#I quoted this from memory sorry for mistakes xx

[aglionbyacademia]

“And third, most importantly, Gansey was outrageously and eternally driven to distraction by the image of her behind the wheel of his car”

someone come get him, our boy is being a pathetic simp again

[mo0n-water]

hello hello, sorry that it’s been so long :( i’ve missed you.

i will hear the song if it’s the last thing i do 🥸 what’s it called? what’s the first lyric?

what book is it? why is it your favourite? summarise it in three words?

i hope you allow yourself to be a child sometimes. growing up so quickly must be tough.

nostalgia is my hamartia, i’m very stuck in the past, whether it is good or bad. also my great aunt has the most beautiful house, i’d love to live there when i’m older but it’ll probably go to the other side of the family. we can hope :)

i don’t really have any definitive life goals. i’m more of a live and let live kind of person, what’ll happen will happen and i shan’t waste time fretting about it. but i would like to own lots of cats when i’m older and have the village i live in suspect me of being a witch. i think that’d be fun.

i love people who talk a lot and are passionate about things they are interested in. there is nothing i enjoy more than listening to someone ramble on about a historical event i’ve never heard of or a movie i’ll never see. my best friend is very much a talkative person and i think that’s why we get on so well.

how many people can come to my party? i would probably invite: my two best friends, david bowie, regulus black, frida kahlo, oscar wilde, amy winehouse, boris pavlikovsky (from the goldfinch), my great great uncle who’s existance no one knew about until a few weeks ago (he had a very interesting life) and you :) i think we’d all have some very interesting conversations.

my favourite quote is ‘i don’t know. poets are always taking the weather so personally. they’re always sticking their emotions in things that have no emotions.’ from the catcher in the rye.

questions for you:

- what are you doing right now?

- are you religious?

- how do you define art?

- do you want to get married? would you marry a friend in a non-romantic way?

- what’s your favourite smell?

- what would you name this chapter of your life?

- are you a responsible person?

- what’s your favourite punctuation mark and why?

HAHA HI!!! i missed you too!! i was telling the jegulily server about how i missed you…… then again, idk who you are, so maybe you saw that. (mysterious music.) anyway i hope you’re well & i mean… didn’t you say you were going to see harry yesterday? so you MUST BE well

re: your song… it’s called counting hours. you’re not gonna find it online but maybe i’ll send it to you if/when you tell me who you are. (not holding it hostage, i just don’t wanna post it publicly hahaha!! first line is “spent the early hours of june reading quotes from whitman” i guess you don’t know what that has to do with you, but the rest of the song is… a little more obvious xx

the book is looking for alaska! i think i mentioned it before. i like how it explores grief and unanswerable questions, as well as how it talks about growing up. for three words, i don’t know, i’d maybe say “famous last words” :)

you definitely seem like the type of person one would mistake for a witch. and believe me, that is the highest of compliments coming from me. and about nostalgia, YEAH. yeah. G-d yeah. i feel like nostalgia rules my life sometimes, but i don’t really mind that? i was talking with my dad about that recently, about trying to recreate old memories & bring the past back. i think there’s something beautiful about that.

i like the live & let live philosophy. i think it makes for an interesting life. my favorite kinds of people are the ones who aren’t afraid to do something unexpected, to seek out new opportunities & go on adventures. a change of plans is my favorite thing. have you always been like that, or is your decision to embrace that a new thing? (i am ignoring your use of the word shan’t, lest i make a fool out of myself in my own tumblr post…)

listening to people ramble is a secret favorite of mine. i have a friend who’s really into films, & i love to get him ranting about his favorite plot lines & all that cinematography stuff that i don’t understand. i don’t even like movies! but i like listening to him talk about them. what’s something you like to ramble about like that?

i like your quote & i like your dinner party. i question how wise it is to invite boris, given he’d probably derail the whole thing… but i suppose that’s the whole point, and what makes it fun. consider this my rsvp! i think regulus, bowie, & boris would either be best friends or sexy rivals. can’t decide, but i’m here for it. also, your great great uncle?? i would love to hear the story there.

right now, i’m sitting on a porch swing & thinking about you. the temperature is perfect out here, humid enough to feel like a hug without descending into something more like a chokehold. i keep getting distracted & staring at the daylilies across the road. i was sitting in the living room before, but my parents were talking so i stepped out here to focus on writing this. after, i think i’ll play guitar for a bit – i was working on something earlier that i’d like to continue.

yes, i am religious! i’m a religious jew, which i think i’ve probably mentioned before because i honestly don’t shut up about it. it’s shabbat today, & i actually just got back from an event at synagogue. it was a pride event more than a religious thing, though – i convinced the rabbi to go out in drag, which was fucking brilliant honestly. anyway, judaism is easily one of the most important things to me. how about you? i always worry it’s rude to ask but i love talking about faith.

okay i had a conversation about defining art a few months ago & it just about broke my brain… genuinely it was in like january but i still don’t have an answer, no matter how much i think about it. i kinda think art is an arbitrary categorization we use to fit human expression into a box, but my opinion there could be changed with a strong wind. help????

