#I imagine Elizabeth is the only one that likes pictures

[amoebeau]

more afton sibling content i Beg....

They’re getting a picture taken

[drchucktingle]

Good evening Dr. Tingle! Would you ever like to see a film adaption of Bury Your Gays? I think it would be so neat (especially with all of the tv and movie references present in the novel). If there ever was a movie, who would you want hypothetically cast?

HELLO BUCKAROO this is always a fun question to consider actors for a book adaption. when writing i sometimes CAST IN MY HEAD and sometimes it is just kind of a made up buckaroo. there are really only two characters in BURY YOUR GAYS that were cast in my head while writing and i will mention those below.

ultimately WHOEVER was to trot in these rolls i would be happy with, so lets just consider this a fun way through imagination. i will say that i would prefer to cast queer actors, but also i know the business of hollywood means sometimes that does not work out to get the movie on screens. if bury your gays was turned into a movie i would really have no say in any of this anyway, but queer actors would be my preference when possible.

despite all of that, when writing MISHA, the actor in my head was NOT a queer actor as far as i know (although for some reason us queer buckaroos have given him a pass to play queer characters which i think is very funny and interesting, i guess we just love him a lot regardless) anyway lets kick it off there

MISHA BYRNE

when writing BURY YOUR GAYS i was picturing none other than BILL HADER. maybe it is because i was watchin a lot of BARRY at the time, not exactly sure why but thats the truth.

that being said i think i would be great to get a queer lead in there. so if that was the case i would say LEE PACE, and of course we have the ultimate fan cast MISHA COLLINS

TARA ITO

this is the other character that was FULLY IN MY HEAD as i wrote it and mentally cast from day one. it also kind of coincides with the trot of a tv show i was watching at the time which was PEN 15. so tara in my mind was always MAYA ERSKINE

ZEKE ROMERO

not exactly a known actor in my head, but when considering options i think that OSCAR ISSAC would be very good

JACK HAYS

there are a few options for this, but i keep thinking of a very clean shaven MURRAY BARTLETT in a suit. another options would be ZACHARY QUINTO especially if we get chris pine as chris oak because thats just some incredible META KIRK AND SPOCK action for the sledgehammer scene.

now onto the dang villains.

CHRIS OAK

okay so obviously we gotta cast CHRIS PINE in this role (i might have an in). however if that does not work out i would like to suggest COLMAN DOMINGO

THE SMOKER / UNCLE KEITH

would be neat to have the monsters also play their inspiration. in the case of THE SMOKER i think STEVE BUSCEMI would be incredible

MRS. WHY / AGENT Y

last buck not least i propose ELIZABETH DEBICKI as MRS. WHY

if you have not read bury your gays yet but now you are DANG INTERESTED then you can get it here. thanks for reading buckaroos feel free to reply with your own castings. I AM NO EXPERT you know my art just as well as i do so i am curious your thoughts. LOVE IS REAL

[xxyarsiaxx]

Imagine Elizabeth,Annie and ruby find out y/n has been sleeping with Rio

Beth,ruby, Annie and y/n were at a bar waiting with a duffel bag of full of cash. Annie began to notice something about y/n. She seems different.

"What?" Y/n asks as she notices Annie look at her with such a weird face. "What's up with your hair?" Annie says folding her arms in curiousness. Beth then looked at y/n and started to notice as well.

Y/n touched her hair defensively. "Nothing" she answered as she kept touching her hair. "Somethings going on" Beth said eyeing y/n. "Yeah it looks....fluffy" ruby trails off as she picks up her drink. "Bouncy even" Annie added as she picks up her drink.

"Uh I used shampoo. People use that ya know" y/n said with a sarcastic voice. "Okay" Annie said chuckling. "Shampoo" Ruby said looking at her friend amused. The girls then exchange a look as rio walks up to them.

"Yo" he greeted as they all looked up to see him pulling up a chair next to y/n. The girls look at the pair amused as y/n hands rio the duffel bag full of money. As it's happening they touch hands for a second longer than they would have to. The girls  suddenly watch nervously as rio starts going through the bag.

Y/n looks at the girls as they make eye contact with one another. Y/n sighed before talking again. "So what are you gonna do?" Y/n asked rio looking at him.

"Uh take care of it" rio says counting the money still before zipping up the duffel bag. "Buy off a cop or judge or something—" Ruby says but is cut off by rio. "You don't need to sweat the details".

"But how will we know if it worked?" Beth asked nervously. "If you don't get arrested, guess what it probably worked" he responded back making y/n roll her eyes.

"That's not a plan" y/n said making rio look at her. Rio then stood up, hoist the duffel bag on his shoulder and looks back at only y/n. There is a pregnant pause before rio speaks again.

"You trust me?" He asks making y/n look at him like he's crazy. "God no" y/n says while smiling. He grins at this and nods. "Good" he responded back. Suddenly they started staring at each-other for what felt like forever and suddenly y/n looked away. He gave the girls one last look and he left shocking the other girls.

Once he left the girls stares at y/n who is now drinking her wine. Y/n feels eyes on her so she looks up to find the the siblings still staring in shock.

"What?" Y/n asks. "Oh. My. God." Annie and Beth said in unison as ruby just looked confused. "What??" Y/n asks again looking at them confused.  "Uh I think you know" Annie says as y/n starts getting her stuff to leave.

Y/n starts rushing out while the siblings follow leaving ruby who is still confused. Going into the parking lot a curious Annie chases down a embarrassed y/n as she tries to run to her car. "Riddle me this y/n" Annie says as y/n is trying to get away from her.

"I don't know what your talking about" y/n says not even looking at the girls. "Picture if it was me. You would be so far up my ass right now about the responsible choice and keeping it in my pants—" Annie says but y/n cut her off. "Actually I would've told you to be careful. We all know the only person who would do that it your sister."

"She's your sister too y/n" Annie says making y/n stop infront of her car. "Look I'm not saying you don't deserve some but he's not just some dude. Why would you crap where you eat?!" Annie asks worried.

Ruby appears behind the siblings next to Beth. "What has gotten into you guys?"Ruby looks at the confused. "Oh I can tell you what's gotten into her" Beth says as she points at y/n. "Gang friend" Annie finishes making y/n roll her eyes for the hundredth time today.

Ruby's head explodes with this information. She just stared at y/n in shock. "Stop looking at me like that" y/n says opening her car door. "You know it actually makes perfect sense now" Beth says folding her arms. "Whaaat?" Ruby says still shocked.

"It's why he gave YOU the money" Annie said emphasizing the 'you'. "That was before" y/n said but Beth cut her off. "Why you have been big timing us for weeks—"

"That's not why. I just didn't want to deal with you and you." Y/n points at her sisters. "Why is that?" Beth asks clearly taking offense. "Are you serious?? You guys have problems of your own. Drama that I don't need. But I didn't ask for anymore jobs. That was Beth." Y/n says turning back to her car as she puts her stuff inside.

"You think you're the big boss now because your vagina got woke" Annie says making y/n look at her annoyed. "Excuse me? Who's idea was to rob a bank? Who's idea was it to take more jobs? Not me! I always supported you on what you wanted and finally thought about myself for once. FOR ONCE in my life I got to do something I wanted to do. Who are you to say I can't sleep with him. It's not like your situation is better so get off of my back". Y/n says as Annie gets quiet.

Ruby is still processing all of this. "I mean...how was it?" Ruby asks still in shock but Y/n didn't bother to look at ruby. Usually when y/n was in the talking stage with someone her and ruby would always talk about it. Ruby was like her sister to her "And now that I think about it. Did you screw someone who had a pregnant wife?" Y/n asked making Annie glare at her. "I ended that."

Y/n scoffed at this. "When, yesterday?" She says folding her arms. Annie looks at her hurt. "Bone whoever you want. But it's gonna end bad" Annie says as she shakes her head and walks to her car. Y/n shakes her head and starts chuckling. "I'm finally do something I wanna do and it's a problem. That's nice" she says as she gets in her car as the others sat in silence.

Before anybody can say anything y/n drove off upset.

[random-yandere-fandom]

Hi, this was inspired by the Goddess Elizabeth and TC Meliodas yandere headcanons and I was wondering if I could please request slightly dark headcanons for a Zeldris/Gelda pairing who are yandere for an S/O who is either human or a goddess?

Let's hope I have the motivation to finish writing this

I decided to make the reader a goddess since that would add some more drama. Also I tried to make it darker than my usual writing but don't really know if i succeeded... Also, characters might be Ooc

Yandere Zeldris and Gelda sharing a Goddess S/O

This is one of the best yandere pairings I can imagine. They harmonize so well and with their shared goal of protecting and owning you, this would be an almost wholesome relationship.

Almost, because the political climate makes it pretty much impossible for it to be a simple and happy romance.

I picture this with Zeldris and Gelda already being together, as otherwise Gelda has zero chance of actually meeting you long enough to grow as fond of you as she does. The two of them already have enough trouble, hiding their relationship and subsequently pretending to be nothing but strangers, even when they are as close as can be.

So Gelda quickly notices when Zeldris has something on his mind, stares off into the distance and doesn't react as quickly as usual. She will narrow her eyes and lean close enough that their noses brush against each other, causing the demon to snap out of his thoughts and grow extremely flustered. He won't be able to hide anymore and will have to confess to having met you on the battlefield and that there is something about you that doesn't quite let him forget about you like he usually does with his enemies.

At first, Gelda doesn't know how to react. Scratch that, she knows exactly that she is pissed off. Though, seeing her lover being more confused on why he can't get you off his mind will slightly placate her, especially since Zeldris will feel guilty and apologize unprompted for even thinking off you. While she will scold him, it will mainly be for not telling her first thing. The vampire is rather wary of you though, perhaps you have a strange power to you or her lover sensed that there is something off about you that could turn out to be dangerous.

That opinion of hers changes quite quickly though. It is rare that the demon king sends a vampire to the front lines, yet Gelda finds herself in the middle of the battlefield, some lower demons alongside her as they scout the perimeter. Perhaps he has grown suspicious of her and Zeldris and this is a warning, she muses, but she can't think much of that now as she has to focus on being on enemy territory.

It is thanks to her quick senses that she manages to dodge the sudden attack directed at the small group. She barely makes it out of range only to find herself getting dragged behind some trees. Before she can retaliate someone gently shushes her and she catches gaze of her savior. You. You gesture for her to listen and she hears some other goddesses talking about having killed the entire group and it doesn't take a genius to realize you are protecting her. Gelda remains tense until they leave. You explain that she was the only one to survive the initial attack and that you, admittedly, thought this war stupid and didn't want more blood on your hands. Even if you had just been relaxing nearby, you couldn't watch someone being slaughtered like that. What really catches the blonde off guard is that you seem remorseful for the death of the demons accompanying her and somehow... your naive and yet so sweet reactions make her want to tease you.

Once she returns she is quick to discuss that meeting with Zeldris and quickly they realize that they have met the same person. From then on it isn't hard for either of them to admit that they want to get to know you better and they are quick to agree to do this together.

Zeldris will be the one you mainly interact with and mostly on the battlefield, so getting closer to you is imaginably hard. Yet, he somehow manages to get your name and more personal information, which he later eagerly shares with Gelda.

A few months of this and it is decided: the two of them want you with them. Seeing however that they have to operate in secret they come up with various plans that are just as quickly dismissed. Lucky are they when other demons catch you as a war prisoner and even luckier are they when Zeldris manages to get his hands on you.

The demon has a good reputation and it doesn't take much to make it look like you died in captivity, just another death that could have been avoided but wasn't.

In truth, you find yourself bound up in a small cave, Gelda greeting you as you open your eyes with a pounding headache and something so desperately wrong with you as you can't move your body, can't even lift a finger as your vision remains blurry. You barely hear it when the vampire explains the situation to you, that you will slowly regain your bearings and that you don't have to be afraid. You don't hear her expressing her apologies for how rough they had to get to have you or hear Zeldris when he arrives to make sure you are as fine as the situation allows it.

Over the next few days, they will give you time to adjust to your surroundings, feed and take care of you as you slowly regain the control of your body. To your horror, your wings remain limp, the once blinding white feathers now a light grey that lost their shine. Dread fills you as Gelda explains that they didn't want to risk you escaping and Zeldris has the guts to look a bit ashamed for taking their mobility from you.

Don't mistake their light bantering among the two of them and the gentleness they show you, they are not above fully ridding you of your wings or anything else they deem a threat to their ownership of you.

It's been so long since I have been written something a bit longer like this. I'm not totally satisfied with how it turned out, but it feels great all the same.

