? I’m really not sure 114. Do you believe in karma? to an extent, but at the same time bad things seem to happen to good people, sooooo 115. Do you wear glasses or contacts? neither 116. Do you want children? yes 117. Who is the smartest person you know? my cousin 118. What is your most embarrassing memory? omg my whole life is filled with embarrassing memories that I seem to always remember at the most inconvenient times or when i’m about to go to sleep that just haunt me out of nowhere...fun 119. Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? yes 120. What colour are most of you clothes? black or white 121. Do you like adventures? yep 122. Have you ever been on TV? no 123. How old are you? 20 - nearly 21 124. What is your favourite quote? not really sure. 125. Do you prefer sweet or savoury foods? sweet

[lookingforthecoolshoeshine]

Here’s a thing I wrote a while back. Half of it is already posted over at ff.net, but I wrote another half since because idk, I was enjoying writing this. Anyway @rael-melancholy wanted me to post it soo.... enjoy?

It’s pretty much phase 1 fluff of the guys looking after a sick Noodle.

Noodle huffed, head bowed over her guitar strings as she tried to ignore the throbbing in her head, the scratching in her throat and the uncomfortable heat. She knew that she was sick, and that she should probably tell someone, but she liked to play the music that they were creating, and she wasn’t even sure how she could tell her bandmates what was wrong; she still didn’t know enough English, and trying to explain to them was too difficult to contemplate. She was struggling to concentrate on the song they were playing, and finding it difficult to move her fingers across her guitar strings with her usual fluidity and dexterity. It was as if they were covered in golden syrup, pulled and slowed down by the viscous, sickly sweet almost liquid.

The thought made her stomach churn and Noodle squirmed, hunching down further over her guitar, teeth grinding against each other as she clenched her jaw together against the stomach acid that was rising up her throat.

Her fingers stumbled, losing the rhythm of the song they were playing- and in all honesty, Noodle couldn’t even remember the name of the piece that they were working on- and before anyone could say anything she had yanked her guitar up and away from her body, thrusting it into a surprised 2D’s hands before slipping from her stool and rushing from the room, hand clamped over her mouth. Noodle could hear her bandmates calling her name as she sprinted down the corridor, barreling into the bathroom just in time to crouch in front of the toilet and empty the contents of her stomach into the bowl. She wasn’t sure how long she was there before she felt a heavy hand gently rub her back, and another smooth the hair away from her face. She jumped when she first felt the contact, body hypersensitive, but didn’t jerk away.

Eventually, Noodle was curled up against Russel’s chest, his hands still rubbing her back and stroking her hair as she shivered uncontrollably. 2D was hovering nearby, wanting to help but not entirely sure what he could do. Russel ignored him, mind racing through all the things that his mum would do for him when he was sick. He looked down at the shivering mess of a girl in his arms, and shifted.

“C’mon, you need to be in bed. Do you want a shower first? Make you feel a little less gross?” he asked gently. Noodle thought about it for a moment, picking through the words, and then nodded. “Alright then. Dee will get you some pyjamas, okay? You wait here, I’m gonna get it ready for you.” He gently sat her back on the floor and stood up, wincing as his back cracked in several places. 2D had already scurried off, relieved that he finally had a task, and Russel moved over to the shower, turning various knobs until it was a decent temperature. By this point 2D had sidled back into the room, clutching a pair of worn pyjamas that had, at one point, been his, but had (along with most of his other old clothes) been donated to Noodle when Mrs Potts had first found out that the young girl was not only living with her son, but that she had no clothes other than the ones that Noodle had been wearing when she had first jumped out of the crate. 2D wasn’t even sure why his mother had still kept all of his own clothes but hadn’t questioned it, and although Noodle’s wardrobe had grown considerably since those first early days, for some reason they had never bothered to replace the pyjamas.

2D placed the clothing on the rail by the towel, and he and Russel waited outside whilst Noodle had her shower, both of them leaning against opposite sides of the corridor.

“Where’s Murdoc?” Russel asked after a while, breaking the silence that had settled in the corridor. 2D shrugged.

“Dunno. He said… said there’s no point to having more band practice today? Something like that, right after you left. Disappeared after that.” 2D scratched his chin idly. “She’s pretty sick isn’t she?”

“Yeah. Poor girl,” Russel sighed. 2D hummed in agreement.

“She looked a bit strange this morning,” he commented, before straightening up as the bathroom door opened and Noodle appeared, steam curling around her ankles. “D’you want to go to sleep now?” he asked, and Noodle nodded. 2D held his hand out and the younger girl slipped her hand into his, letting 2D semi-drag her along to her room, Russel trailing along behind them.

Soon they got back to Noodle’s room, and she huddled into her bed, dragging the covers up and around her body. Both Russel and 2D flitted around, making sure that she was comfortable and warm but not too warm, that there was a bin by her bed in case she threw up again, and that the light was dim enough to sleep, but that it wasn’t completely pitch black. Noodle watched them through half lidded eyes, and soon enough both 2D and Russel were stood by the door, ready to leave her in peace.

“We’ll come and check on you, but if you need us we’ll be in the kitchen,” Russel said softly, still hovering in the doorway. Noodle nodded, hearing his voice but not attempting to follow his sentence, and rolled over. “Get better soon baby,” was all she heard before the door closed with a click and she was finally able to drift off to sleep.

***

Noodle woke with a start, heart racing and head pounding. Her throat felt as if it had been scraped raw, and she kicked off the many blankets she had layered overself before she had gone to sleep, suddenly unbearably hot. Noodle couldn’t remember exactly what had woken her up, but she wished that she hadn’t. The wind was howling around Kong, louder than normal, and rain lashed at her windows. The light from her nightlight, normally a source of comfort, was casting odd shadows through the room and various objects that Noodle couldn’t quite pinpoint loomed at her through the gloom. Noodle whimpered as her fevered brain turned the objects into horrifying monsters, and she pushed back against the headboard, eyes fixed on what was normally her blue chair but seemed have become a mysterious, imposing figure.

There was a flash of lightning, followed by a loud clap of thunder, and Noodle scrambled out of bed, tripping on her blankets in the process and falling to the floor with a loud thump. Eyes watering as she banged her knee hard on the floor, Noodle got to her feet clumsily and, snagging one of the blankets of her bed, fled the room.

It wasn’t much better outside of her room. Whilst it was brighter, the fluorescent lighting was making Noodle’s head spin as she wandered through the empty hallways with no clear direction of where she was going. Somewhere in her muddled haze, Noodle intended to find Russel, who would know what she needed to feel better, or 2D, who gave the best hugs, or even Murdoc, who would probably grunt at her but let her stay with him and at least be company. Unfortunately, she had no idea where they were and Kong was a maze at the best of times, let alone when she was ill and running a bad fever.

After what felt like hours of stumbling around on her own (but what was, in reality, thirty minutes), Noodle was ready to give up completely. She had ended up sitting on the floor because her legs felt like jelly and she was still shivering, despite her blanket and the fact that she felt hot and sticky in her sweaty pyjamas, and all Noodle wanted to do was curl up and cry because everything hur-

“Noodle?” Noodle looked up, and 2D’s concerned face swam into focus. “You alright?”

“Toochee,” Noodle croaked, reaching out for him, and he pulled her into his arms. Noodle immediately burrowed into him, closing her eyes.

“Why aren’t you in bed?” he asked softly, looking down at Noodle’s spiky hair.

“‘S not right. There’s a… a…” Noodle trailed off and 2D waited patiently while she found the right word. “A ‘grr’,” she eventually said, giving up when the word didn’t come to her, and she screwed her fingers up into an imitation of claws. 2D frowned.

“A ‘grr’? Do you mean monster?”

“Yes,” she replied, although she wasn’t sure. “Stay with you?” Noodle asked hopefully, peeking up at 2D through her fringe. 2D smiled softly back.

“Of course you can. Let’s go find Russel.” He scooped her up, rearranging her so he was giving her a piggyback (because although Noodle was small, she wasn’t small enough for 2D to be able to carry her in his arms like Russel could), and he set off in the direction of the living room. Noodle rested her chin on his shoulder as he walked, only half listening to whatever film 2D was talking about.

By the time they reached the living room, Noodle had almost drifted off to sleep again, rousing only slightly when she was pulled off of 2D’s back and settled on to the sofa, her blanket arranged over her.

“Better?” asked 2D, and Noodle looked at him and then at Russel, who was watching her from over the top of his coffee.

“Better,” she replied, before succumbing to the demands of her tired body and drifting to sleep completely.

***

Noodle wasn’t asleep for very long, jerking awake when Murdoc stumbled into the room at a time so late that it was in the early hours of the morning. He squinted at her, clutching a bottle of some sort of spirit, and Noodle stared back, resting her aching head back against a sleeping 2D’s arm.

“Thought you were in bed,” Murdoc commented, picking his way through the debris in the messy room and flinging himself down in an armchair opposite the sofa. Noodle didn’t answer immediately, merely watching him, before pushing her sweaty bangs out of her eyes.

“‘S better here,” she murmured eventually, throat rasping. Murdoc winced, and rooted around in a box that was sat underneath the table next to the armchair, before chucking a small packet to Noodle.

“Take one of those, yeah?” Noodle picked up the box from where it had landed on her lap, examining it and then looking back at Murdoc. “They’re strepsils. For your throat,” Murdoc explained, pointing at his neck. Noodle returned her attention back to the box of lozenges, before popping one out of the silver foil. Turning the orange sweet over in her fingers, she hesitated before putting it in her mouth at the encouraging nod from Murdoc. Noodle flinched at the flavour, and the strange feeling that settled on her tongue, but didn’t spit it out.

“Don’t fall asleep though before it’s finished, I cannot be arsed to deal with Russel if you choke, he’ll be giving everyone enough grief as it is whilst you’re sick.” Noodle blinked lethargically at Murdoc, not following his speech pattern that was difficult to understand at the best of times. “How are you feeling now anyway? Were you sick again?”

“Sick?” she asked, frowning.

“Yeah, like earlier in rehearsal. Whilst we were playing.” Noodle thought through his words and nodded, casting her eyes down at the blanket that 2D had draped over her shoulders earlier.

“In my room,” she confirmed. “In a… um… bowl?” she asked, and Murdoc nodded when Noodle looked up for affirmation. “In a bowl. Russel take it.”’

“Hmm. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“Hurt?”

“Yeah. Um… sore? Pain?” Noodle frowned. Murdoc thought, then placed his hand on his forehead, making the sort of groaning sounds 2D did when he had a migraine. Noodle’s expression cleared.

“An ouch?” she asked for clarification. Murdoc shrugged.

“Sure, an ouch. Do you have an ouch?” Noodle nodded. “Where does it… where is the ouch?”

“Here, and here, and here,” replied Noodle, pointing to her head, then her throat, then her stomach. “And is cold, but not cold.”

“Hmm. Sorry love. Sounds like you have the flu,” said Murdoc, settling back in his chair.

“Flu?”