i’d definitely like to get married someday, but it’s not a goal i’m working towards or anything… obviously, i think. i’d definitely marry a friend. it all comes down to whether it’s the right person. (if this is an offer, my answer is yes xx)

my favorite smell is rotting wood.

i’d name this chapter of my life “the wandering” because i feel like i’m looking for something, but i’m not sure what it is & i’m not in any rush. taking my time! it feels a lot like wandering.

responsible??? me???????? i suppose it depends on what you mean by responsible. in some regards, sure. in others, not at all. i don’t like the idea of responsibility, though, it feels stifling – i’d rather dedicate myself to things out of love than out of any sense of responsibility. not sure if that makes sense or answers your question.

i like semicolons!! as my best friend can surely tell you… i just feel like they conceptualize my ceaseless need for elaboration. i’m wary of overusing them. but yeah i learned how to use a semicolon in elementary school & i’ve been terrorizing people with them ever since.

as always, i love the questions you pick! some from me:

- what grounds you?

- what’s a feeling you find overwhelming? how do you cope?

- what’s your relationship with music? what does it mean to you, how do you interact with it?

- favorite fruit?

- tell me a secret?

hope to see you in my inbox soon!! kind regards <3

[iambuckyrogers]

Let Her Go

Summary: After an unfortunate foot in mouth situation you and Bucky are torn apart. How will you recover?

Word Count: 1980

Warnings: almost smut? (Idk how to phrase it, it gets raunchy), mention of anxiety angst, breakup, some swear words,

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Authors note: this was written for @queenofkings121 . Sorry it took a little while, I started really well but hit a block, ugh! But it’s done now yay. I haven’t written anything like this before so I had a lot of fun trying out something new. I hope that you enjoy it! Likes and reblogs always appreciated xx

Prompt: Can you write one where Bucky accidently calls the reader Nat during sexual intercourse and she breaks up with him. He's been staring and talking about, talking to and just hanging out with Nat for awhile and him saying her name during sex was the last straw? Also, she ends up with another guy [non-avenger] and Bucky regrets letting her go?

* * * * *

The door to the bedroom banged open and hit the door stop sending a crashing boom through the corridor.

“Bucky,” you snickered wrapping your legs tighter around the super soldier’s waist.

“What? I needed to get the door open didn’t I?” He sassed back before dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed. Your laughs turned into moans as he began kissing your neck, nipping and sucking at your soft skin. You tilted your head up to give him better access, your hands wound into his hair and pulled gently as he continued his ministrations. He tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to rid you both of your tops before crashing his lips onto yours in a heated kiss. It was all tongues and teeth, desperate and needy. Using all your strength you rolled so that you were now straddling Bucky’s hips. With a hand to his chest, you pushed him onto his back, moving down his body so you were chest to chest. You pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw, eliciting a delicious moan which caused heat to pool between your legs. You sucked dark marks onto his neck, soothing them with a gentle kiss before continuing your trail down his chest. Your hands roamed up and down his sides, caressing his hard muscles with gentle fingertips before settling you grip on his hips. You kissed down his happy trail, mouthing at his clothed erection which drew another guttural moan from the man beneath you.

“Oh fuck yeah Nat,” he ground out. Instantly you froze, eyes snapping up to look at Bucky but he hadn’t moved, his eyes were shut, head thrown back in the pillows.

“You called me Nat!” You snapped pushing yourself up to sit back on your haunches.

“I - no I didn’t. I said just like that,” he spluttered.

“Cut the shit Bucky I’m not fucking deaf,” you yelled getting off the bed and feeling around on the floor for your shirt.

“Just calm down Doll, it’s not a big de-.” You cut Bucky off with a sharp slap to the face.

“Don’t you dare tell me it’s not a big deal,” you choked out, eyes stinging, fists balling at your sides. You yanked your shirt over your head and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind you

The gym was empty, as you had expected because it was 2am after all. You made a beeline for the boxing bag, not even bothering to pick up gloves on your way through. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, hands clenching at your sides as you thought about all the warning signs that you had ignored. You opened your eyes and imagined the boxing bag was Bucky’s stupid face, throwing punch after punch onto the hard leathery surface. You thought about the last Thursday when you walked in on Nat and Bucky discussing your anxiety behind your back. You remembered how two weeks ago they were play fighting over the remote, ending up on the floor on top of each other. With each new memory, you were hit with a new surge of anger, fuelling your fists to hit the boxing bag harder. Your body was heaving and sweat poured off of your furrowed brow as you went to town, letting out all of your anger and frustration. More and more images came flooding back, Bucky and Nat having their own movie night, Bucky staring at Nat’s ass at the gym, the two of them hanging out more than you ever did with Bucky. Your anger slowly turned to sadness, your arms began to turn to lead, each punch harder than the last until eventually, you collapsed onto the floor. Tears streamed down your cheeks, you hugged your knees into your chest and let the sadness roll over you, suffocating you as sobs wracked your body. That was how you stayed until you felt numb and had no more tears left to cry. You pulled yourself to your feet and headed to your room. Not even bothering to shower you collapsed onto your bed and drifted into a restful sleep.