[lizzy-bonnet]

What I can't cope with, OK, is L.M. Montgomery's use of bedrooms as a site of both autonomy and belonging. When Emily arrives at New Moon, she has to share the bed with Aunt Elizabeth and feels she is in bed with a griffon but when she moves into Juliet's old bedroom in the "lookout" she is overcome with the sense of nearness to her mother as well as having true space and freedom for the first time at New Moon. Later, she loses a lot of this sense of place and independence moving into Aunt Ruth's spare room where she doesn't have to share a bed, but can't even choose the pictures hanging on the walls - at the same time she loses her freedom to write fiction. Jane hates her bedroom at 60 Gay Street, finding it "hostile and vindictive" - in many ways just like Grandmother Kennedy, but at Lantern Hill, her father lets her choose everything that goes into her bedroom and she is allowed self expression. Her friends give her gifts to furnish it, as emblems of their love for her. Like Jane, Valancy has no control over the furnishings in her room, from the painted floor to the tacky artwork to the dingy and unwelcoming furniture, but she's so constrained that her only rebellion is to throw the jar of potpourri out the window because she's "sick of the fragrance of dead things". To have a sense of self, she imagines a magnificent castle as an escape and is delighted to find Barney's house is just as good a place to be who she wants to be - free from her family, making her own choices. Anne, upon marking the first anniversary of coming to Green Gables, reflects on the garrett room and finds it "as if all the dreams, sleeping and waking, of its vivid occupant had taken a visible although unmaterial form and had tapestried the bare room with splendid filmy tissues of rainbow and moonshine." Before Green Gables her life was probably a mix of dormitories and makeshift beds in attics that she couldn't change, in versions of her life with no freedom or affection. THEIR BEDROOMS ARE SYMBOLS FOR THEIR LIVES OK. When their rooms are controlled by others, their inner/emotional/creative lives are constrained. When they have their own rooms, they have autonomoy, they choose furniture, they have freedom, they have themselves, they have love, they have me gnawing armchairs about it.

Also funny that both Valancy and Emily are tormented at various times by inescapable portraits of queens - I do wonder if LM had one in her home that no one would let her take down.

[beauttifullife]

A Daughter.

In that instant, I was captivated. The baby blinked up at us, her wide eyes absorbing the world for the first time, and an overwhelming wave of emotion surged through me.

Visenya.

My daughter.

From the moment I first felt her stir within me, I knew she was a girl. The boys had always moved with a roughness, quick and bold, but Visenya danced within me—soft, subtle, like a whisper of hope. I carried her, cherishing each day as my anticipation grew. The thought of raising her, teaching her, molding her into a strong Targaryen woman filled me with joy. I envisioned the pride she would carry, the strength she would showcase to the world.

But before she could even take her first breath, before I could gaze into her eyes and see the colors that lay within, she was taken from me. The cruel hands of fate snatched her away, leaving a chasm where love should have blossomed. I still couldn’t comprehend it—the random cruelty of the world, the unseen force that pulled the strings of life, deciding who should live and who should die.

I grieved in silence, mourning for the daughter I could hold only for a fleeting few hours before placing her upon the pyre. The ache in my heart still echoed, a constant reminder of a wound that would never fully heal. Each day since her loss felt impossibly heavy, weighed down by a sorrow that whispered of all that could have been.

I often found myself lost in thought, imagining the sound of her laughter dancing through our halls, the warmth of her spirit filling the spaces around me. I pictured her as she might have grown—curly hair bouncing as she ran, the light in her eyes as she discovered the world, the joy she would have brought to our family. Every dream I spun around her felt both a comfort and a torment, each bright vision tinged with the sharp sting of her absence.

In quiet moments, I would find myself reaching for the memories, clinging to the idea of her, as if that could somehow fill the void she left behind. I saw her in the faces of the children around me, in the soft giggles of my boys as they played, and in the fleeting moments when I would catch a glimpse of innocence in them. It was both a blessing and a reminder of the life that had been taken from me.

And yet, within the pain, there was also a flicker of hope—a chance to honor her memory through this child, to give her the love and protection I had vowed to provide Visenya. I could not change the past, but perhaps I could shape the future, nurturing this new life with all the love I had once reserved for my daughter.

As I looked down at the sleeping girl in Elizabeth’s arms, the resemblance struck me, igniting a flicker of longing and heartache. This child—this innocent life—was a chance at the future I had dreamed of, yet it was tainted by the shadow of my loss.

I reached out, brushing my fingers gently against the girl’s cheek, feeling the warmth radiate from her. In that moment, I realized that this was not merely an echo of my grief; it was also an opportunity for hope. Perhaps I could honor Visenya through this child, nurturing her with the love and strength I had always wanted to share.

"Do you want to hold her?" Elizabeth asked, her voice breaking through my reverie, laced with both tenderness and understanding.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at her. I knew what I would see in her eyes—the compassion, the quiet understanding of someone who had seen through my mask of strength. If I met her gaze, if I let myself see that look, it would undo me. The floodgates I had kept sealed for so long—the ones that had barely held since Visenya’s loss, since the war, since the weight of everything that had been thrust upon me—would surely shatter. And I wasn’t sure I had the strength to gather the pieces of myself again.

I stood there, frozen, torn between the raw ache of my grief and the tentative hope stirring inside me. This child was so fragile, so innocent, and yet holding her felt like stepping too close to the edge of a cliff. One wrong step, one moment of vulnerability, and I could tumble into the abyss of my own emotions.

“I…” The words lodged in my throat, tangled in the weight of everything I hadn’t allowed myself to feel. I wanted to say yes, to cradle the child against me, to feel her warmth again. But the fear—the overwhelming fear of unraveling, of collapsing under the grief I had spent so long burying—held me back. I had been strong for so long, but this moment, this simple act of holding her, threatened to undo me.

Yesterday had been different. I held this little girl for hours, carrying her through the village as I saw to the wounded, moving from one life to the next, trying to save what I could. She had been a constant presence, nestled in my arms as we flew on dragonback to Harrenhal, her small body pressed close to mine, shielding her from the biting wind and the cold of the night. She had grounded me, an anchor keeping me steady, keeping the fury and chaos swirling inside me from spilling out into the world.

But now… now was different. My fury still simmered beneath the surface, but it was tempered, controlled. And in this moment, holding her wouldn’t be about finding balance or keeping my rage at bay. It would be about something else—something deeper. I would be holding her as a mother would, cradling her with the tenderness that came from protecting, nurturing, loving.

And that terrified me.

The thought of holding her that way no longer felt like an anchor keeping me grounded. It felt like the very thing that could pull me under, drag me beneath the waves of grief, and drown me in it. The overwhelming loss of Visenya was too fresh, too raw, and holding this child now brought it all back. The helplessness, the longing, the sorrow that had no outlet, no release. Could I bear the weight of that again?

“I don’t know if I can,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the admission.

Elizabeth stood silently beside me, her gaze unwavering. She knew. She always knew. She saw through the cracks in my armor, saw the struggle beneath the surface. But she didn’t push, didn’t press for more than I was ready to give. Instead, she simply waited, offering me the space I needed to confront the war raging within me.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look at the child in her arms. She was so small, so fragile, and yet… she represented something I had thought I lost forever.

A future.

A chance.

Slowly, with hesitation still clinging to me, I reached out. My hands trembled as Elizabeth gently transferred the baby into my arms. The weight of her, so small and warm, settled against me, and it was as if something inside me broke apart—but instead of shattering, I felt a piece of myself come back together.

Her tiny hand twitched, her fingers reaching for my hair, curling around a lose strand, and in that moment, something shifted inside me. The anchor that had once threatened to drag me down now felt different, lighter.

I wasn’t sinking—I was rising. This child wasn’t pulling me beneath the sea; she was helping me stay afloat.

I cradled her closer, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing, the warmth of her small body pressed against mine. The fears and doubts still lingered, but now, they didn’t seem so insurmountable. In that moment, something else became clear: perhaps in protecting her, in giving her the love and care that had been stolen from Visenya, I could finally begin to heal.

Not just for her sake, but for mine.

[konpeito-water]

My interpretation of William Afton's origin of villainy is that he never grew up with much control over his life. I imagine he was an only child, and that his parents were the sort to spoil him but do nothing else that was memorable, so he never had anyone for emotional support or to hang out with. He probably was liked at school due to his intelligence and natural way of speaking, but never gained any close connections.

Maybe when he thought something good was about to come for him, something big happened, like a big move. Maybe he gets a girlfriend near the end of highschool, finally, but never feels that closeness he expected, compared to how everybody else described their love life. Then they have a kid unexpectedly, get married, though it was way more impulsive than anything. This was worse than he thought. Now this wife and their little boy Michael was controlling his every waking moment, just as he finally gained the powers of adulthood, too. She was considering having another kid, meanwhile William was considering running away. Everything was out of control.

But then, he finally sees his way out. By coincidence, he meets a man, Henry, who he saw flickers of himself inside. He was lost, desperate for connection in such a crazy world, with a lack of affinity for other people. This was his chance, and he wasn't letting that go. Sure, he did push a few people out of the picture, out of Henry's life, but it was necessary. He started a business with him, watched as this man created life from nothing all day long, and then he would go home to his family at the end of each day. He liked the idea of robots. You could make them do anything you wanted and they wouldn't even bat an eye. He wished everybody worked like robots.

Their friendship turned sour, at one point. First, he was envying him, then it became an obsession, and Henry never noticed a thing. He thought he was winning the game, but William knew who was playing it. It felt powerful to be able to be on the other end for once, to be in control of somebody else's actions, so he took every little opportunity he could to do so. It seeped into his other relationships, which were definitely already affected by this but it became much more noticeable starting then. His wife, whose love for him was dimming, and his three children, too, Michael, Michael's brother, and Elizabeth. He just never knew how good it felt until now.

His pent up anger boiled over when he felt he was losing that control once again. Maybe the two men have some sort of disagreement, or maybe he's spending too much time with his own family, something like that. Their business was booming in popularity, why was he backing down now? He couldn't handle this properly, since he never learnt how to express his feelings with others, so it came out explosively in a burst of colour and fading light.

After being out all one night, he sped his way back to the restaurant. He didn't know what was going to happen when he got there, but he was shaking with anger and needed an outlet. When he arrived, he slammed the door behind him to see... Charlotte? Like, Henry's daughter Charlotte? The hell was going on!? He was confused, but still very very angry, so he threw her aside and went to open the door. But she tugged on his arm, wanting to come in with him. He didn't know what came over him at that moment. First they were out of sight, then he was trying to get her to stop crying, then breathing, and then he was staring down at her on the ground. He fled, knowing he had killed her, but he didn't seem to care at that moment. It felt freeing. Not only was Charlotte now gone, meaning that's one less person Henry was with, but it also meant the latter would come running back to him. The world was in his hands.

[ovwechoes]

Halloween Costumes: DPS Girls Headcanons (SFW) As Halloween approaches, I'll be writing more about it with the ovw characters. So, this post is about what the DPS girls would want to dress up as for Halloween (if they did at least). It's under the cut, enjoy!

Elizabeth Caledonia / Ashe: I can honestly imagine she likes to dress up, but not for the reason of trick or treating. For her, she likes to use Halloween as an excuse to dress up in a disguise on a robbery with her gang. So, some of her favourites in the past were of a saloon girl (she hated the dress but it worked well for seducing her way into the bank she planned to rob from) and as poison ivy from dc (she used it as a way to blend into the crowd of a Halloween carnival, making it perfect to escape from the police).

Mei Ling Zhou: Mei always likes to use Halloween as a bonding experience, enjoying co-ordinating her outfits with close friends and work colleagues such as Lena and Brigitte. So, some of her favourites were as a pirate (Lena was a parrot, with Brigitte as a wench) and as Velma from scooby doo (Brigitte was Scooby and Lena was Scrappy-doo, with other members taking the other main characters).

Fareeha Amari / Pharah: Fareeha used to despise Halloween as a child because she used to see families together, dressing up and taking their kids out to trick or treat, when she couldn't have the same experience. But, she's grown more light-hearted about it, especially dressing up for themed parties such as ‘hear me out’ costumes (dress up as your biggest hear me out character), and ‘sexual awakening’ costumes (dress up as your sexual awakening character). She doesn't have a favourite, but loves costumes that aren't serious and look poorly made, just because of how much more humorous they are to her.

Vivian Chase / Sojourn: You can't tell me that Vivian doesn't do trick or treating with her sister and niece every year - you know fine and well that Vivian's letting her niece pick the group costume each year, and following along with her ideas to make sure that she has the most enjoyable year possible. Vivian loves to let her take control and holds back her distaste for the costumes she picks, purely because she loves the family time she can have with them more so than the dressing up part. Her favourite group costumes that she's done, though, are Alice in Wonderland (Vivian and her sister were the card guards, with her niece being the Queen of Hearts), Cat in the Hat (Vivian and her sister were thing 1 and thing 2, with her niece being the cat), and Little Red Riding Hood (her niece was the grandma, her sister was little red, and she was the wolf). All in all, though, any Halloween costume will be her favourite if she knows her family had fun.