“Yeah. It’s why you’re sick. Don’t worry, you’ll get better, but it won’t be fun. Lots of sleep, maybe some soup, definitely orange juice… hm. Should make a list, really.” Murdoc scratched the top of his head, trailing off in his musings, before lunging for the notebook and pen that was on the coffee table from a brainstorming session the week before, pulling the cap off the pen with his teeth and scribbling down a few items on it. “Tissues… probably more strepsils… maybe some cough medicine… bet 2D’s got some painkillers somewhere… although you may need some normal ones, who knows how strong his actually are, could overdose you by accident… I think cabbage contains vitamin C? Pfft, it’ll make Russel happy, he’ll believe it anyway… hey, Noodle love, I know you’re tired, but don’t fall asleep yet. How’s the strepsil?” Murdoc’s attention snapped to Noodle, who had almost drifted off to sleep again, and she scowled at him. “Open your mouth, let me see.”

Murdoc opened his mouth wide, and Noodle copied him. He stomped over and peered in, but couldn’t see any sign of the orange lozenge, so he simply ruffled her hair and slouched back to his seat. “Alright then, time for sleep,” he grumbled, using the phrase that was parroted to her every night by whoever was responsible for making sure she went to bed. It was normally Russel.

Noodle nodded once more, settling herself more comfortably against 2D, who automatically rearranged his limbs so she would be comfortable without waking out of his own sleep, and she closed her eyes to Murdoc staring at her.

***

The next few days were unusually quiet for Kong. Murdoc’s diagnosis had proven to be true, and Noodle had been practically bedridden, drifting in and out of consciousness whilst 2D and Russel fretted over her, clucking about her temperature and the coughs that wracked her body every so often. There had been one particularly scary day, not long after the first day of her illness, when her temperature had soared and it had been difficult to rouse her for any time at all, Noodle either muttering in broken Japanese in her fitful sleep or gazing uncomprehendingly and with glassy eyes around the room for the few moments that she was awake. That day had terrified all the members of the band, and 2D’s mother had to spend three hours reassuring them down the phone that Noodle was going to be okay but that they needed to keep her hydrated and comfortable whilst she caught the train to Kong from Crawley. Eventually, sometime in the middle of the night and just as Russel was about to bundle Noodle up and drive her to the nearest hospital room, her fever had finally broken and her temperature had begun to fall. Mrs Pot had stayed long enough to see Noodle wake up around breakfast time, the young girl pushing around the cereal in her bowl with her spoon rather than actually eating, before 2D and Russel saw Mrs Pot out to the taxi, thanking her profusely for her help. Murdoc had already disappeared once it became apparent that Noodle’s fever had broken, presumably with the intention of drinking himself into a stupor to celebrate, and Noodle herself had fallen asleep again.

***

It was a few days after that that Noodle finally felt well enough to play again. She had woken up that morning finally free from the headache that had been plaguing her for a week, without the shaky feeling in her limbs or the scratchiness in her throat. She had hummed experimentally, before throwing back her covers and stripping out of her pyjamas, pulling clothing haphazardly from her wardrobe before finally settling on a red pair of shorts and matching jacket. Noodle jammed her helmet on her head, clipping her fringe back with the small pink slide that Russel had given her after a shopping trip, and bounding out of her room and into the kitchen. Russel looked up in surprise from his morning coffee, grinning when he saw Noodle displaying some of her usual enthusiasm that had been missing in recent days.

“Hello Russel,” Noodle said, clambering into her normal seat and relishing in the fact that her voice had finally returned.

“Good morning Noodle. Feeling better?”

“Better,” Noodle replied, swinging her legs. “No more sick.”

“Good. You hungry?”

“Small hungry,” Noodle replied, resting her chin on the table whilst she waited for Russel to fix her breakfast. Russel chuckled, sliding a small bowl of frosties across the table towards her.

“Is that okay? Do you want a few more?”

“No, this is good.” Noodle picked up her spoon and started scooping the cereal into her mouth, pausing every so often to either cough or sip from the glass of orange juice Russel had placed by her elbow. A short while later, as Noodle was beginning to slow down in the eating of her cereal, 2D had drifted into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and slumping at the table, not even noticing Noodle as he pulled a plate of toast closer, squinting at it before pushing it away again and letting his head fall on top of his arms which had been crossed and were resting on the table. Noodle tapped him on the elbow. 2D lifted his head from his arms, looking down at her blearily.

“Better now. No more sick,” Noodle said, grinning at him. 2D blinked at her, then patted her helmet.

“Good. You were sick for ages,” he replied, picking up the least burnt slice of toast from the discarded plate and crunching down on it.

“Long time,” agreed Noodle, sipping her juice. “We play yes?”

“Uh… sure…” agreed 2D, glancing quickly at Russel, who had shrugged back. “Soon’s Murdoc’s awa- Noodle?”

Noodle had already slipped down from her chair, running for the door, her almost empty bowl left forgotten on the table. “I get my guitar!” she called from over her shoulder, already hurrying down the corridor. Russel and 2D watched her go with dumbfounded expressions.

“Guess she really is better,” said Russel, shaking himself out of his stupor and draining his coffee mug. 2D’s head dropped back on top of his arms.

[realtagwhywrites]

despicable

Alrighty, this is for @lesbian-asui​ Ash, this shit is getting added here too :’)) i love you so much and nothing will change that, uh, i would die for you, even tho we live so fuckin far apart :( but yeah, enjoy this, it’s trash but ur not :))

For the rest of y’all, depressed and suicidal thoughts are a high warning, don’t read if you can’t handle that

it’s on AO3 here if you wanna read it there

Pairings: none but a tad of gay thoughts Rating: Teen content  Summary: 

Midoriya Izuku is someone with an enormous heart, encompassing the world, and yet, he remains as empty as a corpse, as sad and lonely as a rainy day.

He's despicable

One day you will understand Why I pushed you away as I am And you will find a better man than I am Trust, I'm doing you a favor, doing you a favor Despicable I'm just a bottom feeder

        - Despicable, Grandson

Midoriya Izuku is perfectly fine, on the outside, he’s the picture of a healthy youth with just a little too much stress on his plate. He smiles and he smiles and smiles until the edges of his cheeks hurt but that’s what All Might does, he never is not smiling, always reassuring those who find comfort in it. So, as the mantle for All Might’s new power, it’s his duty to always be smiling as well.

He doesn’t talk about the hours when he’s by himself because well- he’s never alone any more. Just because when he was younger he pulled the blade out of his mum’s razor and-

Because he doesn’t do that, not anymore.

(There are other ways to punish himself for being a useless, quirkless, good for not-)

So Izuku smiles, he smiles his way through primary school despite the sheer pressure that Kacchan puts on him. He’s a quirkless idiot, not going to get anywhere in life, will never be a hero.

He’s always wanted to be the kind of hero that makes people smile, that makes people feel safe. Ever since he saw All Might appear on the TV, saving people, inspiring younger generations, he just- he has to do that.

It’s before U.A that Kacchan tells him to kill himself and he wants to scream, if he were to kill himself, right here, right now. The consequences? Probably not much, but he wants to scream and cry to Kacchan of how could you be so dumb?

(And another insidious part of him whispers that maybe he should just listen to Kacchan after all, Kacchan knows best right? He's better than you in every as-)

“Midoriya! Don’t forget lunch today!” Iida says, chopping his hands with the vigour of his usual composure.

It’s a Sunday at the Heights Alliance and the three have gotten the permission to go out for a small lunch. So, today, he can’t kill himself you see? He has a lunch with his friends and that means that he has to be alive for that.

Maybe later.

That’s what he’s been telling himself for a while now, that there’s a new movie he’s wanted to see, that a new song is coming out- excuses, excuses. The voice that lives in his ear like a snake seems to be some rendition of Kacchan for some funny reason.

Does anyone know? No, he’s too good of an actor he thinks.

Idly, he wonders if there’s a universe in which he became an actor – he’d be good at it.

Sometimes, the days where the hours stretch on and on, a timeless basis for him to ponder about all of the little what-ifs buried deep within the plasticine presence of his personality. Would his mum be alright? Would the world be safer considering Mirio-senpai would’ve gotten One For All? Probably.

Those are the days he concerns people most about, most healthy people – aside for maybe Tokoyami - don’t while the day away with stupid fantasies.

But you see, he can’t die, not without handing his quirk over to Mirio-senpai. He can’t die without knowing that Todoroki, Uraraka and Iida would be alright without him. He can’t die because his mother would be fucking devastated.

“Hey Midoriya.” Todoroki peels off from his doorframe as he exits his room, bearing a barely noticeable frown etched upon his face. “You still going out for lunch?”

“Yeah, with Uraraka and Iida.” He smiles so widely it hurts his cheeks.

“Hmm, do you want to spar when you get back?” Todoroki asks and something flutters within his deadened chest because Todoroki wants to spar with him.

“Of course Todoroki, do you have permission off Aizawa-sensei?”

“Mm, I’ll get that while you three are out.” Todoroki says and turns away.

He turns away from the retreating form of Todoroki, he’s so cute and kind to Midoriya. He likes to think that if he wasn’t so broken and empty inside, he’d like to date Todoroki.

“Hey guys!” He calls out across the common room to Iida and Uraraka.

They might only be going out for ramen – but they don’t usually get lunches out due to the persevering diligence of the League of Villains. Luckily for them, Midnight and Present Mic were going out anyway, with the permission to be in the same ramen bar with them, they were finally allowed out of the Height’s Alliance.

“Fff, how are you two going with All Might’s assignment?” Uraraka huffs out as they walk down the street, Yamada-sensei and Nemuri-sensei trailing behind them – barely inconspicuous – as their escort.

“I’ll admit, it was a little more challenging than I would have thought from All Might-sensei but it has been fruitful to learn about the different costume groups of the world.” Iida says with a small smile. “I hope you’ve been taking it seriously Uraraka.”

“Of course mum.” Uraraka pats Iida’s arm, causing him to splutter for a moment.

Izuku laughs at them, “I dunno Uraraka, I agree with Iida, it’s fascinating to learn who makes our suits so dexterous to move in. Especially the materials used to accommodate for different quirks…”

The trio talk about whatever the hell they want while they order their ramen, a complication Izuku hadn’t considered was that he was not that hungry, he had simply ordered as a force of habit. Now, staring at the source of all difficulties within his life, the scent of the broth wafting to his nose.

Inhaling shakily he takes a sip, remembering that Uraraka and Iida would be concerned if he didn’t eat. It’s okay, he can make up for the moment of weakness later.

Maybe one day, somebody will realise that his smiles are fake and his words are dripping in saccharine, they might figure how tightly he clings to the things he still has to do, the things he can’t give up in this world.

Maybe one day he’ll be able to look Kacchan in the eye and ask him why he thought it was a good idea to instil thoughts of terror within his head.

But, not now when it feels like he’ll never be able to breathe easy from the weight of too many people counting on him.

He's despicable.

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

My Night Guard (Ahkmenrah x Reader Inserted.)

A one-shot of Ahkmenrah because I love him and Rami Malek too much. I love the Night at the Museum movies and I was so sad that they didn’t make anymore, they will always be part of my childhood! Sorry if it sucks!

You had always loved history. From a young age, you always found yourself trying to go visit any museum close by, learning about historical figures and events that shaped and mapped our world today.

You were just 16 years old when your parents divorced, your dad deciding to go back to live in New York, to stay with his close relatives, and your mum staying back home in London. You were just an only child, and unfortunately, that meant you had the decision of choosing where to live with, all thanks to the divorce agreements.