Olivia Colomar / Sombra: Honestly, I can't imagine Olivia's really been able to enjoy Halloween in her life, and doesn't have much interest in it in general. However, she does like to do group costumes with Amelie and Moira when going to clubs or bars, but only silly ones (similar to Fareeha). She'd definitely love to dress up as final girls from horror movies, animated movie characters (i.e. shrek, megamind, etc). If she can find humour in it, she loves it especially with her friends.

Amelie Lacroix / Widowmaker: Amelie used to do couples costumes with Gerald, finding it a genuinely fun time with him. So, now that he's passed away and gone from her life, it took her a while to warm up to the idea of dressing up again for Halloween. With the help of Moira and Olivia, she's found herself warming up to it but doesn't have specific preferences. She likes ones that are more clever than funny, though, but will go with what her friends would like to do (to an extent - if she hates an idea, she'll tell them of course). All in all, she can be picky but has good intentions, wanting to make sure that she and her friends are enjoying themselves wherever the night finds them. She doesn't have any pictures of her favourite costumes, though, because she'd rather keep them in place in her mind.

Lena Oxton / Tracer: Lena will always do costumes with her friends and take their family members with her trick or treating - Halloween is one of her favourite holidays in my opinion, and she loves to go all out for it. For example, with Brigitte and her family, she'll often accompany them and show just as much enthusiasm as the little sisters and brothers have for the events that night. Her favourite costumes are simple ones, ones she can wear and have fun with her friends in - whether that's cheap, silly or serious ones, she's happy and enjoying herself.

[glamrockraybot]

(NOT A "<character> is a robot" POST)

Honestly my favourite current theory for fnaf is that the mimic (who is probably not burntrap but may be glitchtrap) is intending to recreate the events of the William Afton Era™️ to a T, as it was built to mimic by....someone? I mean someone had to build it right.

Anyway I'm gonna lightly explain my reasoning for each of these even though I'm sure most of you have already made these connections before

I mean, we all heard the Vanessa theories already yeah? Not even mentioning her visual similarities to Elizabeth, I think either her or Michael could fit. Both of them were loyal to their father at some point (I don't know why else Michael would go into the Sister location bunker) and they both played significant roles in the story. I think if this was the case I'd wager Vanessa was *supposed* to be Elizabeth, but after breaking free she became more like Michael and hellbent on destroying the glitchtrap virus for good (maybe with a little bit of fire). I could understand arguments for Glamrock Freddy being Michael (even aside from him *literally* being Michael) but I didn't include any of the glamrocks because they serve a narrative purpose already as animatronics.

Gregory is. Obvious. I mean with how similar they look its already sort of suspicious, though Gregory is a little bit more of a fighter than CC. They at the very least share a connection with bear robots. I could see an argument for Gregory being Michael (God is Michael just every character?) But for visual similarities alone I picked CC.

Cassie was theorized from day one to be Cassidy or Charlie or both. I personally learn more towards Charlie but because of Something in hw2 I may be more willing to accept her as the vengeful spirit. I know Charlie doesn't always equal green but Cassie does have specks of green throughout her design, and she seems to be a very kind and caring friend (maybe too kind). Roxy being protective over her near the end is, well, a loose connection to the security puppet but I thought I'd bring it up.

For cassidy I can see this since if Gregory is CC, obviously cassidy and him would most likely talk and maybe be friends. In the picture that is from the logbook which might be cassidy they share a similar hair style. Not identical but, similar. Though I miss Cassie's curly hair </3

Mimic is probably the most obvious connection. William is like. The only human murderer from the original story, so you know, if the mimic is trying to kill people it's safe to say they are probably mimicking him. Though clearly they are not above mimicking other people (Gregory) in order to do this, sort of like what I imagine the funtimes did. I don't necessarily think they are acting like they did in the books where they are just carrying out an order to disassemble mechs, because if they were WHYyyy the need to lure people down there? Hey man I don't think that person you tricked into climbing down here is an endoskeleton I think that's a fucking person. This seems much more malicious, something that would make sense if they based their actions off of a killer from the 80s.

Also I guess Cassie's dad is worth a mention, who may be a parallel with Henry Emily or even Charlie herself. I'm leaning more towards Henry but I could see a case for it. I guess he can always be Michael. Because as much as I like fan interpretations of him he's sort of. Just Like. There. You know to be a foil to his dad.

Anyway I hope this was interesting, or rage inducing. And no I don't like the idea of them being robots of the character ❤️

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Hi, the anon who wondered about the Elizabeth Afton post, after reading your response, I couldn't help but get another thought, we all know that no matter the age, everybody is curious about things no matter what.

Imagine Guiding Light (could be of any age but child age would be a lot more most likely here) becomes a victim of William Afton?

Or is like the CC (Crying Child) and gets 💀 via Bite Of 87 style.

Or, Guiding Light does get 💀 via Elizabeth Afton style but it happens right in front of them? Like, it was a random animatronic that has a similar mechanic to Circus Baby's way of luring people (ice cream) and once close enough, they get killed with her claw.

I include the idea of GL being partly transported into BSD World and still have a slim chance to return to the real world.

Warning: English is my second language. William Afton does Afton things. The Bite of 87. Afton's robots for collecting remnant.

_________

William:

They can't move. Controlled shocks froze their metallic bodies. They were waiting for that bastard William's return.

He said, he wanted to show them something.

He returned. He was carrying something.

Someone... Someone familiar.

William ignored their curses and promises to end him. He stepped towards Tachihara.

William opened Tachihara's cavity chest. Putting your body inside.

"I always wanted to see, what would happen, if one animatronic got possessed by two ghosts."