In the end, you decided to live with your dad and go across the pond to live with him in New York, and occasionally go back to visit your mum once a year back home in London.

It was alright, to be honest; you did miss your mum from time to time, your friends you had to leave back in London, but you managed to make new friends at your new high school that you went to for two years. Managing to pass all your exams and get that offer from your universities that you wanted, and to study a degree in Law and History.

But, you didn’t.

You scrapped the whole idea and decided to just... take a year out. You did know that your dad was disappointed with your final and last-minute decision. Mainly because he wanted you to be happy and to succeed and get the best job out there. But you knew there was much more to the world that you wanted to explore.

So, you began saving up, going from a part-time job to another, and unfortunately not finding the job that was ideal enough for you. That was for 3 years now, and you still hadn’t found a job that stuck.

Luckily for you, your uncle, Larry, was a former Night Guard at the Natural History Museum in New York, and you immediately fell in love with the idea of being stuck around history for the night. It kinda sucked at first; missing out on 8 hours of sleep a night, but that was a risk you were willing to take. On the other hand, it meant that you could just lounge around at home during the day.

What Uncle Larry didn’t tell you was that the Museum’s artefacts... came to life each night, so it was both thrilling and nerve-racking to be chased the first night by a t-rex. It got eventually better, you got to speak and meet famous figures; like having a chat with President Theodore Roosevelt, talking to Sacagawea about her amazing tracking skills, and even get a ride on the back of Rexy (the t-Rex I was talking about).

All the figures were welcoming to you, making you feel very welcomed and immediately feeling like you were part of the museum family, but one person always caught your eye each night.

The Pharaoh. Not just any Pharaoh; King Ahkmenrah, fourth King of the fourth King, etc. His name and many titles were something that surprised you at first since it was really the first time you had actually interacted with him. Nevertheless, your introductions signified how awkward you were when it came to meeting new people- and in the worse occasions- speaking to someone who was incredibly good looking.

You still cringe about it to this day/night, “I’m... Y/N... erm... daughter of {F/N} and... I‘m from... London.” It couldn't go anymore embarrassingly short for your greeting and probably one of the weirdest ways of introducing yourself to someone.

At first, you thought he was kind and spoke confidently - since he was a Pharaoh - it was only after a couple more nights you realised some so crucial that you had been missing all this time about him.

He would just... go anywhere you went. Always seeming to be there in the distance, watching you ran around each exhibit, watching from the sideline if you spoke to someone, or was there when you were struggling to keep control of one of the artefacts (mainly the Neanderthals or Dexter).

You did sometimes catch his gaze, his warm smile flashing to you, making you dart your eyes elsewhere. Sometimes if you were feeling brave, you would small talk him. It didn't help that you were sometimes a stuttering mess and would leave in a hurry if trouble was underway, leaving you to make a dash before you said anything more to make yourself weird in front of him.

For a King of Egypt, he was definitely cute and very sweet to talk to, a proper gentleman that you would never get in this day and age (but he’s not really from this day and age, he’s like 4000 years old.)

You eventually gained a crush on Ahkmenrah, and it wasn’t long before the other exhibits noticed. Jed and Oct would tease you about it all night long, and occasionally Attila too- if you understood his language and what he was saying.

To not get any more embarrassed at the situation, you tried your best to avoid him, but everywhere you went, he seemed to trail behind, almost making sure that you were okay. Every time you turned around, his cute handsome face would be there to greet you, a small blush on his tanned sharp cheeks and that large bright smile that would make you immediately melt under his brown-eyed gaze.

This night was very different from the others. You got in the museum a bit later to lock up than as usual, meaning when you got there, everything and everyone had come to life already and were moving around. Tired and groggy, you avoided Rexy’s loud footsteps, making your way to the desk in the middle of the ground floor.

Sitting down on the swivel chair, you put your bag down, adjusted the tie around your neck, quickly checking any messages on your phone before getting ready for another night. It wasn't until just out of your peripheral vision, you saw something sitting neatly on the side of your desk.

Curious, you picked the item up; a small note and a present on the back. You opened the letter and was greeted by small and beautiful cursive writing;

Your radiant beauty compares to the jewels of the River Nile. Your presence is unlike any of the goddesses I worship; a lotus like yourself should be adored for all eyes. Including mine.

Your face was suddenly heating up by the sweet words written on the note, your heartbeat rising and getting faster as you opened the present with shaky hands; a beautiful small flower hair clip - a lotus to be correct.

“What you go there Y/N?” you didn't mean to scream so loud; a high pitch squeal that came out of your mouth that sounded just like a pterodactyl, you jumped back in your seat, staring up at the culprit who had scared you.

Theodore Roosevelt stood just at the front of your best, his horse not too far from him.

The former president looked to you curiously, then looking to the present in your hand. You quickly hid it in your lap. "A-A present, that’s all! Y-You scared me, Ted.” You placed your hand over your chest, steadying your heart. The 26th president laughed at your antics.

“Nonsense! It looks like you’ve got an admirer, my dear.” Teddy smiled, his moustache wrinkling thanks to his smile.

You hesitated, and soon the stuttering began. “I-I mean... ha-ha I doubt it! N-No one would like me in that w-way! Right?” By his face, he was being serious, and it made you more nervous.

“Perhaps you should go and try and find who really gave it to you.” He suggested, slapping your right side arm a bit too forcefully, and letting a laugh out. “I’ll be off, tracking is getting more difficult in this museum, and I need to see my own love. I’ll catch up with later my dear.” He got back on his horse and rode off through the museum, leaving you dazed and confused.

“R-Right...” You murmured more to yourself than to him, placing the beautiful clip in the side of your H/C hair, before standing to your height to get on with what you needed to do - the hopes of finding your so-called 'admirer'.

After an hour and a half of being teased more by the miniatures, getting almost caught on fire by the cavemen, you still had no idea who had given you the note and the gift. Your hopes were wearing thin, but as you came closer to the last exhibit that you hadn’t seen yet. You knew one thing.

You hadn’t seen Ahkmenrah all night, which was quite the surprise: since he mostly followed you around everywhere. Taking a deep breath, you stepped into his exhibit, taking out your torch for more guidance. One of the main reasons you didn’t like going into Ahkmenrah's tomb was because 1), it was too dark, and 2), his two 20-feet Jackals were always on guard, staring down at you as you walked through.

As usual, the two Jackals stared down at you as you walked slowly through, trying to keep little to no eye contact with them. As you walked closer to the open tomb, you heard instant mutterings and curses in a different language.

“Gods, what will she say -this? H-How do I tell her??” Then more mutterings and feet pacing as you grew closer inside.

“A-Ahk?” You called to him, spotting him pacing up and down near the pillars close to his open sarcophagus, his golden tablet sitting high and shimmering on the wall behind him. His eyes met yours instantly, brown eyes pooling like melted chocolate, seeing you stand there, his cheeks begun heating up. He smiled softly to you, a smile that made you smile back. Your torchlight caught the fabric of his robes, the gold glowing just like his tanned skin and beautiful and visible muscles.

“Y-Y/N. My dear.” For a 4,000-year-old mummy, he was standing in front of you in less than 2 strides., standing in his much taller height, he looked like a God.

He greeted you by taking your free hand that wasn't holding the torch, pressing a small kiss to the back of your hand, his lips grazing your knuckles.

Your own blush reddened, noticing that it took a moment for him to release your hand from his. “How are you? I-I haven’t seen you all night.” You tried to stay calm, watching his face as he smiled, shaking it softly.

“N-No, forgive me. I’ve been rather busy tonight.” He wasn’t meeting your eyes that much, which made you curious.

His eyes suddenly met yours, those brown eyes making your knees wobble more as you involuntarily gulped, your throat feeling slightly dry. His eyes trailed from your E/C eyes to your hair, suddenly his face changed, from happy, to nervous. “T-That’s a nice clip. Who gave that to you?”

Your hope faltered abruptly than expected; He didn’t know, of course, none of them knew. “O-Oh, well, that’s what I'm trying to find out a-actually.” He nodded his head in understanding, his smile wrinkling suddenly.

“You know, “He was suddenly being braver than usual, his hand grazing the side of your face, trailing locks of your H/C hair in his fingers, “the Lotus is a symbol from Egypt. It s-signifies beauty, a-adoration and grace.” He met your eyes again, and she saw him gulp.

Suddenly something inside of you clicked, like everything made sense all of a sudden.

“I must say, w-whoever gave that to you, must really a-adore you-.”

“W-Was it you Ahk?" You asked suddenly, catching him off guard as his hand left the side of your face, instantly missing the warmth he held. "Huh? W-What? I mean... it was meant as a gift, yes, I know... I mean, it was for you- yes- for you since you give it to someone you adore-"

"S-So... you adore me?" she asked again, making him a stuttering mess, "I mean... you're a very... beautiful young woman... yes, your beauty is something that would make Hathor jealous... what, no! I mean-"

He gulped once again, fumbling a lot with his hands. “I didn’t think I would’ve been confessing so soon-”

His ramblings were cut short as he heard soft and shy giggling, giggling that made Ahkmenrah's now beating heart jolt like it was connected to a thousand volts. He stopped, staring shyly back at you, your soft cheeks were red from embarrassment and adoration, E/C eyes darting from his face then to looking to the ground.

"I didn't mean to laugh. I-I just... never thought you would feel the same way I feel for you..." The young King was surprised by your words, a soft smile gracing his face as he took your chin into his fingers, lifting your head until your eyes met his.

With a soft look in his eyes and a warm smile and those shining white teeth, he chuckled quietly, making the night guard’s blush redden, your knees swaying under his touch. “Your beauty is what makes me feel more alive each night, my lotus.” And with those kind words, he leant forward, and shyly capturing your lips with his own, holding you in his strong and tanned arms.

You were shocked at first: the King of Egypt was kissing you! Something you never thought would ever come true in a million years - it was happening in this moment. Now that your love for him was the same for him, you sighed blissfully, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him closer to you, whilst his arms wrapped securely around your waist.

Their first kiss was timid and bashful, but all love and adoration for each other were shown from the way they held each other. They slowly broke apart, catching their breaths, staring into each other’s eyes: happiness, passion and fondness were shown in the King’s eyes and the same for yours.

“You best be going back in soon, it’s nearly sunrise.” You began, your eyes wary and sad as you both came to realise how quickly the time had gone.

Ahkmenrah’s emotions copied yours; he didn’t want to go so soon, their love for each other had just begun and already he was having to be taken away from you- to be trapped in that confined sarcophagus.

He already felt lost, isolated and alone at the feeling of not having you around to brighten his days, but until the next night, he would be frozen in time, going back to a time when he was passed.

Gingerly, you took the King’s hands into your own, making him look back at you. You tried your best in trying to cheer him up, your smile did so. “I’ll make sure to go to your first thing tonight.” That made Ahkmenrah smile back at you, kissing you softly on the lips again and then your forehead.

“That would be lovely my Queen.” He said, taking the female over to the opened sarcophagus, you helped wrap him in his linens as he sat down into the case, “I’ll always be here Ahk.” You murmured, as he turned to you, grinning through his linens around his face.