William left. And their sorrow remained.

~~~~~~~~

You didn't knew where you are. The place was dark. Sometimes, you could make out a decoration from the Plex. Sometimes, you saw a familiar ADA office desk. And, sometimes, you heard Tachihara's voice.

You were afraid. Until another person appeared.

Puppet, you saw on old Freddy Fazbear's pizzeria pictures.

"[Y/N]... I can help you and them get free. Will you trust me?"

Puppet put its hand towards you.

You shook it.

____________

The bite:

Gin froze, looking at the scene before her. Guiding Light... [Y/N]... Their sweet little child... Were gone...

The animatronic alligator, one of the many animal mascots that bastard William still kept in the Plex, despite trapping Dazai and others in animatronics bodies, towered above your broken body. Monty's jaws were red because of blood... Your blood.

Gin focused on people, who were to blame.

Your older sibling and their friends.

Even in metal body, Gin remained Verlaine's pupil.

What left of your murderers were unrecognizable. And your body was gone.

Gin could swear, she saw your chest moving.

__________

Robot:

"Here! That animatronic has another page... AHH!"

They can't react. One moment, the animatronic was offering you a manga page. The next, a giant claw dragged you into the animatronic.

Akutagawa tore it apart, freeing you. Your boned were broken, you were catching bloodied manga page. There was also an ice cream cone in the animatronic.

That monster... William not only designed animatronics to lure children. This one was programmed to get you.

They will avenge you. William will pay.

Yet... Akutagawa could swear, that, once in a minute, your heart still beats.

[sevendeadlyheadcanons]

Meliodas and Zeldris headcanons being uncles of their nephews?

Hello!!!! Once again it has been many years however with 4KOTA I wanna write about baby Percival and Tristan (IK Percy isn’t technically Zeldris’s baby but they adopted him for years so he’s now an honorary nephew)

Meliodas-

-Will visit the demon realm from time to time to and one day Zeldris just has a child and he’s like “Aight then”

-He will sometimes bring baby Tristan to play with him (neither of them have any memory of this)

-Baby Tristan gets scared of the demons in the demon realm but Percy thinks they’re neat and Percy eventually gets him to warm up to them

-Meliodas is truly endeared that a child could just wander into the demon realm and become such good friends with them. He thinks Percy had a good heart

-He will pick up Percy and fly around with him.

-Percival calls Meliodas “Mellydaz”

-Zeldris tries to convince Meliodas to bring him back to the human realm and adopt him in order to give him a more fulfilling life that he thinks he deserves and Meliodas is like “Nah this is his home. He loves you”

-Meliodas brings Percy new toys to play with from the human realm. He shares them with the demon children

-Uncle Mellydaz teaches him human games to teach to the demon children

-Uncle Mellydaz also tries to help him understand human speech for his future

-“Alright now go up to Zel and say “Fuck”

Zeldris

-Edgy ahh uncle

-Spars with Tristan a bit too rough and Meliodas has to be like “Bro that’s a baby”

-He wishes he would embrace his demon side a bit more but loves him for who he is

-Him and Gelda visit the human realm and take him on little fun days out over different villages

-Imagining Zeldris with one of them baby carriers that have the baby strapped to your chest

-Teaches him about different types of demons by giving him picture books

-He gives him heinous demon relics as a gift and the only one who sees a problem with this is Elizabeth. Meliodas is like “Yooo that’s so sick Tristan what do we say” “Fanks:D” “MELIODAS THAT COULD KILL SOMEONE”

-He’s so excited if Tristan learns how to fly because he can go hunting with him

-He doesn’t have access to good toys in the demon realm so sometimes he’ll carve him something nice

-Tristan can go to the demon realm whenever he wants and all the demons love him.

I hope these were good enough, I’m not too good at writing Zeldris after all these years my brain just sees him Edgy Guy but I know he goes deeper than that so I wanna keep trying!!!

Have an amazing day 💙💙💙

[the-three-pure-souls]

Tell us your finest headcanons for Stumbler O'Hare and Chief Wulf, please.

Thank you for asking! :D Sorry for all the Wulf angst in his section ^^' Those were the only headcanons of mine for him I could think of today.

Stumbler O'Hare:

Stumbler looks up to Elizabeth. She makes him feel safe. She's comforting. He wants to be the light in other people's lives like Liz is. She's always positive, always kind. Always able to make you see things just a little bit brighter. He aspires to be like that. They've also exchanged art through some of their emails together. It makes him a little sad they can only talk from behind a screen.

He actually owns the nurse's hat he's seen wearing in the unused Stumbler video. He doesn't remember where he got it from nor does he remember wearing it before, but whenever he looks at it, he's filled with an eerie feeling. Like something is wrong. It shouldn't be here. He doesn't like looking at the hat for that reason.

For the last headcanon I have for him in this post, a small one I have is that the art of him and Wulf that's in the gallery was made by him!

Chief Wulf:

Wulf frequency isolates himself whenever he's depressed. I mean, why should he tell anyone else how he's feeling when it would just make others feel down? Does his feelings even matter anyway? He's a leader, he should be able to cope on his own. He has to be the one to protect and help everyone else! If he can't..what else is he even good for..? Not to mention the self-loathing he's been feeling ever since he started getting his memories back.. Isolating himself was something he only used to do rarely, though with him finding out the truth..well, let's just say it's been affecting him a lot. At least he has Bucky who he can talk too now.

Ever since Pat started helping with restoring the game, Wulf's been avoiding him. He can't bring himself to talk to him. His past as being Connor in my AU is a big reason for that. He feels a lot of guilt. He was a bad father, wasn't he..? Patt shouldn't have to see him again. He feels like he failed him..

Whenever he wants some time alone, he usually goes to the demo maps to reminisce. What could have been, what he had. You can imagine Wulf's surprise when he saw one time he wasn't alone.

Hope these suffice! Sorry this took all day to finish writing, my head's been really messed up lately, especially today. :( I have other headcanons too for other characters Which are mostly for the Starlings! Feel free to ask about them if you'd like! :D I also took the pictures myself ^^ I love talking about this game-

[marislittlestories]

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter

Mature | Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Spy Draco Malfoy, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Hogwarts Eighth Year

5/10 - one, two, three, four - read on ao3

july 1998 - december 1998

Harry’s eighteenth birthday passes in a blur of boxed wine and Fleetwood Mac. Dean, Luna, and Ginny all go back to London to celebrate, leaving Draco in the care of Claire and Arabella, who seem to be convinced that all of his problems can be solved with a night of drinking and dancing and giggling over decades-old village drama.

“Will you tell me how you met?” Draco asks, feeling sentimental and a bit self-destructive.

He hadn’t expected an invitation to Harry’s birthday, of course, but he hadn’t thought about how it would feel to be the only one left behind. The envy is entirely unfamiliar. The desire to be close to Harry isn’t new, but he hasn’t felt it with this kind of intensity in a while.

It seems to be a running theme.

He’s spent the last week and a half pulling himself further and further away from the horror of sixth year and everything that came after, and in most ways, it’s working. He read a couple more chapters of Wuthering Heights. Ella and Marcie came to Crawley Down for a day trip and they watched Pride & Prejudice. His strong opinions about the pond scene and Elizabeth Bennet’s facial expressions seemed to win him a few points with Ella. He started a letter to his mother, and then he tore up the parchment and threw the pieces in the trash.

There was a reckoning, a leveling, a natural disaster that swept through and against all odds, it feels like progress. There is a new landscape now, a verdant forest, one that he’ll never have to leave behind. The sudden rush of sensation had overwhelmed him, but he saw it for what it was: life, returning. It feels bigger, like he’s created room for it, a place for it to live. He welcomed it all, the melancholia and the ecstasy, the devotion and the grief, the petulance and the shame, the wistfulness and the euphoria and the prickling sensitivity. He feels everything, and he revels in it.

It’s settled somewhat, particularly in the last couple of days, and he feels safe enough in his own head and in his body to indulge with Claire and Arabella.

The two women exchange a quiet look, full of love and light.

“Well,” Arabella begins, “I was working at a bakery in London, this was back in… ‘71? ‘72? Anyways, Claire was a regular, and she liked to make my life hell.”

“I was a little obsessed with her, to be honest, and for some reason I thought it was a good idea to place convoluted orders so I could spend more time at the counter, staring at her,” Claire says.

“And then one day, she comes in with this huge order in the middle of the morning rush, and I’d had such a bad shift already, so I-”

Claire laughs, delighted, “She spit in my coffee!”

“No,” Draco is enthralled, on the edge of his seat.

He can’t really imagine Arabella that young. It’s not so much about actual age, he just has trouble picturing her with the kind of youth that makes you full of spite and reckless confidence. He can’t imagine her young in the way that would compel her to spit in someone’s drink.

“I did,” Arabella confirms sheepishly, “And then the next day, she came in and apologized for the inconvenience she caused. She was working this awful administrative assistant job at a corporate law firm and they’d made her go out and get this order last minute.”

Claire sighs, “I had cried on the bus home.”

“I felt so guilty, so I never charged her again and we slowly became friends. She thought she had finally cracked me but truthfully, I had no idea I was interested in women until the moment she kissed me.”

Draco’s smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt, and he can’t help thinking of his younger self, the boy who had poked at Harry’s bruises. The rest of the night is veiled with wine and laughter, wrapped up in an effervescent kind of happiness that he can feel like a physical force, skin tingling, heart pounding. It’s all he remembers, the story and then the sensation, when he wakes up with the worst hangover of his life the next morning.

He isn’t sick, but it’s a near thing. He’s almost proud of himself for getting so drunk, for letting go of his need for constant self-monitoring, and for getting through the rough day after. He feels like shit but it doesn’t pull him back in time.

Dean, Luna, and Ginny come home late in the afternoon, just as hungover as Draco, and Claire makes them all chocolate chip pancakes for dinner. It’s the first time Draco’s seen her use the stove for anything but putting water on for tea and coffee. They’re the best pancakes he’s ever had. Ginny is sitting beside him at the kitchen island, leaning heavily into his side, staring down at the counter.

“Hey,” he nudges her, “Have you decided about your birthday?”

She looks over at him with a miserable little smile, “No. I don’t know if I’m ready to go home, but I’d feel guilty if I didn’t.”

“It doesn’t have to be all or nothing,” he parrots her words from the other day back to her.

The next week, she goes to the Burrow for exactly two hours and then returns to Crawley Down for something like a party. Draco has spent the afternoon helping Claire string lights up outside while Luna watches on and talks to the flowers.

“They’re going to be on their best behavior tonight,” she says.

Draco and Claire exchange an amused, affectionate glance.

Back in the house, Arabella is baking an excessive amount of pastries and Dean is making hefty pitchers of sangria. Draco flits between the garden and the kitchen, fetching extra screws and the spare drill battery, and Dean hands him a glass each time, an inch of the fruity wine sitting at the bottom. He drinks just enough that his anxiety fades to a distant lull and his mouth pulls up into something lazy and joyful, but he’s careful not to overdo it.

He’s been cracked open so frequently, so recently, that he’s almost certain he’ll bleed his feelings all over the hydrangeas if given the chance.

He hears the tell-tale crack of apparition just before eight. The sunset is still doling out its last rays of light, and the crickets are starting to sing. He’s loose-limbed and comfortable, sprawled across the clover lawn. Luna’s hands are in his hair, weaving tiny braids.

Ginny steps out into the night, Ron, Harry, and Hermione trailing behind her.

“Draco,” she crows, “You’re pink!”

He sits up slowly, turning to face the group spilling out the back door. Ginny’s face is wide open, relieved. Happy. It makes Draco smile reflexively. He was a little worried, given how reluctant Ginny seemed when she left a couple hours ago. Hermione seems significantly less burdened than the last time Draco saw her, back before the trials, and Ron looks the same as ever, lingering at her elbow, except he’s grinning at Draco like they’re friendly. Harry is, as always, an unreachable thing.

Their eyes meet, for just a second, and…

Draco isn’t sure what’s happening. A heart attack, maybe. The sangria could finally be hitting him. All he knows is that, for the first time since he was fifteen, he doesn’t feel cold at all. His entire body, down to the marrow, is lit up with a gentle, shimmering warmth. It’s an aftershock, another reawakening, one more part of himself he thought was long dead but is now remaking its home deep in his chest.

“He’s had like three glasses of sangria,” Dean calls from the doorway, “You’ll have to catch up.”

Draco manages to pull himself together, just barely, just enough to notice the wariness emanating from Hermione. It’s more caution than suspicion, but either way, it’s not quite comfortable. He can’t know, not for sure, whether it’s directed at him, or if it’s something else, but he finds himself wanting to ease it all the same.

It’s a party, after all.

“You were in Australia, right?” Draco asks.

Based on her expression, the question is unexpected but not unwelcome, “Yes, we went to visit my parents. It was nice to get away for a while.”

“I get that,” he replies, “You look very relaxed, both of you.”

Ron tips an imaginary hat to him, and it’s so ridiculous that Draco is, against his will, charmed. There’s an earnestness about Ron that he can’t help but appreciate. He knows how rare it is, how valuable.

“So do you,” Hermione smiles.

Luna pulls everyone into a Muggle party game that Ella had left at the house after a visit. Well, almost everyone. Harry sits out, on the sidelines, scowling into the distance.

There was a time back in fourth year, after the stark violence of the World Cup but before he understood the horror that was coming, when he believed that his life could still be something he chose. Something good. He remembers moaning to Pansy about panicking every time Harry looked at him, slipping back into the familiar grooves of meanness. She laughed at him every time.

He remembers the Potter Stinks badges, about the original ones he can’t even think about with a straight face. He remembers being terrified, and seeing Harry’s fear like it was a smudge of ink on his face. He remembers how he imagined taking care of him, helping him with research for his tasks, bringing him extra food from the kitchens after Draco’s weekly visit.

He misses Pansy’s laugh, and he misses how simple his wanting seemed then, in comparison.

It’s different now, on the other side of the war, than it was before it. For a moment, he lets himself fantasize about Harry confiding in him and Draco finding some way to ease his burden.

It doesn’t last long. Luna drags him into a round of something called Twister. He ends the game in a pile of tangled limbs with Dean and Ginny, bruises already blooming on his ribs where Dean had accidentally dug his shoulder in.

He sits out the next round, which turns out to be an excellent idea when Ron finally convinces Harry to join them. On the sidelines, Hermione sits next to him.

“Are you going back to school next month?” she whispers, careful not to disturb the other conversations happening around them.

He shrugs, “I haven’t decided.”

The Death Eaters who had been running the school under Snape weren’t exactly paragons of academic excellence, so the year was pretty much a wash for every student. Draco had never even started his seventh year, but even those who did will need to either retake the year or test out of the necessary classes. Ginny and Luna have both taken the exams this summer that will put them in seventh year with Dean. He doesn’t want to go back to the castle, but he doesn’t want his friends to leave him, and he doesn’t want to waste away here, no matter how much he has grown to love Claire and Arabella or the village.

It’s not home, not really, and he will have to leave eventually. He just doesn’t know where to go yet.

Hermione smiles, not at him, but at Ron, whose back is arched in some impossible shape, “We’re all going. It’ll be weird to be back, after everything.”

“Oh,” Draco isn’t sure whether to be glad or afraid, “I don’t really know what I’d do, either way. I have nothing better to do, besides keeping this garden alive, but…”

“If you do go, I’d welcome the competition. I haven’t forgotten whose name was just below mine in all the rankings.”

Draco grins at that. Maybe school would be easier, actually enjoyable, without the weight of duty upon him.

She lowers her voice even further, “Between the two of us, I think Harry would feel better if you came.”

He blinks stupidly at her, “What?”

“Not that he’s said anything about it, because God forbid we have a conversation with any emotional depth, but I think he’s a little worried about you.”

Ron groans loud enough that it interrupts the conversation, “That’s Hermione’s problem face. Please, Draco, don’t get her started.”

Even in the midst of playing the ridiculous game that Luna is narrating like it’s a nature documentary, Ron has been looking over every do often, unable to keep his eyes off of Hermione for very long. It’s sweet. It makes Draco feel something enormous and unfathomable, something that stings.

Hermione rolls her eyes, “Mind your own business.”

She lets the subject drop, though, and Draco is overwhelmed by the idea, mortifying and more than a little painful, that Harry pities him.

The night stretches into early morning. He stops drinking, but everyone else is just getting started and the next few hours end up cast in the same golden film that the rest of the summer has been.

Draco and Luna end up in a mirror of their earlier position, Luna sprawling across the clover and Draco’s legs. He weaves tiny braids into her hair this time, and tugs at them affectionately every time she giggles, which is often. Ginny gets drunk, and they all discover that her sharp edges get smoothed out with wine. She gives Draco a messy kiss on the forehead.

Harry sips at a beer, which Draco privately thinks is some sort of self sabotage, and his eyes rarely leave Draco. It puts him on edge, makes him careful.

“Draco, do you remember in your second year, when you helped me sneak into the kitchens?”

He looks up at the dark expanse of sky above, velvet blue and glittering with thousands of stars, “Of course. You were crying.”

Luna pokes his arm, “And you were the first person who was kind to me. I didn’t properly meet Ginny until I was a second year, you know. I always wondered how you knew how to get there.”

It’s like she’s prodding at a bruise. He can’t tell Luna that when he came to Hogwarts, he had already spent more time around house elves than wizards, and the kitchens were the only place he felt close to home at all. He can’t tell her about Twila and Odie, not in front of everyone, not when he’s already so close to tears.

“It’s a secret.”

The conversation drifts, and so does the group, migrating to separate sides of the garden. Hermione starts asking questions about the plants, so Draco and Claire lead her through the flower beds and vegetable patch while Arabella and Luna drift behind them.

“And you did a lot of this?” Hermione asks Draco, impressed, “I can’t keep a cactus alive.”

Draco shakes his head, “No, I just help Claire out sometimes.”

“Sweetheart,” Arabella chuckles, “Claire has killed everything she’s ever planted out here by midsummer. You are a miracle worker.”

“He’s always been good with nature,” Luna says wisely, as if she knows.

She’s right, he supposes. Before first year, his accidental magic manifested itself in bursts of bright green vines and vibrant spreads of wildflowers blooming beneath his feet. He realizes, suddenly, that the plum tree has grown more than it really should have, that each strawberry plucked has been full and ruby red, like something out of a painting.

“Maybe,” he admits sheepishly.

They get closer to the other group chatting on the lawn, though they’re separated by rows of tomatoes and sweet peas. A lull in the conversation allows for Draco to catch a bit of what Ginny is saying.

“And we all love it here. Everyone in the village loves Draco and Luna, of course, and Draco says it reminds him of summers at Malfoy Manor.”

This, of course, is meant to be a ringing endorsement. Ron sees it with amusement, but Harry’s face is wiped completely blank, unreadable.

“That’s a compliment, is it?” he says wryly.

Ron reaches out to flick at Harry’s head, “Well, you only saw it that once.”

“I imagine it was quite nice, without the murderous dictator,” Ginny adds, giggling.

Draco smiles wistfully out at the garden and wishes he could show them what the Manor used to be, what it never will be again.

Ginny turns, sees him, waves, “Tell us something good!”

He weaves his way to her, ducking under the grape vines, and lowers himself onto the faded, worn-soft quilt next to her, “I wouldn’t necessarily call it nice.”

Harry nods, as if he’s been vindicated, and it makes Draco feel a little less self-conscious. The comment hadn’t been aimed at Draco, not really.

“When I was a kid,” he swallows past the lump in his throat, “My parents weren’t exactly the most hands-on.”

“Shocker,” Ginny mutters, glaring at nothing.

“The point is, I spent a lot of time outside. There were a lot of little pockets of magic, scattered throughout the woods behind the Manor.”

Harry looks away from him.

“Like the clearing?” Dean prompts.

“There’s this clearing, deep in the grounds, where the weather is always perfect. There’s some magical tree planted there, I think,” he clarifies, turning briefly to face Hermione.

Her gaze goes sharp, curious, but Draco continues. He doesn’t want to talk about the clearing, not when he’s been drinking, not when he feels so raw and exposed already, homesick and still reeling from the sight of Harry, the feeling it elicited in him.

“Anyways, one of the other pockets was a pond where the fish had some sort of premonitory gift-”

Ginny cackles, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Listen, I don’t know, okay? They could see the future, kind of. And they were really brightly colored, so you could always see them in the water. They’d make shapes, moving scenes, of things that were going to happen.”

“That’s so random, why did that just exist behind your house?”

He shrugs, “That’s why it was a good thing.”

“Not like the peacocks,” Dean jokes.

“Not at all,” he breathes, tender and bittersweet, “It wasn’t a weird display of wealth, it wasn’t useful, it was just there, hidden. For no reason.”

Ron scoffs, “Sounds like a weird display of wealth to me. I reckon one of your loony ancestors installed it and led nature hikes to show it off to all the other rich tossers.”

Dean buries his laugh in Luna’s hair, winding his long arms around her. She blushes a little, leaning back into him. Ginny’s smile flickers, almost drops, and then it’s replaced by a vacant imitation. Draco reaches out, grabs her hand on impulse.

“Gross,” Draco wrinkles his nose, though he doesn’t completely understand why he’s doing it. He only knows that it works. Ginny squeezes his fingers.

Dean rolls his eyes, raising his head from where it was resting, in the crook of Luna’s neck, “Shut up. Someday, you’re going to fall in love with someone and it’ll be worse.”

“Draco in love would be a terror,” Ginny says breezily and everyone laughs.

She isn’t wrong. He’s still concerned about her, about the hollowed-out expression on her face, about the creeping feeling of worry and dread, the feeling that he’s missing something big, important.

Claire tugs on a lock of his hair, “No, he’s really very sweet.”

The laughter dies. Dean looks at him, incredulous. He just keeps breathing. This is not the end of the world, despite the way that his heart is threatening to leap up his throat and past his teeth, and if he were feeling less vulnerable right now, he’d probably be able to laugh at it with the rest of them, send Claire and Arabella a warning look, mitigate the damage.

But he can’t act nonchalant about this, not after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, after everything that’s happened tonight.

“What?”

Luna stares at him, in that strange way of hers. He shakes his head. He can’t even tell her not to ask. He can’t say anything. He’s more than a little afraid that if he opens his mouth, his heart will come leaping out of it, bearing the inscription this belongs to Harry Potter.

He’s been burying it since he was fourteen, but he’s done a lot of digging recently. He has the dirt under his fingernails to prove it.

Claire doesn’t offer any additional explanation, and the conversation eventually moves along, though he suspects that Dean and Ginny won’t let it go so easily. They’re at least willing to let it rest for now, while the others are here, and for that he’s grateful.

It’s another thunderclap, another warning, another crack in his tenuous control. This is precisely why he doesn’t drink. He’s going to shatter across the stepping stones that wind a path through the Thomas’s beautiful garden, and it’ll ruin Ginny’s birthday. He waits until he’s certain the attention has shifted off of him, and then he goes inside, imagining eyes on his back the whole way.

He just wants a moment to collect himself, a moment where he doesn’t have to monitor his expression or keep himself in line.

“Draco,” a voice calls after him, footsteps on the stairs, “Are you alright?”

Arabella steps into the room. He tries to steady his breathing, school his face again. He’s endured so much worse than this, all without crumbling, but in making himself back into the soft, ethereal thing of his childhood, he’s dismantled all his armor. He’s exposed.

“Yes, I’m alright.”

She smiles kindly at him, “I can go, if you’d like to be alone?”

“No, no, that’s okay. You can stay.”

“I’m sorry if Claire made you uncomfortable, she was just teasing.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I don’t remember what I told you, actually.”

Arabella pulls him closer, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You were talking about a boy, the other night, and I guess we assumed that the other kids would already know who it was, or at least suspect.”

“I didn’t tell you who it was?”

“No, nothing like that. You told us that he probably would have spit in your drink, that’s all.”

Draco laughs, and then he can’t stop laughing, “Oh my God. He would have. Maybe still would.”

“Surely not,” Arabella says with a frown, “Dean says you’re a war hero.”

He ducks his head. The only thing he can say in response is, “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

“You’re a good person, Draco,” Arabella pats his head.

They go back down together. The group has wandered back inside to loiter in the kitchen and start saying their goodbyes. Dean and Luna talk softly, trading kisses every few sentences in the corner, and Ginny glances at them surreptitiously. No one pays them any mind when they join them, except for Harry, who silently tracks Draco as he crosses the tiled floor.

“It was nice to see you guys,” he says, hoping that it’s enough to cover the paralysis he’s feeling.

He can’t manage speaking to Harry directly, which is a brand new symptom. It hadn’t been so hard, before, while they were at Hogwarts or when he was with Hestia or when Harry and Hermione came to his flat. Until tonight, he’d thought all of the embarrassing parts of it, everything but the enduring loyalty, had been calcified. He thought that his heart would never beat like this again.

But he was wrong. All he needed was room for the fluttering and the desire and the attentiveness.

“I look forward to seeing you at school,” Hermione says, and to Draco’s surprise, pulls him into a brief hug, “We can study together.”

Just like that, he’s decided. How is he supposed to deny Hermione, or watch as Ginny leaves when he knows now something is wrong? How is he supposed to resist the allure of being in the same place as Harry, getting to stare at him from across a crowded room, watch him on a broom?

Ron grimaces, “Oh no, you’re both going to get worse, aren’t you?”

“I hope so,” Draco says brightly.

***

Taking the Hogwarts Express is a surreal experience. It’s not difficult to find a free compartment, in fact, most of them are empty. They all cram together, Draco, Ella, Luna and Dean on one side, Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Harry on the other.

“Do you want to try and find your friends?” Draco asks Ella, voice low.

She shakes her head, “I don’t even know who’s coming back.”

He drops it. Ginny draws her into a conversation about Quidditch, and they both attempt to drag him right along with them. He answers questions when asked, but mostly he just stares out the window at the world they’re speeding through, a blur of green hills and blue skies. It reminds him of the summer holiday with Marcie, which feels so far away now, as if it happened in a dream.

At the Welcome Feast, McGonagall makes a speech about unity and healing and what comes after war, no corny tangents about the power of friendship in sight. Draco’s grateful for it.

She does, however, announce changes due to low enrollment.

“Classes and seating for meals will no longer be determined by Houses,” she says in her strong, tremulous voice, “Quidditch will resume in the spring term with an official Hogwarts team, which will be accepted into the Sorcery School World League and compete against other Wizarding schools in the spring. Small intramural games are welcomed during the fall term.”

There is an uproar at this. Draco finds that his interest in Quidditch is, for the most part, nonexistent now. The allure of competition has faded.

Dean catches him on the way out of the Great Hall, “Are you going to try for the school team?”

“Probably not,” he replies, leaning into the arm that Dean slings over his shoulders on instinct, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, remember? Besides, in what world am I going to beat out Harry for a Seeker spot?”

“You could always try a different position. And with a school-wide team, they’ll probably want sub players, right?”

Draco wrinkles his nose.

“Okay, I get it,” Dean rolls his eyes, “You don’t want to be second best.”

“I’m used to that,” Draco says, “After all, Hermione does exist.”

He hears his name called distantly, through the clamor of first years trying to find their prefects, across the crowded corridor outside of the Great Hall. He turns and immediately locks eyes with Pansy Parkinson. She’s just as lovely as she’s always been, thick, dark lashes and a French bob that curls around her jaw, messier now than it used to be.

“Pansy!”

He weaves through the crowd, and it parts in front of him as people recognize his face. He doesn’t even think twice about sweeping Pansy into a hug, even though they haven’t held an actual conversation in years, even though he can’t recall the last time he embraced her.

Her nails are shorter, but they feel the same running through his hair, scratching over his scalp, “I see you’re finally embracing the waves.”

Draco chokes out a laugh that is at least half tears, “I missed you, Pans.”

She punches him in the bicep, harder than necessary, “What the actual fuck? I can’t believe I had to find out you were some sort of badass from Snape of all people.”

“What?” he pulls back from her, in response to the punch and her words.

She frowns, “The trials? I know you didn’t go, but surely you listened to the wireless broadcast?”

He winces, “Ah. No, I did not.”

“Seriously?” she narrows her eyes at him, “Okay, well, the greasy asshole went on a whole monologue about how no one did more to defeat Voldemort than you but Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore themselves, you were his star pupil, et-fucking-cetera.”

Draco feels the color drain from his face, “He said what?”

“Uh huh. The Prophet’s been writing constant stories about it. Did you really have no idea? Where the hell have you been?”

“A Muggle village?”

Pansy holds him at arm’s length and scans him, maybe for signs that he hasn’t been taking care of himself, maybe for wrinkles in his robes, “You’re screwing with me.”