“I know,” he begun, kissing your knuckles softly, “separation will not keep our love unbowed.” and with that, the two pulled up the heavy lid of the sarcophagus as Ahkmenrah laid down onto his back, and Y/N helped to push the lid to close.

“Goodnight my King.”

“Good morning my Queen.”

[katsitting]

Undertow

I had a blast writing this piece. I used the lyrics of one of my favorite songs. I recommend you give it a listen as you read, since the lyrics made their way into this story. It's called Sirens of the Sea by Oceanlab. You may find the story here on AO3 if you liked it enough to comment or kudos the story c:!

Prompt: Tomarry with Pirate!Harry + Siren!Tom 

Rating: M

Warnings: Mild Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, and Unresolved Sexual Tension. 

It was the most beautiful sound Harry had ever heard in his life. The rich tenor of that voice like melted chocolate in the back of one’s tongue. Rich and heady, sweet, even when the taste should have been nauseating.

Harry didn’t know when he’d first started hearing it. When the silence of the waves crashing against the ship had melted into the sonorous sound of a voice. Urging and winding as it whispered along the shell of his ear; tempting him to slip into the dark waters beneath the ship’s hull.

It was maddening, like the throbbing ache of tooth pain in the back of one’s jaw. As if his molars no longer fit in his mouth; ready to split along his gums if he didn’t just give in.

It wasn’t his first trip in the ocean. He was a seasoned pirate. He knew the way of its waters. Knew its laws as if he’d been born straight from the womb with the knowledge implanted in his brain.

So the fact that something this beautiful could come from deep within the ocean’s depths was alarming. Or at least, it should have been.

He was notably empty of any fear. Adrenaline and the acerbic taste of anxiety absent even when the tempting sound brought him closer and closer, each time, to the ship’s edge.

The sound imbued in him a deep longing for something that he could not name. He couldn’t describe precisely what it was. Why he was so tempted each time the voice beckoned for him when he would lay back in his cot to sleep.

It was as if the voice were home. Easily embodying everything Harry missed from a childhood he’d been ripped away from at the tender age of eight. He couldn’t explain the precise feeling, even if he were to be asked. It was just was.

And it was how Harry found himself nearing the water’s edge once more, the wind from the sails above him pushing his wild locks back and away from his face.

Harry shuddered when a cold wind cut along his cheeks, the bite seeping through the thin layer of his shirt and breeches. He wasn’t prepared at all for the elements. Practically naked as he stared off into the dense black, trying to make out the creature that just kept calling for him deep below.

But there was only darkness. It was an abyss that Harry had no hope of seeing through. Even with his glasses safely tucked away in his room, there was no way Harry could see anything on this cold night.

White breaths puffed from his lips as he stared into the ocean, eyes closely unwittingly when the voice continued to sing for him. He couldn’t make out the words, but they were beautiful, nevertheless. They were warm and inviting, the silent message that he sink into it growing more and more potent the longer he lingered by the ship’s wall.

The water was only a few feet away. All it would take were a few steps and he’d be falling, plunging into the sea.

But Harry restrained every urge beckoning him to do it. Ignored the way his stomach twisted with want, how his cheeks flushed brightly with desire.

He bit into his cheek, the taste of blood metallic and bitter. It should have jarred him from the haze that was slowly enveloping his vision, depriving him of the last vestiges of sight he had. The darkness circling around him should have forced him back, scared him away from the perturbing urges writhing in his insides like snakes to fall.

His stomach quivered. The hairs of his arms stood on end. None of it because of the frigid air cutting into his flesh, however. The voice just kept singing, it’s soft hiss breathing against the nape of his neck like a wet tongue, like dexterous fingers curling around his throat before—

“Harry?”

Harry was abruptly snapped from his daze. The ocean looked the same, but somehow, the warmth inviting him into its depths waned with the sound of Ron’s tired voice in the dark. Like the magic had suddenly been dispelled by the presence of someone clearly not a part of that world.

“Over here.” Harry called, turning his head to shoot the redhead a sheepish smile.

Ron looked worried. His lips were pinched into a thin line and his eyes, though clouded with sleep, were shrewd. As if he were trying to unveil some sort of secret from deep within Harry’s gaze.

“What are you doing out here? It’s bloody freezing.”

Harry shrugged at Ron’s question, unsure. He didn’t really know what it was about the ocean that drew him to it. Didn’t know why this particular part of the sea was so riveting when he should have been more than accustomed to the dangers of its depths.

It was stupid to hang around the edges of the ocean in the middle of the night. Any decent pirate with their head firmly attached to their shoulders knew this.

“...this is the fifth time this week, Harry. I think you should talk to the Captain about—.” Ron started, but Harry would not have it. They had come this far already. They couldn’t afford to turn back simply because he was feeling a bit wistful.

“No. Leave Hermione out of this. You know how she gets where I’m concerned.”

Ron’s brows pinched, but he didn’t say anything more. There was no convincing Harry when he had made up his mind. Ron knew him well enough to not even try, especially when they were so close to the hidden chamber they’d only heard rumors of.

They were chasing after the Chamber of Secrets. A tale sailors often told their children of. It was a promise for adventure. A dream that many sailors and pirates alike strived to achieve.

Though, there was doubt it even existed. It was a tale everyone knew of, but no one had ever found the chamber. Some had boasted to unveiling its secrets, to finding riches that could make a crew irrevocably rich.

The truth of those assertions were doubtful, however.

No one had ever given Hermione sufficient proof to show that the chamber had been found. No one had managed to convince even Harry of that fact, either. He wasn’t nearly as stubborn as she was about “concrete proof” and the like. But still, if not even he could believe something some silver-tongued pirate boasted of, then it was more myth than fact.

That didn’t deter Hermione in the least, thankfully. Harry was crazy enough to chase after the rumors on his own, if forced to.

Those concerns, in the end, were misplaced.

Harry didn’t need to chase after the rumors. Didn’t need to even contemplate a plan as foolhardy as that when Hermione gave in to the curiosity pirates were often notorious for. Aside from rule-breaking and cutting corners to get what they wanted, that is. Something that not even Hermione was above after being forced on the streets at a young age, as well. One of Harry’s first friends after he’d been orphaned.

Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, and now, here they were. Chasing after a myth in the hopes that their hard efforts would yield them the spoils promised. Their hard work bearing them fruit the more and more they progressed through the violent ocean.

It was still shocking to Harry just how far they’d made it on a simple hunch.

They were so close.

Though, nothing could have prepared them for just how true yet fantastical the tales of the mysterious chamber were.

The coloration of the waters surround their ship was evidence enough that they were nearing it. It was black as the darkest onyx. Almost jewel-like as one glanced into its depths in the middle of the day.

No one could explain why this part of the ocean was black, when all they’d ever seen was warm sea green and the rich, deep blues of crystalline waters. It was what the tale of the Chamber of Secrets declared, what Harry’s mum had told him about the elusive place before she had passed on.

When you finally reach the twining seas, green and blue so clear your eyes gleam. There, beneath the rising sun, you’ll see waters blacker than your curling hair. Riotous and jewel-like, more beautiful than the richest obsidian….

Everything his mum had told him was true. There was at least some truth to the stories told to naive children.

It had to mean something. This had to mean that they had made it farther than other crew had, before. Or there would, at least in his opinion, be more stories of a black sea that stole all the light from the hot sun.

“I know. I just—just something doesn’t feel right about the whole thing, you know?” Ron finally said, snapping Harry out of his thoughts. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since we crossed over from normal waters and into this dark shite.”

Harry sighed, both touched and frustrated with the obvious worry in Ron’s voice. Of course he knew that this was all strange. He had been hearing a voice calling to him ever since. A voice that no one else seemed to hear except for him, no less.

But he couldn’t tell Ron that. Harry knew that it would be the straw that broke the camel’s back. He’d have Hermione on his arse in seconds if he told Ron that. And that was the last thing he needed. Ron was his best friend, his right-hand man, but he’d sell him out to Hermione in seconds if he felt that Harry was in trouble. If saying something could protect Harry, somehow.

Harry nearly snorted at the thought.

Yes, Ron would definitely turn him over.

“Ron, you're starting to sound like a certain captain we know." Harry teased, unwilling to let the conversation continue for longer than it already had. It was bad enough that Hermione fussed over him over the simplest of things. He didn't need Ron on his case, as well.

Though Ron was definitely a better choice. Hermione would turn their arses around if things were getting twisted, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.

Especially if that meant never hearing that voice again. He needed to know where it came from. Needed to understand why it tempted him the way that it did, when no one else was affected by it at all. Or better yet, heard it. This was a serenade only meant for him, and Harry just wanted to know why.

"Oh, shove off, Harry. I'm just worried." Ron whined, cheeks brightening into a vivid pink. Any mention of Hermione tended to make the redhead fluster, and it was adorable in a way. It made derailing the man easier, in fact.

"Even using her excuses too." Harry continued and Ron opened his mouth to protest before shutting it. It was just too easy.

"God, fine. Have it your way. See if I care the next time you look ready to jump into the ocean." Ron said before turning on his heel to saunter off. The bright of red Ron's ears made the drama of the whole thing flop, and Harry could not stop himself from laughing at his friend's expense.

"You're such a tosser. I swear." Ron shouted, the pout in the boy's voice making Harry laugh even harder.

His laughter didn't stop until Ron disappeared. The sound of Ron’s boots hitting the hardwood echoing until they abruptly cut off. Harry was certain the redhead was heading back to his bunk to sleep, but he could be wrong. Hermione and Ron had gotten awfully comfortable with one another ever since they’d set sail. Harry wouldn’t think it past Ron to head straight to Hermione’s quarters to go sulk to Hermione about Harry’s prodding.

After it was certain that Ron would not return, Harry turned his attention back to the ocean.

The ocean was as dark as he’d seen it last. The abyss stretched for miles, the bright moon above the only speck of color in the shadows.

It was an endless black he couldn't discern even as he tried to note the differences between the black of the night sky and the ocean below. Even with the full moon beating down against his neck, making his skin nearly incandescent beneath its rays, there was no real way to pinpoint where the ocean started and the sky began.

The voice did not begin singing again. It was only his breaths and the sound of the ocean beating against the ship staving off the silence.

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there, gazing into void. Cold air beating against his skin, fingers nearly numb as he rocked along with the movements of the ship.

It was only after his skin began to grow numb with the cold, and the tips of his fingers ached fiercely, that Harry finally tore his gaze away. The call of the sea was weaker than the promise of the warmth his cot could bring him.

There was no reason for him to be out there at all.

Harry spun on his heel and followed the same path Ron had used to head back to his bunk. The memory of that haunting voice faded to the back of his mind the further he went.

Harry...

The utterance came unbidden.

Harry did not know where it had come from, could not discern from where the voice had whispered his name so warmly. But he was certain he had heard it. There was no mistaking this fact when it was completely silent in his room and there was no one on that ship that sounded like that.

This baritone was unlike anything Harry had ever heard. It was starkly different from the singing voice that beckoned to him every morning and evening, when he was on the verge of falling asleep or waking. There was peace in the songs. A longing Harry couldn't hope to mimic, even with sorrow thick in his own voice.

But the voice that had spoken his name did not sound anything at all like the voice that sang to him. It was headier. Husky and gravely. There was no mistaking that the voice was that of a man's, but why this did not perturb him as it should, Harry could not explain.