“No, really.”

Pansy breaks into slightly hysterical giggles, and Draco follows suit. Dean catches up to them, touching Draco’s back right between his shoulder blades to announce his presence.

“Sorry,” Draco wipes at his eyes, “Sorry, I totally just ditched you.”

“It’s alright,” Dean says mildly, “Hello, Pansy.”

“Hello.”

“Is Blaise here?” Draco looks over Pansy’s shoulder, but he doesn’t see Blaise’s tall, willowy frame anywhere.

“No, he’s in France with his mum. Says he’s going to be a man of leisure, whatever the fuck that means. He promised to come for the first Hogsmeade weekend,” she squeezes Draco’s shoulder then lets her arm fall back to her side, “We can catch up later.”

Draco rolls his eyes and grabs her hand, “Come on. You can meet all of the other pests.”

“We have actually met before,” Dean points out, “We’ve been going to school together for seven years?”

That first night, everything seems possible, attainable. He feels the ghost of fourth year all around him, but for once he doesn’t mind it. It reminds him that he was happy here, once, and that it can happen again.

The feeling doesn’t last very long. Hogwarts feels as it always has, like a bad dream. He slides back into old habits, creeping silently through the halls, smoothing his face over before he steps into a corridor, spending too much time in his head.

He does most of his homework with a rotating cast of mostly Gryffindors, and he sits between Pansy and Ginny at every meal, and Luna drags him to the kitchens at least once a week. It’s not bad, not like it was in Crawley Down when he’d broken down completely, but he can feel himself drifting. He can feel the burning vitality, that bright spark of joy at finally being alive again, begin to fade. It’s slipping through his fingers.

Another storm isn’t far off.

Some things are the same as ever: the lightning bolt Pansy had carved into Draco’s bedpost in the dorms is still there, Harry is sending him intense, confusing glances, he’s still trying to keep his head down. Other things are different: he spends every Sunday afternoon writing a letter to Marcie and sends it along with Ella’s, he can’t bring himself to care much about Slytherin politics, and he doesn’t bother picking fights with Harry in response to those looks of his.

He finds himself standing in front of a blank wall one day, wishing for the Room of Hidden Things, but it doesn’t appear. He wonders if the castle has finally decided he is unworthy of its aid, if it can sense something in him that the people in his life seem to have missed.

Most of the time, Draco forgets that the Dark Mark is there, on his skin, faded but still recognizable. He’d grown so used to it tugging at him during the war that it was a relief when it became just ink. It doesn’t move anymore.

But sometimes, like today, he catches a glimpse of it and it makes him want to tear his skin off. On some level, he understands that it was a sacrifice, an act of love, getting the Mark. He did it to protect. Right now, it doesn’t make him hate the spiral of the snake’s tail any less. Right now, it’s just a reminder that the same magic that has eaten away at his home is in him too, lives on his body. He stares at the unmoving brick and scratches at the ugly black lines.

He thinks of sectumsempra, of his blood spilling out over gleaming white tile, just a couple floors below him. It still feels earned, the way all of his pain does. He couldn’t tell you what he did to deserve it, but his heart knows he did something. He loves and it hurts and it’s always his fault.

***

Pansy drags him around Hogsmeade, her fingers laced in his. The long red nails that have practically become a part of her dig into the back of his hand, leaving little red crescents behind.

“We’re already late,” she says, for the thousandth time, “Pick up the pace, babes.”

He knows better than to comment on the real reason they’d left the castle fifteen minutes after they really should have. Pansy had trimmed her bangs last night, and styling them this morning had nearly ended in tears and bloodshed. They look fine to Draco.

Blaise is meeting them at a cafe Draco’s never heard of, nestled on a relatively quiet street. It was Pansy’s choice, as she’d spent the summer living in Hogsmeade with her dad and half-brother. She knows which spots have mostly escaped the notice of the hordes of Hogwarts students that regularly descend on the town.

Blaise greets them both with kisses to their cheeks and exclamations over their hair and clothes. They settle into the cozy corner booth, trading pleasantries and barbs.

“How’s France?”

“French,” Blaise replies, an amused little grin on his face, “How’s England?”

Pansy sticks her bottom lip out, “Fucking awful.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“It can,” she says darkly, “You have no idea what I’ve had to put up with. I didn’t know it was possible for Draco’s obsession with Potter to become more pathetic-”

“Could you keep your voice down?” he hisses.

To her credit, she does lean over the table a bit and lower both her volume and tone, “But it has. And Potter is somehow even weirder about Draco. I can’t actually tell if he’s plotting murder or marriage.”

Draco’s face burns.

“Well,” Blaise drawls, “I commend you on your patience.”

“Thank you.”

“I assume it’s more of the same? Besotted gazes across the room, waxing poetic about his hair and his eyes and everything?”

“Worse,” Pansy cries, “He’s somehow made friends with them! Not Harry of course, but the rest of the Gryffindors. Oh, and Luna.”

This revelation seems to actually crack Blaise’s disaffected exterior. He stares at Draco, jaw dropped.

“What the hell?”

“I know.”

“How’d you manage that?” Blaise asks.

Draco shrugs helplessly, “I think I tricked them.”

Pansy rolls her eyes, “Please. You couldn’t pull one over on a scarecrow.”

“Excuse me,” he says angrily, “I fooled Voldemort!”

“Congratulations,” Pansy replies, flat and unimpressed, “You managed to lie to a desiccated corpse with delusions of grandeur.”

He throws his hands up and retreats from the conversation. It’s pointless to argue with either of them, and Draco doesn’t actually want to. The relentless mocking, Pansy wielding her stiletto like a weapon under the table, Blaise smirking over the rim of a stemmed glass; it’s comforting. It’s easy to let them take the reins, to sit back and let their voices wash over him, to cede control.

When they’ve had their fill of overpriced salads and champagne, and it’s time for Draco’s second lunch of the day, he doesn’t want to leave.

“We’ll walk you over,” Pansy says, and they move arm in arm through the narrow, cobbled streets.

His friends, along with Ella, are waiting for him outside the restaurant. It doesn’t look like Marcie has arrived yet. Blaise pulls him in, and he’s enveloped in the familiar scent of vanilla and leather and black pepper, one he’d nearly forgotten, the cologne that Blaise has worn since he was thirteen years old. He lets himself fall into the embrace.

“You have my address,” Blaise murmurs, “Send me something.”

He leaves with a final goodbye, a kiss to each of Draco’s cheeks.

Pansy goes after him, waving at Draco as she does, “See you back at the castle.”

Ella elbows him, harder than strictly necessary, “What was that? Send me something.”

The impression she does of Blaise is obnoxiously flirty, and right on the mark. Draco groans. He is never going to live this down.

“That’s just how Blaise is,” he says firmly.

Ginny narrows her eyes at him, but doesn’t say anything. Ella doesn’t look convinced either.

“Really,” Draco says and drops his voice, “You want to know a secret?”

He is, admittedly, a little tipsy. It’s becoming something like a theme, the warm buzz of alcohol and him saying more than he should.

“Duh.”

“I’m pretty hung up on someone else. Blaise and Pansy were making fun of me for it earlier.”

He doesn’t think Ginny heard him. Ella is delighted to know something that other people don’t, and she seems to know that she won’t get anything else out of him while they’re surrounded like this, so she doesn’t push. He knows it’ll come back to bite him.

Donna and Leroy arrive with Marcie, handing her off to Draco and thanking him profusely for being such a good role model for the girls. It’s a little embarrassing, especially because he isn’t entirely sober and because Ella is in full view behind them, trying not to audibly cackle. It’ll become fuel for teasing later.

Inside the restaurant, he sips at his water and steals chips from Marcie’s plate. He walks around the shops afterwards, surrounded by all of his friends, hand clasped in Marcie’s. Ella and Ginny talk Quidditch to his left, Hermione and Luna talk politics to his right, Ron and Dean grumbling about the new Defense teacher in front of him.

“Are things better, with the Prices?” Draco asks, comfortable and well-insulated from the rest of the world.

Marcie nods, albeit reluctantly, “Yes. Especially now that I’m in school during the day. And I have friends, so I can go over to their houses and watch movies and be around other Muggles.”

“You know I would have taken care of you both forever, if I could?”

“Obviously. We’re awesome.”

“And you know I’m still here if you ever need anything?”

Marcie pinches him, “Yes. I know.”

“Alright.”

He lets go of her hand, but only to pull her into his side.

“So…” she grins up at him, “Do you want to hear about my friends?”

“Of course.”

She launches into a lengthy explanation of the politics of teenage girls, and Becca is a little sensitive, and Lauren is too scared to tell Rowan that she likes her ex-boyfriend, even though they all know already and Rowan has been trying to drop hints that she’s fine with it.

“Ex-boyfriend? How old are these children?” Draco exclaims, mostly to make Marcie giggle.

“Fourteen. Georgia said that Rowan started dating before anyone else in our year, when she was eleven.”

Draco shakes his head. That’s a first year.

“That is too little.”

“I think it’s a bit weird, but Becca says I’m just a late bloomer.”

“I think maybe they’re early bloomers.”

Marcie nods, “That’s what Donna said too.”

“So, you’re talking to Donna about school, and your friends?”

“You need to stop worrying about me,” Marcie says, “I’m fine.”

“I believe you, but I can’t just stop worrying about you. I probably always will, at least a little bit.”

But Draco is satisfied by Marcie’s wide smiles and her enthusiasm as she talks about school. She’s returned to Mr. Price and they all start the trek back to the castle, Ella taking up the spot that Marcie had left by Draco’s side.

“You know, you two don’t have to worry about me either,” he says once he realizes that they’ve essentially just traded shifts, “I’m okay.”

Ella stares him down, “Yeah, I don’t believe you.”

***

Draco wakes up to cold stone and an ache in his neck and a throat clearing loudly. He blinks his tired eyes open. He’s outside the Room again, though he’s mostly accepted that it has stopped appearing for him now, and Professor Islington, the History of Magic professor, is standing over him with a rueful smile on her face. Binns never reappeared after the battle, and Professor Islington is a good deal younger and a good deal more interesting.

“Draco, what are you doing out here?”

Draco rolls his shoulder, sending a stab of pain down his spine, “It was an accident.”

“You’re not supposed to be out of the dorms. It’s the middle of the night,” she doesn’t seem to be too upset, so he doesn’t bother to worry about detention.

He shrugs, “Habit, I suppose.”

“Go, sleep in an actual bed.”

Draco obeys, one foot in front of the other, staggering with exhaustion.

“Oh, and Draco?” Professor Islington calls down the hallway, “Would you stay after class this afternoon?”

He winces and waves his hand in a vague gesture of agreement, continuing through the corridor and back to the dungeons. He can’t fall back asleep once he’s burrowed under the duvet. Instead, he stares up at the canopy and wonders how much longer he can go on like this, standing on the edge of a cliff, before he topples over once again.

History of Magic is his last class of the day, and his favorite. Professor Islington knows it, too, and ruthlessly exploits both the timing and his preference. He often gets pulled into discussions with her after class is over. Last week, he’d left with an armful of books.

“I want to talk to you about your sleeping habits,” she begins once the room has emptied, “Specifically the location.”

He sighs, tired, “Can you just give me the detention and skip the lecture?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” he says under his breath and takes a seat in the front row, closest to her desk.

“Is there a reason you decided to take a late night excursion to the seventh floor?”

He frowns. He knows the existence of the Room is sparsely documented, to say the least, and he’s not sure how many people are currently aware of its existence. Dumbledore had acknowledged it once, after Draco had begun to work on the Vanishing Cabinet there, but Snape didn’t appear to know about it, and it’s never been spoken of in any classes.

“I used to study there,” he says carefully, “Under the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.”

Professor Islington pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, “I’m not an Auror, alright? You’re not under investigation for anything. I just wondered if you knew about the Room.”

“Oh. Yes, I do.”

“Then you’ve noticed that it hasn’t been quite right,” she reaches for a notebook, “Has it appeared for you?”

He blinks at her.

“Well?”

“Uh,” Draco’s mind races, “No, it hasn’t. I didn’t know if it was indicative of a larger problem…”

She raises an eyebrow, “And what else would it have been indicative of? You’re a historian in the making, Mr. Malfoy, you have to be more inquisitive.”

He chooses the lesser of two evils, accepting the reprimand instead of trying to explain that he thought the castle was turning against him. Now that he’s thinking about it, it sounds ridiculous. It’s a fucking castle.

“It hasn’t appeared to me either. If you don’t mind me asking, what do you call it?”

“The Room of Hidden Things. It’s what- Dumbledore called it that.”

“Ah,” she scribbles something in her notebook, “And it appears to you like that, as a cluttered room?”

“For the most part. I know it changes, depending on what is needed, but that’s what it looked like the first time, and I usually asked for it specifically.”

“Interesting. That version of the Room is very distinctive. And it’s the only recorded static iteration, you know. There is no other form that the Room takes that appears to different students, at different times, answering different requests. It’s malleable. I like to think that it’s the original form.”

Draco leans forward, “You think that it was once a normal room in the castle then?”

“Sort of,” she replies, reluctant, “I don’t want to unduly influence your research, so I’ll keep my opinions to myself for now.”

“My research?”

“There are quite a few students who are familiar with the Room, it was used quite extensively during the war, but as far as I can tell, none of them are quite as attached as you. Or as skilled in Charms.”

It’s certainly news to Draco. Maybe he should have gone to the trials.

“As you know, seventh year students are required to complete a capstone project in order to graduate. I think this should be yours.”

He stares at her in shock, “You want me to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws and has barely been documented?”

Her eyes go bright, “No, I want you to fix a magical room that obeys no apparent laws, has barely been documented, and has been recently damaged by one of the most under-researched curses in existence.”

She says it with such unshakable confidence that he doesn’t bother arguing the point.

He’s going to need to re-read A Comprehensive History of Curse Damage. And that book about permanent Charm work, if he can remember what the author’s name is, or what the book is called, or what the cover looks like. And figure out who the hell used the Room during the war.

The list grows and grows. Every bit of information he uncovers prompts ten more questions, tugs him deeper into an endless pit of fixation. Draco’s always been a little obsessive. He starts a puzzle and he can’t stop until he’s solved it. Any time he’s not in class or eating, he’s researching. He avoids the library, instead taking books up to the seventh floor so he can read across from the entrance to the Room. It provides him with a distraction-free environment. It means that he spends most of his time alone.

He misses meals frequently. It’s not that he’s isolating himself on purpose, it’s just that they’ll be worried. They are worried.