Harry had only ever been with women before. The sound of their giggles when overjoyed, the sound of their cries when he burrowed himself deeply into their warmth, a pleasant sound for him.

His visceral reaction to this stranger's voice was...odd. It made his stomach tighten with desire. The very same hunger and longing that the singing voice often evoked in him.

It made his fingers itch to delve into his sleeping trousers to palm and stroke himself into completion. It made him want to bite his lip until blood pooled to the back of his throat because the voice wanted him to bleed. It wanted his pain and his pleasure. For him to unravel and splinter at the edges with a hunger Harry had no hope of making sense of.

Harry forced the impulse down, choosing instead to count the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Unsettled at just how easily just the mere utterance of his name could push him to the brink.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Harry did not know how long he counted for. It could have been seconds or minutes, but after a time, the strange want curling in his stomach finally began to settle. It was no longer burning him from the inside out. No longer threatening him to slip his fingers inside, and see for himself just how it would feel to touch himself to that voice.

To touch and play with his flesh as the voice whispered his name so sweetly against his ears...

With a heavy sigh, Harry rose from where he'd been lying to look out the small window just inches from his cot. It was small, barely the size of the top of a barrel, but still, it allowed him total access to the world outside.

Through this window, one could see the tops of the black sea. The undeniable tether between the starry sky and the inky waters more mesmerizing than it had been when he’d been standing outside, looking at the ocean from above. From here, there was no wall to overcome. No distance between himself and the sea.

If Harry wanted to, he could press his fingers into the glass and pretend that he were touching the water. It was just so close.

Harry...

The voice was heady, drawing him away from his thoughts more quickly than if one were to shout near his ear. It was instantaneous. The way Harry jerked to attention to chase after the croon that had called for him again.

Before he was even aware of it, he was rushing from out of his room and up the wooden stairs. The need he had only just managed to quell was writhing in his belly, as if he hadn't tried to calm it down before. It was alive in a way that Harry could not understand, did not think to understand.

Because there was simply no time for him to think about the voice and how his body reacted to it. He couldn't think past the screaming in the back of his head urging him to stop, to regain his senses. It was the voice of reason asking him to desist. It was the sound of Hermione's shouts pleading for him to stop.

But there was no listening to it. The sconces’ reflections on the innermost part of the ocean began melting into black. There was no light where Harry was going. He had lost control to the desire thrumming through his veins, to the voice that simply called his name in the shadows.

Harry...

It whispered, and Harry lip's parted to moan. He was suddenly hungry for it. Overwhelmingly so.

Harry...

He moved faster than he had earlier. He didn't know where he was even going anymore, couldn't tell the bow from the front of the ship if anyone asked him. It was all a blur, his breaths now loud gasps as he neared the only part of the ship where the wall did not separate him from the dark waters beneath.

Harry...

He stopped just short of the edge. The water was rushing rapidly, undulating in a manner that Harry could not describe. They were whirlpools of black and white foam. Endlessly moving, even as the ship had stopped sailing earlier that day when Hermione had decided that they were making no progress towards the chamber.

"Harry! What are you doing?"

The shout sounded far away. He couldn't recognize who was speaking, couldn't tell through the rush of blood pooling to his ears and down into the pit of his belly. Not when that rich baritone was in his head, whispering his name endlessly. Hungrily, as if it that creature had been waiting for Harry all his life.

And perhaps it was. Perhaps the reason why Harry was the only person that could hear it was because Harry was somehow special. Something that this seductive voice wanted to devour.

There was no fear when his foot went forward. There was no hesitation when the shouts began to grow louder, when they began to sound more discernible in spite of the rich tenor urging him to submit.

Harry. Come to me.

He closed his eyes, and before he knew it, before he could think to stop, he was falling.

Cold air bit into his cheeks. It ate at him, burrowed itself deep into the marrow of his bones as he sailed almost ceaselessly in the air.

And then he hit something hard and unyielding, the pinpricks of pain sudden as he tried to make sense of where he was landing. He parted his lips to inhale a deep breath, but instead of cold air, salty water breached his esophagus.

He screamed underneath the rampant current, his senses slowly returning to him. The voice that had been calling his name fell silent, and with it, recognition of where Harry was returning to him.

Fear exploded in his chest when he couldn’t breathe. The ocean crushed him with the weight of it, and Harry could do nothing as he sank deeper into the abyss. His limbs jolted, but he couldn’t move. It was as though he were being weighed down, a dense stone lodged in his stomach that made him sink faster and faster into the water.

Why is this happening to me?

Harry opened his eyes, but he couldn't see anything through the burning saltwater. It was a deep maw where no light trickled from above, as though everything he knew had disappeared into nothing. It was an endlessness that screamed of finality, which spoke of death and grief.

Harry wanted it to all stop.

And then Harry, as if struck by lightning, began to struggle viciously beneath the current. Dread curled lowly in his stomach, the intoxicating sensation breathing new life into his limbs.

Harry writhed and kicked, his chest tight with his need to breathe. Utterly horrified by the nothingness surrounding him on all slides. He needed to get out, knew that if he didn’t, that if he remained where he was for a second longer that he’d lose himself.

A fate Harry was no stranger to—his parents had fallen prey to the caprices of the sea, while he had barely made it out alive to tell the tale. It would not stretch reason to assume that his fate would be the same if he didn’t act. If he didn’t find light somewhere in this void and follow it to the surface.

But there was no light for him to follow. No indication that he was even swimming up to the top or further down to the bottom of the ocean. It was chaos. He couldn’t sense the light, couldn’t open his eyes to seek out the bright and swollen belly of the moon.

Darkness was all he found. All he saw. All he felt digging into his ribs, lapping at his skin. Glutinous for the new prey that found itself lodged in its maw.

All was dark and disorienting, even as he kicked and fought off the hysteria that threatened to overtake him because death was enveloping him. It was undeniable.

Death was coming. It was there in the burning in his lungs. It was in the space between awareness and ignorance. Like the sand of an abandoned beach, waiting to be eroded in the the end by the ravages of time Harry was too aware of.

Take my hand, Harry... sang a familiar voice, cutting through the panic twisting his stomach into knots.

It was the same croon that lingered on the outer corners of his dreams, which danced along the edges of waking and sleep. It was...soothing, the way it drew out all of his worries from his mind. It was singing to him, repeating the words over and over again.

It lulled him to sleep, the adrenaline coursing through his veins tapering off.

Before he was consciously aware of it, he stopped moving. All the fight poured out of him like freshly brewed tea into a porcelain saucer.

He was floating in the dark, his lungs screaming and begging, but he couldn’t find a reason to be afraid. Not when that voice was singing. Not when something warm wrapped around his hand, tickling the skin inside his palm playfully.

Take my hand, Harry, take my hand…

Harry’s fingers closed around it unthinkingly, encasing the warmth. Trapping it within his trembling fingers, certain that this was what he had to do.

Follow me, follow me, precious boy, let's go…

And then, there was nothing.

Except for the voice that sang him to sleep.

Harry gasped awake, something lodged in the back of his throat. His chest ached fiercely, as if someone had decided in that moment to sit on his chest and crush him underneath his weight.

He coughed, expelling salt water and snot. It burned. His eyes stung fiercely when he tried to open his eyes. But he couldn't find the energy to glance around his immediate vicinity when he was vomiting the ocean onto his chest.

Twisting to his side, Harry continued to cough and sputter until the pressure between his ribs abated. His eyes fell closed with relief when it finally became easier to breathe.

Shite.

It was several moments before Harry could think to open his eyes again. His vision was blurry, the world around him shadowed. But it was not the oppressive abyss Harry recalled he'd been trapped under earlier.

No, this darkness was lighter. Less final.

Instead of the black foam of a strong beer, this was like tea after milk had been added to sweeten the taste. The dark, murky water lightened. One’s reflection more readily discernible against the steaming liquid.

Frowning, Harry felt the ground beneath him with shaking fingers. It was cold and wet. The stone unlike the smooth, wooden floors of his ship.

The rough texture dug into the grooves of his back and into the palms of his hands. It cut against the back of his head, his hair a poor barrier from the abrasive ground beneath him.

This was neither the bottom of the ocean or his ship.

Harry had no bloody idea where he was, of how he even made it here. Whatever that even meant.

He tried to remember how he even made it there. But his memories were like children chasing after butterflies in a open field. Just as he was nearing the memory, it was ripped away from his fingers; the butterfly floating past his open palms desperate for them.

All that he remembered was falling and sinking down into absolute darkness. He could still taste his panic at the back of his throat, could still feel the way his mind screamed for him to swim to the surface.

A surface that he could not find no matter how desperately he kicked beneath the frigid current.

Harry shuddered, the fleeting vision of the ocean enough to inspire the very same fear he’d experienced then. It flashed behind his eyelids, replaying over and over, the horror at waking up with his lungs screaming for air, enough to make him cough.

But that was where his memories ended.

Confusion melded with fear.

He didn't know how he found himself at the bottom of the ocean when consciousness found him. He didn't know why he suddenly stopped fighting and gave in to the terrifying power of Mother Nature. None of it made any sense to him.

It was an enigma.

There were gaps in his memories. Obvious splits in his recollection that no matter how hard he tried piece together, he could not make sense of. They were jumbled and lost. Just as he had been when the sea refused to spit him right back out when he had fallen in.

His efforts to remember made his head suddenly ache, and it was only after the ache turned into a deep seeded throb, that Harry finally stopped. It was useless. The more he tried to reach, the quicker it all faded.

And the last thing he needed was a headache on top of the pains already burrowed deep into his bones.

There was really only one option in sight. Only one choice Harry could make with only a couple of memories at his disposal.

Harry needed to explore the place. Needed to get to the bottom of the mystery himself.

And that meant moving, even if his body ached in ways that not even his exercise routine could inspire. It would pain him to move, but it was necessary. He would learn nothing laying on his back.

With that thought, Harry finally opened his eyes and sat up to assess his surroundings. In search of something he could use to clue him in on where he was.

The world around him was clothed in shadows. Stalagmites and stalactites peppering the chamber with sharp stone. They were wet, glistening like diamonds underneath the moonlight that trickled from somewhere beyond Harry's range of vision.

Sconces were set along the flatter sides of the walls, crackling quietly with a small fire that lit the cove up preternaturally. It did what the small sliver of moonlight failed to do.

Harry squinted to take in more of the foreign place.

Droplets echoed in the place. Ominous and eerie. The heavy silence almost holy as Harry tried to understand how he made his way into this place. Why there were lit sconces on either side of the cove and why, in spite of that, the cave looked mostly uninhabited.

Harry shifted his gaze, forcing himself to twist to take in more of the place. His body screamed at him for it, but he ignored it. His body felt like he’d gone several rounds with a boxer and had lost. It was awful, but he did it anyway, knowing that his discomfort would the least of his worries if he didn’t figure out a way out of this place.

There was a massive body of water at the furthest end. Black and still. Like a droplet of ink that swelled at the tip of a quill.

Harry's stomach jolted at the sight. A strange wariness burrowed itself into the base of his spine when the cave’s top was reflected easily by the black water. Though why Harry felt so unsettled by it was difficult to pinpoint.

It looked like any ordinary pool. Nothing stirred from inside it. It looked like nothing could survive in it, really.

Yet, Harry could not help the fear that curled in his stomach at seeing it. Something felt wrong about the pool.

As if it didn't belong in this cove. As if there was something there, just beyond Harry’s line of sight, waiting to snatch him by his ankles, and drag him inside.

Slowly, Harry rose from the ground. Muscles sore and stiff, enough so that he nearly tripped on his feet when he rose too fast.

Harry's brow furrowed when his bare feet touched the wet stone beneath him. Uncertain of when he had lost his boots.

Had he taken them off before he’d jumped off the ship? Harry couldn’t remember.

"Hello?" Harry called, wincing when his voice echoed in the cove. It was loud, almost sonorous as it rang through the different hidden niches in the cave.

He hadn't intended to be as loud as it was. There was no telling what could be lurking in the cave along with him. Or someone, considering he had woken up here. It was only meant to be enough to catch the attention of the person that had saved him, because there was little doubt in Harry’s mind that that had been what had happened.

There was no way he could have swam through the ocean and ended up here. Someone had brought him here. Though why anyone would do that for a pirate was still a mystery. Pirates were the scourge of the sea. Detested and persecuted, even when harmless.

It made him all the more wary of the situation.

Harry shivered. He was soaked to the bone, hair matted on his head with feet bare on the cold ground.

A heavy silence settled around him.

He waited for a moment before stepping further into the room, avoiding the obsidian pool like the plague. He had a bad feeling about it, and if there was one thing he trusted more than Hermione’s judgment and Ron’s strategic decisions combined, it was his own intuition. He’d already fallen into an ocean blacker than the scorched ashes of an oil lantern, he wasn’t going to get himself into trouble a second time.

He had nearly died once already. He didn’t need to have a go at death a second time.

Harry watched the water warily as he walked around it.

The pool looked bottomless. Even if he were still wearing his glasses, if his vision weren’t as piss poor as it was, he doubted he could see more than the top of it. It was dense like the oil he’d pour into the lanterns every morning on the ship.

The water looked dead.

Just like you should have been.

Harry ripped his gaze away from the pool to take in more of the cove. He was curious to learn more about the place after he'd woken up in a less-than-comfortable state, even if he wasn’t necessarily thrilled to have woken up in such a place.

The massive cave resembled the mouth of a hungry monster. It was gargantuan, the sheer size of it making Harry’s average frame look small. Fragile, even.

If Harry squinted, the tapered rocks at the top could even be mistaken for teeth.

It was an unsettling thought; that this place was not really a cave, but the mouth of a monster that had devoured him as he sank in ocean.

A sliver of fear twisted in Harry’s stomach before he stamped it down, deciding in that moment that he should start moving. The place was creepy, and the longer he stayed, the more perturbed he would become.

Harry walked past the pool, his shoulders slumping visibly with relief once he cleared it.

The whole place set his nerves on edge, but nothing beat the way that water just made his hackles rise. His nerves fluttered about him, as though they were rampant winds twining against his hair rather than along his spine.

He just needed to get away, and that was exactly what he was doing; even when, with every step he took, a sharp pain shot up from the arch of his foot. The floor was littered with tiny pebbles, and it was impossible to avoid them. They were like tiny teeth biting into his toes, and Harry grimaced, wishing that he still had his boots on. That he hadn’t lost them when he’d nearly drowned earlier.

After walking for several seconds, Harry noted how the walls became flatter and flatter the further he delved. The shadows flickered, dancing along the gravel-like stone. The light from the sconces kept the cave lit enough for him to pass, but it only just reached this corner of the cove.

And that was when Harry spotted it, nearly tripping on his feet in surprise.

There was a wide hole at the far end, a blurry light glowing from inside. It was nearly green, with the way the light reflected against the stone. It shimmered like moonstones, and Harry was immediately drawn in.

Harry followed it.

He didn’t know where it led, but it was better than lingering where he was. He just needed an explanation. Something to fill those gaps that gnawed at him like a sharp press of a blade to his throat.

Staying where he was would eventually lead to him meeting his mysterious savior. But what if the person had less than good intentions? What if the reason he had woken up alone was because the stranger had searched him for valuables, and, upon finding none, since Harry had drowned while still dressed in his bloody pajamas, abandoned him?

As lovely as it would be to remain, to avoid the stabbing pinpricks of rocks against his bare feet, it would mean him staying near that inky pool, and he would much rather get lost somewhere else in the bloody place than take his chances. Better that he find his would-be savior, than to be caught by surprise.

Harry’s breath hitched when he ducked under the hole, and instead of walking into another massive cavern, he found himself in a narrow hallway. The walls on either side of him so tightly packed together that Harry doubted a monster could squeeze through it.

It was just wide enough for him to fit through, but no more than that. He was certainly lucky he was on the scrawnier side of things, because he knew for a fact he wouldn’t have fit through if he had been several pounds heavier.

Harry craned his neck, to make out just how much room he had and whether he would need to crawl the rest of the way through. It wasn’t a thrilling thought. His feet already hurt, and having to bear through the same thing but on his knees, well. Harry would prefer to live without that experience.

Thankfully, that wasn’t necessary. The ceiling of the small hall was a good few meters over his head. The closest stalactite still far enough away that there was no danger of him bashing his head into the thing.  

With a deep sigh, Harry stood to his full height and began to walk once more.

His footsteps rang with his steady steps, his breaths coming slowly and evenly. He kept a careful eye on the other side of the hall; the green glow at the far end of it beckoning.

It was far from safe. Harry did not know where this would lead, but the light was promising.

Harry was not naive enough to think that this was the path to the exit, but he was certain that this was a good start. He could be well on his way to it. He just needed to be hopeful. To keep his spirits lifted even when his own confusion and his disheveled state left him anxious.

Harry suddenly stopped. Every nerve in his body sprang to life, suddenly awakened by a delicious voice. A sound that slithered across his ear drums and burrowed itself into his brain, as though hot lips had grazed the shell of his ear and sang straight into the flesh.

Take my hand, Harry, take my hand…

The voice was deep and warm, the longing woven between each syllable enough to make Harry’s teeth ache. He was overcome with longing, the dulcet sound making his steps more desperate. Frantic and needy, as he was certain the voice had come directly from the other end of the hall.

The glow was mesmerizing, and Harry no longer cared where he stepped. So long as he could reach the voice and the promise in its depths, Harry would do anything.

Follow me, follow me, precious boy, let's go…

Harry ran.

His feet slapped against the floor, the wet ground making his movements clumsy. He spared a thought to being more careful, to watching where he stepped, lest he fall head first and lose several of his teeth, but he couldn’t be bothered.

There was something pooling low in his stomach. A heat similar to that of the morning’s sun on bare skin. Like he were beneath its luminous glow, and enjoying himself on the sand of an empty beach.

It tasted like home. It made his body tight with want, with a need that twisted his insides into knots.

To the sand, to the sand, the purest sand...

Harry remembered how the grains felt between his toes, how they slipped into his shorts when he sat by the waters. The memory flashed, picturesque and clearer than it had any right to be. Not when he was as blind as he was, not when he hadn’t worn glasses on the day that his parents took him to the beach to enjoy a rare moment together…

Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, but still, he did not stop running.

Into the sea, into the sea, yes, let's go...

Harry didn’t stop until he reached the other side. Until his legs gave out beneath him, no longer able to hold himself steady when he was splitting at the seams.

But instead of the familiar rough stone that had cut up his feet to bits, the throbbing melding seamlessly with the daze clouding his senses, they hit polished rock. Smooth and almost glass-like as he pressed his hands against the wet ground to make sense of it all.

His head felt as though it were being cracked open, the rich tenor urging him to move, to rise from where he had fallen. It didn’t say it in as many words, didn’t order him so much as compelled him to go.

And Harry went, a slave to the sound that eroded his free will.

Leaving reason far behind…

Harry rose from the ground, legs unsteady as he began to move further down the chamber, the gold and glittering jewels at either side of him nothing when that voice continued to beckon.

Nothing here is cruel or kind…

He stepped on metal, the gold biting into his feet as he followed the singing to the end of the massive space. At any other moment, Harry would have stopped to admire the sheer opulence of the room, he might have even stopped to wonder just how to take everything back home to divide between his crew.

But Harry could not be bothered now. Not when he was getting closer, the singing growing louder and louder the quicker he moved.

Only your desire to set me free…

Harry’s vision swam, the kaleidoscope of color making him dizzy once he’d reached just where the voice urged him to go. The ground seemed steady beneath him, but with how his world spun around him, he couldn’t be certain.

There were greens and golds, silvers and reds. The colors danced with one another. An endless maze that Harry had no way of discerning when his legs finally collapsed onto the ground, a plush carpet beneath him.

Where the carpet had come from, Harry could not explain. Everything was fuzzy, the world bleeding and melting into pools of nothing, the longer the voice continued to sing to him.

Let us lie here all alone…

Harry was floating, his mind drowning in the reverberations of that voice. He hardly noticed when his back hit the ground, when his body sank into the carpet.

None of it registered.

Not the gold of the riches in the chamber. Not the grandiosity of the place. Not the skeletons that reclined against the gold, desiccated bodies wound around the piles.

None of it mattered when this voice wanted him, when it made him feel whole. When it filled him to the brim with memories of a family he had long since lost to the sea.

Worn away like river stone…

There was a faint rustling to his side, but Harry did not look. He couldn’t. He was just too dizzy, too weak. He couldn’t have lifted up his head, even if he had wanted to.

Then, Harry felt rather than saw, fingers in his hair, a warm hand threading through the strands almost reverently.

Let us be the sirens of the sea…

Harry sighed into the touch, unable to help the soft noise of pleasure that escaped his throat when something touched him at the center of his chest, slipping inside the over-sized night shirt he had worn to bed.

The fabric clung to his skin, the contrast of that warm hand with the cold, wet shirt pressing against the grooves of his muscles, delicious. Harry didn’t mind when the hand tore the fabric from his chest, when those fingers skirted up his quivering belly and towards his chest as if trying to memorize all the skin revealed.

I cannot resist your call…

The hand suddenly gripped Harry’s chin, turning his head to one side, unable to do anything when his mind felt so good. When his skin was burning, melting and oozing like chocolate on a pink tongue.

I cannot resist your call…

Harry’s eyes slipped open, sensing a burning stare against his face, and his breath halted.

The hands that touched him belonged to the most beautiful man Harry had ever seen. The cloudiness clinging to his vision falling away, almost as though the beauty this man possessed could grant him the sight his own genetics had long denied him.

His skin was pale, almost bone white beneath the white light glowing brightly above his head. Dark hair clung to his head, curling at the ends defiantly, as if the creature had racked his fingers through the strands endlessly, nervously or tiredly.

Dark eyes stared back at his own. Endless like the ocean that had swallowed him whole and nearly drowned him. It was unsettling, how they gleamed with both fondness and mischief. How the creature looked at him as if he were a long lost friend, and not the perfect stranger Harry was certain he was.

But nothing was stranger than how, in spite of common sense, Harry enjoyed the attention. Relished the way the creature suddenly leaned down to look more closely.

Harry was lost.