He didn’t expect it to bring back sixth year, but maybe he should have. Just because he’s relived the worst night of his life and made his peace with it doesn’t mean there aren’t still a veritable treasure trove of other horrifying experiences for his subconscious mind to choose from. He dreams of bleeding out in a flooded bathroom, of his feeble crucio actually connecting, of falling from the Astronomy Tower, of crawling into a dark cabinet and vanishing, forever.

That one isn’t bad, really. It’s worse when it’s real, when he dreams of Dumbledore contorted in pain, Bellatrix laughing, of watching the life fade from his eyes.

***

It all comes to a head just before Halloween. He slips back into the dungeons late one night, prepared to crash and wake up too soon from a nightmare, and then stops short when he sees Pansy waiting for him.

She’s standing in front of the fireplace, backlit by the orange flames, arms crossed over her chest.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

She takes a half-step forward, “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I was researching for my capstone-”

“I mean the past month, Draco. I’ve barely seen you for weeks. I know you’re not eating, Luna said the house elves haven’t seen you, and you skip almost every meal. You’re definitely not sleeping. It’s like sixth year all over again.”

Draco doesn’t even have the energy to get properly angry, “You don’t even know what sixth year was like.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Neither of them speak for a while, the only sound coming from the crackling fire.

Draco breaks first, “I just… I have to do this.”

“What are you even talking about? Some project? Is it really worth it, for a grade, for a scrap of some professor’s approval?”

“It’s not about the grade, Pans,” he sighs, scratching absentmindedly at his forearm, “There’s something I have to fix. I have to. If I can fix this, maybe I can fix…”

“What?” Pansy’s voice shakes.

He breathes, and then it all spills out, “Maybe I can fix whatever cursed thing is still inside me.”

“Draco,” she comes closer, reaching out, and he flinches away, even though she’s still all the way across the room.

“You don’t understand,” his breath comes faster, “You didn’t see it. The things I did, the way I was. You weren’t there. And I know I did it to myself, I know, I know it’s my fault. So I have to fix it.”

He’s hyperventilating now, gasping, struggling for air. He ignores Pansy’s broken pleas and goes up to bed, where he can cast a silencing charm and lose his mind in peace. The sobs take over his entire body. He heaves with the force of his panic.

Eventually, he cries himself into an uneasy but dreamless sleep.

***

He skips breakfast the next morning to sit out by the lake. Ella finds him by there, staring down at him with hands on her hips.

“Hello. You look a bit dead.”

“Thanks.”

She sits beside him, close enough that their elbows knock together, “Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“I fought with Pansy.”

“Oh, believe me, everyone knows that,” Ella says, “She’s taking it out on the entire school. I want to know why you thought it was a good idea. And what it was about, I guess.”

“I didn’t start it,” he says petulantly.

Ella scoffs, “Are you four years old?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Maybe start with why you can’t seem to take care of yourself properly?”

He can’t help it, can’t keep it in. He cries into Ella’s shoulder for a minute before he collects himself and pulls back to look at her.

“I don’t think I’m a very good person-”

She holds a hand up, “Yeah, I’ve heard enough of that. Spare me the rest of that self-deprecating monologue. You’re fine. A little embarrassing, yeah, but it’s not like you’re fucking Stalin.”

Draco frowns.

“Right. You definitely don’t know who that is. My point is that you’re just some random person. Maybe you’re not an extraordinarily good person, but not all of us can be Luna Lovegood. God, I can’t believe this is what you’ve been moping about for the past month.”

“That’s not really what happened.”

“So, what did?” she asks.

“I just… I got distracted, I guess, and then I stopped taking care of myself,” he explains, discovering it as he lays it out for Ella, “And when that happens, I tend to start thinking there’s something inherently wrong with me. It’s just a cause and effect thing.”

She flicks the center of his forehead, “Next time this happens, and you feel like shit about something, you’re going to find me immediately, got it? I’ll force feed you or something. This is ridiculous.”

“You’re a kid.”

“So are you? And Marcie would kill me if I let you continue on like this.”

“You’re going to get sick of me.”

Ella glares at him, “I already am. You think I wanted an annoying older brother? Marcie just adopted you and I had to deal with it.”

Draco, for the first time in weeks, feels light, happy, like he could float away on the autumn breeze. Ella could give him all the shit in the world but she couldn’t take back calling him her older brother.

“You know,” he says cautiously, “This is why I wanted you and Marcie to be somewhere more stable. I’m just not the most reliable person right now. I would have kept you forever if I thought I could take care of you, you know that, right?”

Ella blinks, and a tear escapes from her molten hazel eyes, “Oh.”

“You’ve done such a great job looking after Marcie,” Draco pushes the words out, because Ella needs to hear them, “No one, and I mean no one, could have done better. But you should be looked after too. You deserve that. It’s not something that you have to earn, but even if it was, you would have done it a thousand times over. I wanted you to be looked after, both of you, and I can’t even look after myself. I did what I did because I knew my limits, and because I love you.”

“Of course you do,” she says loftily, wiping at her cheeks, “Now, I demand payment for making me talk about feelings.”

“Name your price.”

“You have to play a Seeker’s game against me.”

Draco looks over at Ella in excitement, “You’re a Seeker?”

“I want to be. Ravenclaw’s always had someone older in the spot, but I think I could make the school team next year. I want to practice.”

“Of course I’ll play with you. Anytime.”

“Now you’re the one who’s going to get sick of me.”

“Impossible.”

***

He doesn’t seek Pansy out. Whatever else he may be, good or bad, he is fundamentally scared of her. He’s scared of how well she knows him, of how unafraid she is to rip him apart.

She finds him, on the seventh floor, books spread out in front of him.

“Draco Malfoy, you are a monumental idiot.”

He braces himself.

“You are not unknowable,” she says, furious, “You are petty, and sometimes you’re cruel, you’re proud, too proud to ask for help and too proud to see an easy way out. You care so much about other people, but you can be remarkably self-centered. You think everything is on your shoulders, like you could possibly carry it. If you think for a second that there was a part of you I did not know, a part of you I did not love, you’re an idiot.”

She turns and stomps away, leaving him to stare after her, eyes full of tears and heart full of love.

***

It’s easier, afterwards. Ella helps him come up with bare minimums: at least one meal a day where she can see him, a Seeker’s game on Sunday mornings, followed by at least three hours of social interaction that has nothing to do with school work, and five hours of rest each night even if it’s spent awake.

He knows there’s a larger conversation waiting for him with Pansy, but there are only so many things he can manage at once, and he’s not overwhelmingly concerned about it. They’ve come through worse things. They can see each other in group settings, and they can be alone together, even if it is stilted and awkward in a way their friendship has never been before.

It comes with the natural consequence of spending more time than ever with Ginny. He never manages to get much work done when she’s there, the natural consequence of her own apathy towards her education. She’s set on professional Quidditch, and eventually coaching, so she doesn’t see much point in worrying about classes. If not for her mother’s insistence, she might have gone straight to a minor league team and made it to the majors within a couple of seasons, and wouldn’t have finished at Hogwarts at all.

He’s in the Gryffindor common room, which still seems forbidden, though the separation between Houses has grown murky and the traditional divides haven’t been enforced at all this year.

“Are you really not going to try out for the school team?” Ginny asks, successfully drawing his attention away from studying.

He glances at her sideways, “I don’t understand why you want me to.”

“You’re the best Seeker we have, and if I’m going to have my pick of pro teams, we need to have a stellar season.”

“What makes you say that?” Draco asks, incredulous.

Ginny raises her eyebrows, “Because it’s true?”

“Aren’t you overlooking someone? Youngest Seeker in Hogwarts history?”

“What? Harry’s not playing Quidditch this year.”

Draco takes a moment to process this information. It doesn’t make him any less confused, any less indignant.

“Why the hell not?” Draco actually closes his textbook fully, turning to stare at her, “Quidditch is like 40% of his personality, what the fuck?”

Harry himself sits up straighter on the other side of the common room, “I can actually hear you, you know?”

“Sorry,” Draco says offhand, the usual nervousness that seems to manifest every time Harry is within a twenty foot radius vanishing in the face of his shock and genuine outrage, “I didn’t mean to say something nice about you out loud, I understand how that may be upsetting.”

“Fuck off.”

Ginny has a terrifying, calculating look on her face, “He’s too busy. Hero shit.”

“I’m sorry, was he not busy with hero shit the entire time he was at Hogwarts? Is there some other homicidal megalomaniac who’s strangely fixated on him that I’m not aware of?”

“Unlike some people, I don’t run the second the fighting is over,” Harry bites out.

Draco frowns, a little hurt, but mostly suspicious. He’s getting better at not taking things personally, at separating instinctual, emotional responses from malice, a bad mood from animosity. Harry isn’t usually one to guilt trip, not seriously, so Draco assumes that he’s trying to convince himself of something more than he’s actually still upset that Draco opted out of participating in the trials.

Ginny, however, doesn’t seem to reach the same conclusion. She scowls at Harry, and when she speaks, it’s vicious and protective.

“Don’t say that shit in front of me,” she snarls, “I will not be as polite as Draco.”

Draco hides a smile. He really does love Ginny, and there’s something nice about being defended. It’s not something he has a lot of experience with.

“So he can say whatever-”

“It’s not the same, and you know it. He’s just being bitchy, you’re being mean.”

Harry shuts up, and Draco lets the conversation lapse. He hadn’t known that he’d be pressing on an open wound, and he does not have the capacity to stitch anyone up, much less Harry, no matter how much he might want to.

It comes up again the next day, against his will. Ginny is putting on a dramatic reenactment of the exchange for Dean, mostly for the purpose of recruiting someone else for the crusade to get Draco to attend try outs in February. Hermione is paying more attention than he thinks is warranted, especially because she doesn’t really care about Quidditch, and then the entire thing is derailed by a discussion of Harry being an asshole.

“Does he think you should have done more?” Dean asks, horrified.

Draco tries to ignore the conversation entirely. He doesn’t want to talk about it, any of it. Not his reluctance to testify, and definitely not Harry’s disapproval. He knows that Harry isn’t having the best time- he can see the exhaustion, the desperation, on him like he’s looking in a mirror- but he’s apparently alone in that line of thinking. He never expected to be the only one who could see past their history of antagonism, and he’s wholly unprepared for it.

“Obviously no one can say that Draco didn’t do enough,” Hermione says diplomatically, “But I’ll admit, I was a little frustrated that he shut down the idea of the trials so quickly. I don’t know why Harry is still bringing it up though.”

“He wasn’t really in a position to-” Ginny starts, clearly remembering just how much of a mess Draco was last summer.

He cuts her off before she can get too far, “I told you when you asked, Hestia knew everything I did, and I didn’t think that personally recounting all of the bloody details was worth it. The war was different for me. I’m not saying it was harder or anything, but I wasn’t exactly going around breaking dragons out of Gringotts or sneaking supplies into Hogwarts. I did what I had to do, and I’ve made my peace with it, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit in front of a crowd and talk about it.”

Hermione nods. He hadn’t realized that there was still a lingering discomfort in their friendship until it’s gone, but she’s noticeably more open and relaxed around him over the next few days.

He doesn’t really know what to make of it.

“I just didn’t quite understand you,” she says when he asks, “I don’t like not knowing things.”

Ron chuckles, “And you get tunnel vision, love.”

“That’s true,” she admits sheepishly, “I kind of have to be forced to see things from a different perspective. Sorry.”

Draco shakes his head, “No apology necessary. I was probably more combative than necessary when you asked, which couldn’t have helped.”

“I get it, mate,” Ron says cheerfully, “It’s like I told Mione, we’ve been fighting this war since we were kids. We should let someone else fight the next one.”

Draco finds himself agreeing with Ron Weasley, and perhaps more alarmingly for his fourteen year old self, enjoying the conversation they have afterwards. As it turns out, Ron has a knack for sniffing out people in desperate need of a mother, and Draco has promised to come to the Burrow for New Years before he knows entirely what’s happening.

“Mum will probably make you a sweater if you’d like, even though you won’t be there on Christmas.”

Draco remembers the lumpy, uneven knit of the characteristic Weasley sweaters and he wants nothing more than to be bundled up in one.

“I wouldn’t want to make more work for her…” he says haltingly.

Ron tuts at him, “Oh, don’t be silly.”

***

Draco finishes Wuthering Heights on a lazy Sunday morning in December, just before exams. His Sundays have expanded past the bare minimum, and he spends a few hours each evening reading. Wuthering Heights usually just makes him feel frustrated and sad, so he’s taken several breaks to read other books, mostly Jane Austen and Anthony Trollope, which are far more light-hearted on the whole.

He only has a couple of chapters left now, and he’s determined to see the whole depressing story through. The dread builds and builds, until the inevitable release. Heathcliff dies. Draco feels sick and relieved and angry, a wash of emotions that he struggles to keep in line.

It’s just all so pointless, he thinks, all that time spent tormenting everyone around them and this is how it ends.

But. Hareton and Catherine are going to be married on New Year’s Day. There’s something poetic about that, something about beginnings.

Heathcliff and Cathy never find happiness or peace. They die miserable, separated but never left alone, and even then, they haunt each other. But Hareton and Catherine survive. They survive despite the grief, despite the suffering. In the end, there is hope because there is youth.

There is life, and time enough left to live it.

He turns the last page and heaves a huge, shuddering breath. It feels like the first bloom of spring at the end of a long winter, like the first sight of land after months at sea, like seeing Marcie’s smile when she glimpsed the ocean for the first time, like a grueling, bloody chapter finally coming to a close. He shrugs the last of the weight from his bowed shoulders.

It will get bad again, eventually, perhaps even frequently. But he knows what the very worst of it feels like now, and he knows what lies on the other side of it, and these are things he can never unknow.

***

It’s wintertime and Draco Malfoy is eighteen. He’s spent Christmas with Claire and Arabella and Dean and Luna, the family he’s trying to feel deserving of, and there’s a letter from his mother sitting unopened at the bottom of his trunk, and the cooling embers inside of him have ignited again, and he is eighteen.

His trunk is on the step beside him, in front of a house he’s never seen before. After this, he’ll go straight to the Burrow for New Year’s, and he’ll stay for the rest of the break. He’s looking forward to it, truly.

He’s not looking forward to this next bit, though. His hands are shaking. He is terrified, and he feels like a child, and for a moment before he knocks, he wants to be one again. Three raps on the door, and then he waits.

“Old age and war have made me reluctant to engage in small talk,” Andromeda says as soon as she opens the door, “You look so much like your mother.”

Draco is proud of himself when he takes it for the compliment it is, “Thank you for inviting me over.”

Andromeda is older than his mother, but not by much. She has a kind face, and wildly curly hair that shines silver in the porch light. She looks like Bellatrix. She looks like his mother. Somehow, she also looks nothing like them at all. There is a warmth and a softness to her that tells of hearty meals and a loving home. He wants nothing more than to belong to the family that produced her, and he realizes with a start that he does.

“Yes, yes, Teddy is at Harry’s. I wanted to speak with you before I introduced the two of you.”

Draco nods and straightens his back. He’d expected this, so it barely even brings his mood down. Of course Andromeda would want to vet him. She knows what grows from their family tree, better than perhaps anyone besides Draco. Andromeda leads him into a small, messy kitchen. Tea is prepared and sitting on the table against a wide window that looks out over the darkening street outside.

“Help yourself,” she gestures at the steaming tea pot and waits for him to prepare a cup before she does the same, looking up and smiling at Draco every so often.

They take their tea the same way.

“I wanted to reach out earlier, but I just never found the time to make it happen. We don’t have much family left. I want Teddy to have as much as possible.”

He nods.

“We’re the last of the Blacks, you and me and your mother. And Teddy, I suppose. I know what our family is, and I know how hard it is to leave. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to stay,” Andromeda sighs, “I always had some regret about leaving Cissy there alone, the year I ran away with Ted. It was after she’d left Hogwarts, but she was still living at home. I know the choice you had to make, and I made the opposite one.”

“Oh,” Draco traces over a scratch on the table.

Andromeda reaches out and takes his hand, “My daughter, Dora, we never agreed on very much. She was a little impulsive, like me I suppose, and I was so- I wanted her to be better than I was. I wanted her to have the space to figure things out slowly, to not jump into things the way I did, the way I had to. We fought a lot. I wish, more than anything, that I’d tried harder to understand her. If I had… I think I would have seen that she was. She was better than me, so much better. You know, one time during an argument, she told me that to choose to love another person was never a waste, no matter what came of it.”

It strikes right at the center of everything Draco is, and leaves him incapable of speech, or even tears. He’s so shocked that his hands start to shake again, the spoon in his tea clinking melodically against the china.

“I was too stubborn to really listen to her at the time, but it’s something I’m trying to do now. I’m trying to be better, for her, for her son. I guess what I’m trying to say is I know the choice you made, and I made a different choice, and it is one of my biggest regrets. Your love for your parents was not in vain, even if they couldn’t return in properly. And it means something to me, at the very least, that you stayed. That you tried to protect my baby sister when she should have been protecting you. I just… I needed to tell you that. I hope you don’t mind me poking my nose into all of this.”

Draco shakes his head furiously, “No, no, of course I don’t mind. Thank you.”

He’s still shaken, unsure of how to express to Andromeda what her words mean to him, when she gets up from the table to pull him into a hug. He folds himself into her, as small as he can get. He is still a child, and right now that doesn’t feel like such a bad thing.

“And because I know our family,” she murmurs into his hair, “I know you probably came here expecting some kind of test but the only thing you need to do is care, Draco, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with that at all.”

[starsofang]

Oh God, I hope that the reader is in a dream in the ending that is not happening. We are sleeping, and Ghos is beside us, and we are OK.

The scene with Price was so cute. He may be a bit gruff and rough around the edges, but he's so sweet I can't get enough of him 😍

And my baby Ghost is so cute, I can't, to start the “You and I are goin’ to have a little chat,” I'm sat handsome you talk I listen. “I only wish to be there,” Ghost murmured, looking away. “But I don’t know how. I am not good with… with all of this.” “I am not, either,” you confessed honestly. You highness they are both emotionally constipated AND I'M LOVING IT, it is so sweet like I can't stand it just kiss already or not feel free to continue this cute dynamic.

Now is my moment, the dress. I need to say that after reading the description I spend like 5 minutes staring to the wall thinking what it could be. It could be a chemise from that century but that is really an undergarment and the this dress popped in my head the corset seems softer and worned out so it should be more comfortable and is simpler that the others, only thing I would change is the color to a darker colour.

And for a fun fact let's go with a medical one this time. So the 18th century the superstitious beliefs weren't use in professional medicine anymore but some doctors started noticing what we call the placebo effect, because some people started using charms from their cultures alongside their professional medical treatment and those people got better faster that the others. Also those people thought for different reasons that their practitioners had a connection with a superior being.

🫣🫣🫣

ugh i love ghost just as much as you, THE EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION YESSSS it’s got me in a chokehold bc i’m just like that fr 😫 i have plans for the next chapter but good god i want them ALL to just make up and kiss and live happily ever after already (haha but who says thats gonna happen what)

the dress!!!! i love that one like the last one you showed me 😫 simple but classy. for me personally, i imagined what you see female pirates wearing, like the billowy kinda dress that flows in the wind and all that good stuff, idk if that makes sense but i genuinely just imagine elizabeth swann when she’s in that one white dress ??? im too lazy to insert a picture lmao but that was my personal thought, but that’s why i make it open for opinion so anybody can imagine their own

also hello???? placebo effect works on me unfortunately lmfao i fall for it every time BUT YES MY WEEKLY FUN FACT 🏃🏻‍♀️

I LOVE YOU AS ALWAYS

[psychic-waffles]

Top 5...................?

Cookies?

Redheads (Dyed is acceptable)?

Costumes from tv or movies?

COSTUMES FROM MOVIES LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOO

i am gonna keep it just to movies or i'll be sitting here all day just trying to decide, this is something i am EXTREMELY passionate about (sorry)

Edith's Nightdress (Crimson Peak - Kate Hawley):

I'm a HUGE fan of all of the costumes in crimson peak, especially how edith and lucille's costumes run with the butterfly/moth motif in the movie, but my absolute favourite is edith's nightgown (sorry yellow dress, you were a close second)

as with all of edith's dresses, THE SLEEVES!! THE DETAIL!! THE DRAPE OF THE FABRIC!!! the amount of hours that must have gone into each of these costumes jut blows my mind. like jsut look closely at the stitching holding all of the pleating in place!!! the size of the buttons!! it's just utterly beautiful

but the nightdress just makes her look so young, and so fragile, especially when she's wearing the dressing gown as well she's just swamped in fabric.

and then the visual storytelling of the red of the clay and the blood creeping up from the hem when she's running around at the end, it's BEAUTIFUL.

Elizabeth Swann's 'Pirate King' outfit (Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End - Penny Rose)

if i had to name one film that got me interested in how films were made more than any other it would be at world's end, i watched the behind the scenes features HUNDREDS of times. every single costume told a story, and the amount of thought gone into aging and weathering them just blew me away. it was so hard to pick just one costume, even just one of elizabeth's costumes (sorry black pearl nightgown) but honestly i wish i had a deeper reason for picking this one specifically but mostly i just think she looks cool as hell during the final battle.

and also i just will forever be heart eyes over the goldwork

Evelyn's wedding gown (The Fall - Eiko Ishioka)

Eiko Ishioka is a genius, the fall is quite honestly a visual masterpiece, and the costumes are a HUGE part of that. if you haven't seen it, half of the film is a little girl being told a story, and how she's picturing it in her imagination.

Because of this each costume is a totally unique look, and the fact that they're all so different to each other makes them pop even more. Everything is in bold shapes and colours, with distinct silhouettes, but the details are just as beautiful.

The costume I've actually picked is a evelyn's wedding gown, just because i think of all of them it's (by a narrow margin) the most visually striking. mostly due to that headpiece.

It's a moment in the film where all eyes are supposed to be focussed on evelyn (to distract from other things going on), so if they were going to put her in a showstopping costume this was the moment.

It's obviouslly just stunning all round, and such a genuinely interesting design, like no one else could have EVER come up with this other than eiko ishioka. I don't know how else to explain that other than go and look at the costumes for the fall (2006) and bram stoker's dracula (1992) next to each other and you'll get what i mean.

but it's the little details as well, that seem so unneccesary to the overall look but are still beautiful, like the change in bead on the end of the veil, the trim around the neck and on the headpiece, the slight pattern on the fabric. and then there's just the overall construction of it, which is just flawless!!

Truly i would sell my soul to see the design process behind any single costume in this film.

Queen Ravenna's 'Beetle' dress (Snow White and the Huntsman - Colleen Atwood)

i'm not going to try to defend it, this was a bad movie, HOWEVER the costumes were absolutely stunning, and ESPECIALLY the costumes they gave to charlize theron.

And despite being in the film for only a moment i will never ever be able to stop thinking about this dress.

the structured shoulders!! the colours!! the trailing layers!! the contrasting textures!! the way they've shredded the fabric to give it EVEN MORE texture!! and of course, most importantly, the hundreds of individually attached beetle shells

i just think it's a work of art

Aragorn's 'Strider' outfit (The Fellowship of the Ring - Ngila Dickson):

So i've always adored the lord of the rings costuming, it all feels very believable and cohesive as a world, whilst also having distinct looks for each race/location, and has set a bit of a blueprint that not a lot of high fantasy has strayed very far from since (which is a shame, but also speaks to how effective it is).

However my absolute favourite costume is Aragorn's first costume, or rather the version of this costume that he arrives at by the end of the Fellowship of the Ring. It's both an incredibly practical costume, whilst also having hints that Aragorn is more than just some random ranger. My favourite of which being the beautiful smocking detail on the sleeves.

I also am a HUGE fan of the fact that nothing on his costume is actually black - it's greens and blues and browns, and then it's all beautifully aged over the top of that, and there are parts that are ripped and sewn back together, it looks like something actually lived in (cue aragorn never showers joke). i just think it does a brilliant job of telling aragorns story visually. and of course it's kind of ""completed"" when he adds boromir's bracers to it 😭

[kaspenhoward]

Six The Musical Headcanons - Anne Bolyen:

Time for the queen that broke by heart when I read a book about her and Elizabeth 💚💚💚 (Yes I’m talking about your stupidly sad book Tracy Borman)

-Anne’s reaction to reincarnation isn’t one most expected from the aftermath of her beheading, yes she screamed, yes she was terrified, yes she was freaking out she still had a head and heartbeat, but the only thing she cared about after she woke up was Elizabeth, helplessly calling out to her daughter that died more than 400 years ago. Only did she freak out about being beheaded after Catalina begrudgingly and hesitantly calmed Anne about her daughter

-I’m all for ADHD gremlin Anne but I’m also about scary, cunning, powerful, smart, dangerous Anne, I like to believe her stage persona is a sort of coping mechanism but also only half of her personality. Yes Anne is a prank queen, will get into shenanigans, and can be energetic and loud but she also can suddenly and quickly become very quiet and very well thought out, smartly planning things out like she’s playing chess.

-ADHD and PTSD, a deadly combination that initially makes Anne’s adjustment to modern day life suck even more. Actually is the reason Anne is the last to attempt to connect with any of the queens, keeping her distance her trauma with the court and Hery making her wary of trusting anyone and her difficultly to act like “everyone else” making her very hesitant to open up to the queens

-Anne has a whole library in her room fully of every book ever written about Elizabeth that she can get her hands on, and when she can’t sleep thinking about her girl, she reads them imagining her girl was in her arms again

-Anne’s ability to speak multiple languages blends over when she’s distressed, usually spurring large amounts of French that only half the queens can understand

-Anne lost it when she found about what Thomas Seymour did to Elizabeth, it’s because a really tense week in the queen household and takes a really long time for Anne to forgive Cathy

-It’s a queen rule that Anne is not allowed to have more than two coffees per day (and they have to be spread apart)

-Anne when she finally makes amends with everyone, becomes closest with the 4th and 6th queens finding enjoyment in being able to match Anna’s energy and Cathy’s intellect

-Surprisingly, if Anne isn’t the one who created the problem, she usually is the go to for fixing a problem (especially if said queen doesn’t want Catalina or Jane to know) her intelligence being able to find quick and efficient solutions to most problems

- As I have stated in my Jane Seymour Addition, Shipping the queens doesn’t sound particularly right after all they’ve been through and the healing they need but.. Bi (and I say every character I like is Ace so also ace)

-Cathy and Anne love having “book races” seeing who can dive into and compete novels at the faster rate, these usually becoming all day consuming events in the household , Anna and Kat are usually there as refs to make sure neither cheats, with specific preplanned questions to guarantee evidence of the book actually being finished.

-Anne’s a epic smooth talker at getting out of situations

-Anne after a nightmare once mistakes Kat in the dark for a teenage Elizabeth until she goes back to sleep. Kat couldn’t have the will to break Anne’s hope so she played along. No other queen in the household had the heart to break her heart either so they let Anne hope a bit before she connected the dots

-Like both her cousins and basically all the queens in the household, she despises yelling, it being all too familiar to Henry

-She has a dartboard on her wall with a picture of Henry’s portrait always stapled to it, frequently having to replace it as it open to ang queen in the household

-It’s her and Kat who come up with the idea for a musical when Anne complains how all her smarts have been cleared from history to remember, Kat shoots the idea and the two draft a plan. and convince the queens with Kat’s puppy dog eyes and a powerpoint

-She’s is not a coffee or tea person she’s just more of a, “if it’s a warm drink it works kind of person” usually just having what’s easiest, especially after the ban after the coffee incident where she drank 5 and somehow with that power managed to set Jane’s Kitchen on fire (first time they all saw Jane cry) and broke the couch

-Anne like Jane is very maternal, although it’s more in moments than constant, her protectiveness spanning for all the queens (even Catalina). Once a jerk tried to hit on Catalina (which clearly put the eldest queen at an unease) on the streets and Anne lost it, shoving the guy and screaming at him. The queens know they never have to worry when Anne is around.