Pink lips the color of sea shells, plump and wet drew Harry’s gaze almost against his will, ripping him away from the way the man’s perfect lashes and how they readily framed his jewel-like eyes.

It was obscene just how beautiful he was, just how drunk Harry felt with the sheer magnetism of the creature’s appearance and the song that tumbled from the man’s lips.

The sound drew forth another sharp sound from Harry’s lips, his tongue falling out of his mouth when the creature pushed a finger inside, teasing along his tongue. It tasted of iron and something else. Something sweet Harry could not place in that moment.

Not when heat flooded up to Harry’s cheeks, and pooled low on his stomach, his fingers itching to palm the stiff member jutting proudly between his thighs.

And then, the hand playing with his hair tugged him hard, forcing his head against something firm and warm.

The man stopped singing, but Harry hardly noticed.

Harry knew that he should be frightened. That he should be struggling furiously, asking for answers to the multitudes of questions he had, but couldn’t bring himself to ask even one.

“Harry...Potter.” The creature said, and all the hairs on Harry’s arms stood on end.

If his singing was seductive, then his real voice, his speaking voice, was absolute sin.

“At last...you’ve come.”

Harry’s brows furrowed, his senses slowly returning to him. It was slow trickle, like wax droplets dripping from a lit candle.

And then the man leaned in, dragging Harry close enough to smell something sweet in the man’s skin. It was like freshly baked cookies, it was the chocolate drizzling atop of a sweet. It was everything Harry could ever want, could ever need.

His mouth watered.

“W-who?” Harry asked, eyes fluttering shut when the man’s nose skirted along his face, blowing warm air against his flesh.

“...Voldemort, the rightful heir of the Chamber of Secrets, and your Lord.”

Harry’s limbs shook.

His thoughts were jumbled. Like a child had pieced together a puzzle with all the pieces in their wrong places. Disjointed and wrong.

It took him too long to gather them, the sound of the man’s voice somehow scattering his common sense.

“H-how do you know my name? Just who are you, and why am I here?” Harry asked, voice wavering when Voldemort tilted his head curiously.

There was something in his gaze that cut through the haze lingering at the corners of his mind. It was predatory, the way Harry thought starving animals looked at their prey before pouncing.

It set every single nerve in Harry’s body on edge. And yet, Harry remained rooted in place. The occasional tremor of his shoulders was the only sign that he was capable of movement.

“Your name has been whispered throughout the seas...tumbling out of careless lips. Boasting of strength, of your kindness...of your devotion. The pirate that refuses to abandon his crew...”

Confusion bloomed on Harry’s face. It didn’t make any sense to him. It answered none of his questions.

The man smiled at him again, and the hand playing with his hair softened to light caresses. It felt like how Harry imagined Hermione often pet the fur on Crookshanks’ back. It was exactly like how she would often card her fingers through it. Gentle and careful. As if concerned that at any moment the cat would rear its claws back and scratch its owner’s hand.

“T-that doesn’t tell me very much.”

Voldemort did not speak. He stared at Harry quietly, as if he found everything about him fascinating.

Like a specimen pinned to a table and opened with a precise cut down the middle. Like the corpses Harry had seen while living on the streets, their innards splayed out for the world to see.

Nausea lodged itself in his throat, and he tried his best not to vomit.

The unease that had disappeared the moment the creature had begun to sing suddenly reared its ugly head. The memories of nearly drowning at the sound of that beautiful voice. The feeling of something warm— a hand —wrapping around his palm before his consciousness fled, like a hot blade to butter.

The fear. The discomfort. The intoxication.

Everything came back to him, and with it, Harry’s strength returned with a vengeance.

Harry shoved himself away from the creature, all too aware now that this man, that this thing, was no man at all. He rose and created as much space as possible between himself and this monster.

It wasn’t human. The power that it contained in his vocal chords was nothing of this world.

It possessed. It enthralled. It mesmerized.

Harry needed to get away.

“You!”

Harry shouted, uncaring of the fact that Voldemort did not react to his shouting. He was still smiling, the twist enough to make Harry want to hurl something. To throw anything that was within his vicinity.

This bastard had nearly killed him. He had nearly taken his life. For what? Harry wanted to throttle him.

“You never would have come willingly.”

Harry blinked owlishly, temporarily derailed from his rage at the almost blasé way the creature had said it.

What the fuck?

“So you kidnapped me instead? Nearly drowned me just to drag me back to t-this place?” Harry sputtered, gesticulating wildly.

Harry couldn’t believe it.

“I had forgotten just how vulnerable humans were. It was not my intention to do you harm.”

Harry laughed sardonically, unable to help himself when Voldemort did not look nearly as apologetic as he should have. He looked far from it, in fact. Even if there was a hint of regret in the way his lips turned downward into a grimace, Harry doubted he was too concerned.

Harry did not doubt Voldemort would do this over again. Take the same risks if it had meant getting him what he wanted. It was obvious in the set of the man’s jaw, even if he tried to contain it.

“Bullshit,” Harry hissed, lips twisting into a sneer when Voldemort did not flinch at the way his voice echoed in the massive space. He looked at Harry curiously, eyes steadily taking Harry in, from the riotous curls at the top of his head, to his bare feet on the floor.   

Harry had never felt more exposed in his life. Like Voldemort was seeing right through him, cutting him open to reveal just what made him tick.

It was unsettling, and Harry tried his best to ignore the fact that he was half-naked and alone. That Voldemort, at any point, could turn his brain into putty with just the sound of his voice.

Not that his regular voice was not as mind-numbing as when he sang. It still made his muscles quiver, but at least his mind was his own.

“Harry…” Voldemort purred, slowly rising from where he had sat on the carpet floor.

Harry stopped breathing.

Voldemort was naked. Completely starkers in the middle of the chamber.

How had he missed this? How had he failed to notice that the hard flesh he had rested his head on was this man’s lap?

“Stay back!” Harry shouted, face flushing furiously.

He stepped back, and nearly tripped. Suddenly realizing that he was on a platform. That the floors in the chamber were uneven.

Harry cursed and had turned his attention for a moment to survey just where to step to avoid breaking his neck, when it happened.

Voldemort was on him.

There was no warning. No sound of feet slapping on stone. No rustling in the air.

A strong arm slipped around his waist, caging him in. A knee slipped between his parted legs, while another curled around his ankle to throw him entirely off balance.

Harry grabbed onto Voldemort’s shoulders to steady himself, unable to stop himself from doing so when he’d felt his stomach churn with the sensation of falling. Certain that if he didn’t, he’d bash his head onto the ground.

Voldemort had nearly drowned him once, whether intentional, or not. It wasn’t off the mark to assume that Voldemort would bash his head into the ground, if that meant getting what he wanted.

Whatever it was that Voldemort wanted. Something that Harry still did not know.

“Harry, why would I do that? Why would I let you go, when you were promised to me? When your parents paid the ultimate price to the sea to have their son saved?”

Harry stopped moving.

His parents? What the bloody hell did Voldemort know about his parents?

“Ah, that certainly caught your attention.”

Harry twisted in the man’s grip to shoot him a glare, unable to do anything else with the way Voldemort had grabbed him. Kicking the man off was impossible. Punching him, when he was sure Voldemort would drop him from the high platform to the ground below, out of the question.

Harry didn’t have many options to choose from, so he willed himself to remain still. To look unaffected in spite of the arm wrapped tightly around his waist, burning through the thin shirt like a brand, and the thigh pressed firmly between his own, which rubbed him just so each time the man shifted.

Harry grit his teeth before opening his mouth to speak.

“What do you mean, about my parents?”

Voldemort’s small smile broke into a wide grin, the mischief in the man’s eyes making Harry’s stomach twist nervously.

“Your parents...my precious boy, sacrificed themselves to save you from drowning.”

Harry was shaken.

It couldn’t be true, could it? Voldemort had to be lying to him somehow. Trying to coax him into living with him freely. There was simply no way his parents could have given themselves up to rescue him.

“You’re lying.”

Voldemort lips twitched in amusement, but he abstained from laughing outright. Harry didn’t know whether to be worried or irked by this fact.

“I would never lie to you, Harry. Not when you’re my equal in every way...my other half.”

Harry’s stomach roiled, the honesty in Voldemort’s tone and in the way the man’s face sobered, more frightening than if he had bared his teeth and bitten him.

Oh god.

“Have you ever wondered why you always felt drawn to the ocean...why you followed the same path as your parents, in spite of the horrors found at the bottom of this abyss? Have you not asked yourself why you were so besotted by the tale of the Chamber of Secrets, why you were bent on searching for it, when no one else believed the stories?”

The color of Harry’s face drained, recalling the almost obsessive way he had looked into every tale about the place. More so than even Hermione had, pouring over books and speaking to complete loony bins to simply learn more.

Harry had always admired the sea. Always felt home, even when it was completely irrational to admire it the way that he did.

Where everyone else was frightened by the prospect of chasing after a mysterious chamber, Harry had been thrilled. Where the tales elaborated on the monsters lurking in the Black Sea, as it was so eloquently dubbed, Harry had been curious and interested in learning for himself if all those stories were, in fact, true.

Harry had chased after the ocean for as long as he could remember. It never crossed his mind that his parents had made a deal with some monster.

Voldemort pressed Harry nearer to him, face suddenly so close that Harry, if he desired it, could kiss him. Could find out for himself if the man tasted as sweet as he smelled, if he felt as good as the singing had promised he would.

Harry refrained, afraid of what it could mean.

“Don’t you see, Harry? You were never meant to live. You were meant to die with your parents at the bottom of the ocean. Your body never to be found, alongside your family’s.”

Harry trembled when Voldemort’s grip tightened, nearly suffocating.

“In fact, you never made it out alive. Your heart stopped beating, your lungs filled to the brim with saltwater…”

Harry wanted Voldemort to stop talking. He wanted him to stop telling him this. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to know that he was—

“But I saved you. Just as your parents and I bargained for at the bottom of the ocean.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. He barely registered the man’s purr of approval when he slumped into his arms, disbelief draining all the desire to fight from limbs.

“They were beyond saving.”

Harry shuddered when Voldemort’s voice dropped an octave, when it became so soft that Harry had to strain to hear him.

“But you, Harry... you fought beautifully against the allure of death...I couldn’t simply allow it to have you when you looked at me, unafraid.”

Harry swallowed hard when Voldemort’s hand slid across his cheek, reverence and awe glittering like jewels in the depths of his eyes.

The smile that had adorned his face had gone.

Now, all that remained was this desperate hunger. A longing that Harry did not understand.

He was just a man. He was a human, as Voldemort had said. He was no one.

Why did Voldemort save him once before? Why had Voldemort brought him to life when Harry had already died?

“The moment I looked at you, I felt peace for the first time since I’d taken the throne. There was no selfishness in your gaze. No desire to acquire some sort of favor from me. No, you hardly spared me a glance. You, a mere child, did not care for the most powerful creature in the sea. You could only focus on your parents...you wanted nothing from me.”

Harry gasped when Voldemort bridged the gap between their faces to press his forehead against his. It was a tender gesture, something Harry had not expected from a creature as powerful as this.

“And I wanted you to look at me. I wanted you to turn to me and beg me to spare your life. Just as all others that called for me did. But you didn’t, even as the light began to fade from your eyes...”

Harry remained silent, watching the man with bated breath.

“I wanted you, Harry. Beyond all reason, I wanted to keep you at my side. Even if it meant prying you away from death’s maw and bonding you to me irreparably.”

Harry was thrown. He didn’t know what he could possibly say. Didn’t know where to even beginning asking questions.

What did he mean by bonding? What kind of reason was this? It just...Harry couldn’t make heads or tails of this explanation.

Harry made to speak, but Voldemort suddenly leaned in to press his lips against his. It silenced all the thoughts in Harry’s head. None of the questions he had wanted to ask made it to his tongue when he was breathing in the sweet air escaping Voldemort’s lips.

Harry’s gums ached with it. His stomach wrenched uncontrollably, and he stopped thinking all together.

“You are mine. Mind, body, soul. My power lives inside you, yearning to return to its Lord. I allowed you to live your life as a normal man, but my patience is not endless, Harry.”

The lips moved softly against his, and Harry felt the way it burned its way down his spine, lapping against each of the grooves of his vertebrae.

It was intoxicating.

Voldemort’s singing paled in comparison to the way his insides curled, heat unlike anything Harry had ever experienced before making his toes curl.

“Even if it takes centuries...even if it means bringing this world to its knees...I will show you that your place is not on dry land…”

Harry eyes fluttered shut, his tight grip on the man’s shoulders becoming frantic. He was no longer interested in pushing him away. The same fire, the same yearning, the same need was splitting him in two, and Harry could not fight it.

Not at that moment. Not with Voldemort’s mouth touching his, filling him up, making him whole.

“...But here, with me.”

[witchdoodle]

cute headcanons i just made up...

vivienne saw how pad struggled to get his hands on products for his hair type which is common up north but very uncommon south of the waking sea, and went out of her way to procure cocoa butter and castor oil for him. she used to wear her hair in elaborate hairstyles but just kinda got sick of it and wanted a sleeker look so she shaved it a couple years back, so she knows what’s up. she’s also hooks him up with stylists whenever they’re in orlais who know how to handle his hair type. she brought her personal stylist to halamshiral before celene’s ball for his sake, and gave him a lot of valuable advice about how to navigate orlesian racism/colourism within the game.

bull will happily spend hours braiding pad’s hair with surprising dexterity given that he’s missing half of two fingers. in turn pad loves to sit behind him with his legs slung over bull’s shoulders, rubbing balm into his horns (especially where they meet the skin of his head, which gets super dry and itchy) and helping shave the back of his head where he always misses spots.

after pad loses his arm bull helps him a lot with his hair.

meditation is a common practice among the qun, but the dalish do it too. pad’s keeper specifically taught him about mindfulness, which he still practices. pad does guided meditations for bull all the time which he looooves and finds super relaxing, and it helps with bull’s aftercare. (doms need aftercare too!)

silas works for dennet in the stables. dennet knew right away that he was worth his weight in gold as a stablehand and was like ALL THE REST OF YOU FUCK OFF THIS ONE’S MINE. he looked after him in the beginning when silas was still very shy and nervous around all these shemlen, made sure no one was bullying him or pushing him around and helped him gain confidence by backing up silas’ authority with the recruits who might be disinclined to listen to a “knife-ear,” especially a “cripple.” dennet basically was like: shut the fuck up he knows more than you. 

plus, silas introduced him to the halla he’d brought and dennet was D Y I N G to meet one. he’s a little too big to ride one (and halla won’t take human riders anyway) but he got a little giddy just being so close to one. one of them even ate an apple out of his hand.

leliana also saw his usefulness right away and recruited him to teach her elven scouts -- the vast majority of whom are city elves -- how to ride halla. halla are faster, nimbler, more intelligent, and able to traverse terrain horses cannot -- ideal for scouts who need to move quickly and quietly.

leliana also put him to work teaching her agents sign language, instantly seeing how useful that, too, would be -- given that it’s not the chantry’s sign language and rival spies would be unlikely to be able to understand it. now a ton of people in the inquisition know it and silas has a lot more people to talk to.

leliana and shireen had a lot to talk about, having wildly different perspectives on the chantry. shireen and vivienne have more in common as far as their backgrounds go, though the two of them responded to similar traumas by moving in opposite directions. all three of them bond over shoes, but shy’s a little, well, shy because being dalish has made her such a tomboy and she feels like she doesn’t know as much as them about fashion and femininity.

iron bull took one look at kost, BURST OUT LAUGHING, and instantly adopted him. he taught him a lot about the qun, given how little kost has ever known about that side of his heritage since his tal-vashoth mum died when he was a baby and he was raised dalish. it was really good also for bull to be around someone who was vashoth.

one of silas’ gifts to kost was horn balm. kost’s nubs get very itchy in the dry air of the frostbacks. silas eventually confessed it’s nipple cream for horses and kost was like jfsklajkglajhklaeh a. ... but he kept using it. i mean, it worked.

varric looks after shan, makes sure he takes breaks, eats, sleeps somewhere comfortable, washes himself, wears clean clothes, because otherwise shan will only do most of those things if told. he’s gotten in the habit of having shan scribe for him. saves his poor aching wrists (varric does a lot of writing and correspondence) and gives shan something useful to do, which seems to make shan feel content. shan also helps varric with maths and accounting.

pad and josie also definitely takes advantage of shan’s willingness to do that. pad is not very literate -- josephine taught him how to read common, he could only read elvish before -- and having shan read his correspondence to him and write down his replies helps him A TON. josie just finds that shan’s handwriting is EXTREMELY neat and precise and he’s one of her best scribes.

sera keeps trying to teach shan jokes. it doesn’t work very well but she’s taught him how to repeat a few of them verbatim even if his delivery sucks. she’s surprisingly nice to him and she’s the first to kick the crap out of someone for mistreating him, because shan can’t really stand up for himself and it’s not fair.

shan can’t do magic but can still do alchemy, and he makes a serum that really helps ease the pain in bull’s bad leg.

solas and shireen have had long conversations about elven history and culture. solas’ relationship with the dalish is... strained... but he does feel a lot of respect for shireen for making the effort to attempt to connect more to her nature (as compared to, say, sera), no matter how much the dalish got wrong. (and pad has since taught solas that just because dalish culture is different from elvhen culture does not mean it is worse.) and shireen, like pad, is willing to learn and have her ideas challenged. solas taught her a little bit about painting too.

josephine commissioned an artist for an official portrait (and had to fire the first one after absolutely chewing him out for trying to human-wash pad’s elfiness), which pad hated. solas got him to sit for a more relaxed, less formal portrait that more accurately captured his personality, and sketched him many times mostly without his knowledge. he gave one such sketch to bull. 

shireen... has a Huge Crush... on cassandra oh my god she’s like a giggly schoolgirl whenever she sees her like I LIKE... YOUR MUSCLES OKAY BYE runs away giggling

cole helps leith with their trauma, mental illness, and psychosis -- cole does a lot of reality checking for leith, because while they present similarly and are perceived similarly, cole only perceives truth, complicated as truth often is; leith is delusional, their mind just making shit up wholecloth. if leith asks is this real? they know they can trust cole when he answers yes or no, that cole won’t lie to them, in part because cole is a spirit/demon. they have looooong conversations alone, after which leith is usually much calmer and more lucid.

cole is the only one who knows leith’s surname/clan name. that name died with their clan; they won’t tell anyone else. not even cullen. they are just leith.

cullen paints or draws on leith’s arms with ink so they won’t cut themself.

cullen has long one-sided conversations with leith when leith is non-verbal -- he’ll pose a question and then answer it out loud, give a running commentary, just ramble stream-of-consciousness to keep talking, asks yes/no questions. it makes leith feel like they’re still a part of the conversation even when they can’t talk. cullen does a lot of little things like that to make leith feel normal or at least like it’s okay to be different. leith can’t talk today? all right, cullen will talk enough for them both. leith can’t make it outside? fine, they’ll stay indoors, who needs to go outside anyway. leith’s afraid there are people hiding and stalking them? cullen will check every nook and cranny.

solas has also had long talks with leith. solas never practiced blood magic much, we know that, but finds the practice fascinating and useful, so he was very interested to talk to someone who used blood magic as a tool and not as a means to an end in the pursuit of power for power’s sake. solas’ familiarity with spirits and the fade also makes him uniquely equipped to handle leith’s ... oddities.

[dead-men-disco]

tell us about ur ghastly headcanons BC HES UR SON

HE IS HE IS HE IS!!! I LOVE HIM SO MUCH OKAY??? Right here we go:

♡ Despite his scars, I think he’s actually attractive? Like everyone who calls him ugly just focuses on his scars but he’s vv good looking

♡ He is the Dad Friend (basically already canon) and is always ready to give advice to anyone who needs it.

♡ LITERALLY THE EPITOME OF SAFETY AND COMFORT?? Like people in the books have already made comments on how he automatically makes people feel safe. He’s literally the most awesome person.

♡ He and Skul once had “a thing” in their younger years. Definitely. @onelassieandherfandoms, @tanzani-coil and I have all confirmed okay

♡ GLASSES. Oh boy okay another one that @tanzani-coil and I have discussed. He doesn’t need to wear them all the time, just really for intricate sewing details and stuff so he doesn’t strain his eyes. However, due to all the elder business (trying to read tiny print late at night in dim lighting) he finds he needs to wear them more and more. He really doesn’t like them because he’s already conscious about his appearance, but after Tanith caught him wearing them and lost her shit because “HOW CAN YOU LOOK SO HOT AND CUTE AT THE SAME TIME?!” he decides they can’t be that bad.

♡ He is the ultimate Ride or Die. Skul has turned up on his doorstep on many occasions covered in blood and asking for help to hide a bunch of bodies. If you need him, he’s there.

♡ DAD JOKES. Being the Dad Friend, he has ALL the Dad Jokes, and it drives Val insane because her own dad does it too (she secretly loves it).

♡ He has loads of running bets with Skul. They are REALLY competitive and will always try to outdo each other like holy crap. The main ones? Who can punch the most bad guys, and who can beat the other in a fight.

♡ He can be awkward and shy sometimes, but when the mood arises he can be really confident? So sometimes he’s really blushy and cute when talking to Tanith, but there will be moments when he’s SUPER flirty. She love it and flirts right back. They’ll be sat in a car on a stake out or something whilst Skul and Val are out beating people up, and they’ll just sit there unashamedly flirting and leaning close to one another. Poor Fletcher sits unnoticed and forgotten in the back, awkwardly getting embarrassed but 110% shipping it like no tomorrow.

♡ Saracen, Dexter and Larrikin all jokingly call him “Daddy”. The rest of the Dead Men (+ Fletcher and the Monster Hunters) also call him Dad. This sometimes results in Skul being called Mum, much to his annoyance. Tanith finds it all very amusing

♡ That boy has muscles liKE DAMN SON. Tanith (and others) will 110% shamelessly check him out as he’s training/working out, or just if he’s wearing a particularly tight shirt (BICEPS BOI)

♡ He is one of the most loyal and trustworthy people you will ever meet. If you need him to keep a secret, he’ll do it. You can trust him with your life. Alternatively, he is an extremely trusting person if you are close to him, and he will trust you to always have his back. It’s one of his best traits, and it’s also the one that ended him.