The sharp ring of your alarm pulled you from your sleep. Drowsily you got dressed and headed into the kitchen for breakfast. You prayed to whatever gods were out there that Bucky wouldn’t be around, but your silent prayers were left unanswered because as you rounded the corner you saw him stood behind the stove. You thought about turning around but why should you flee when he is the one clearly in the wrong. You pulled out a chair behind the breakfast bar and sat yourself down.

“Morning,” Bucky said cheerfully making you want to smack him again. He had turned around from the stove and was plating up his bacon and eggs.

“Mhm,” you grunted back.

“Listen, Y/N, can we talk about this?” Bucky asked.

“What is there to talk about James?” You spat, Bucky visibly shuddered at the use of his real name, it was something that you knew upset him so you used it to your advantage.

“Us, last night, everything really. I was talking to Nat about our situati-,” You cut him off with a crazed laugh, shoving yourself off of the chair causing it to clatter to the floor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” you yelled, “she’s what got us into this situation,” using air quotes around the word situation.

“Ok let’s just take a deep breath.”

“Actually I will, and I’ll use it to tell you that we’re over, James. Go talk to Nat about that,” you stormed out of the kitchen not waiting to hear Bucky’s response. You needed to get away from him, put as much distance between you and your problems, so you headed down to the garage. Ignoring Friday’s warnings that it wasn’t safe to drive in your mood, you picked a car from Tony’s rather ridiculous selection, got the keys from the glove box and took off down the driveway. You didn’t know where you were going and you didn’t really care, you were just happy to be out of the compound.

It wasn’t long before your stomach began to growl. You got the GPS to take you to the nearest Starbucks because after your ordeal you deserved a good coffee. Thankfully the shop wasn’t busy, the line moved quickly and in no time it was your turn to order.

“Yeah hi I’ll have a -“ you blanked, not being able to say your order, it reminded you of all the times you and Bucky had gone to Starbucks together, how he would get a milk moustache and whipped cream in his beard. Tears sprung back to your eyes as you recalled your many coffee dates.

“Ah, sorry, are you alright?” the barista Joel (according to his name tag) cleared his throat as he looked at you with concern.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffed wiping your eyes, “I’m ok.” Joel scoffed.

“No, you’re not”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” you laughed.

“I know its definitely not my place since I just met you but I get off in 5 if you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” He offered. You thought about his offer, he seemed genuinely sincere and you didn’t really have anyone else to talk to.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you stared and he looked slightly disappointed, “but I’d like to be distracted.”

“Consider it done.” You gave him a weak smile before going to find a spot to sit. Realising that you hadn’t even made an order you were about to go back to the counter when Joel appeared with two drinks in his hands and a beaming smile.

“I don't know what you drink but I hope this is ok.” He set one of the glasses in front of you before taking his place across the table. You took a tentative sip of the drink and were pleasantly surprised with how good it tasted. Much like the drink, Joel’s company was better than expected. He helped distract you from your problems for a little while before you decided to open up to him and he actually gave you some really good advice. You continued to talk for hours, only having to stop because the shop was closing. You exchanged numbers and headed back to the compound in much better spirits than when you left.

That wasn’t the last time you saw Joel. You texted frequently and even called each other occasionally. You went on a real date, followed by plenty more. You were finally happy and ironically you had Bucky to thank for that.

*****

While all of that had been happening, Bucky had been on a mission. After you stormed out of the kitchen he had burst into Fury’s office and demanded to be put on the first mission that came up, he needed time to think away from the compound. Fury had obliged, sending him on a reconnaissance mission somewhere in the middle east. This gave Bucky plenty of time to think. Time to think about all the things that he’d be missing out on without you in his life, to think about how lonely he was sleeping all alone, how you were the greatest thing to ever happen to him and how he threw it all away so easily. He spent the rest of the mission crafting a speech to give to you, to tell you how he fucked up and how badly he needed you in his life, how you gave him meaning and how he needed you back.

As the mission was nearing completion he was growing restless, needing to see you more than ever and rectify his mistakes. He had been gone 2 months by the time he got home. The quinjet engines had barely stopped spinning when Bucky launched himself off of the craft and into the compound, heading straight for your room despite it being 2am. Friday had tried relentlessly to get him to debrief, Fury and Hill were waiting for him but he didn’t care, the only thing he was thinking about was you. He banged on your door frantically, the speech he had crafted running around his head, adrenalin pumping through his veins. Eventually, you opened the door wearing a silk robe, the soft light from a bedside lamp shining behind you creating an angelic aura around your sleepy figure.

“Bucky, what the hell is going on?” you whispered, voice heavy with sleep.

“Y/N, I never should have let you go,” Bucky began.

“Buck-“

“No, please just listen to me,” he pleaded, his voice laced with desperation, “You’re all that I can think about, every waking moment is plagued with reminders of you and even in my dreams I can’t escape. I miss the way you’d play with my hair when we’d be in bed, or when you’d do silly impressions on missions to keep us entertained. I fucked up Y/N, I really did. I let the best thing I ever had go and I’m here to get it back, to get you back.” Bucky pushed your door open and entered your room, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Please,” he whispered, putting his hand on your cheek and leant in closer only for you to pull back.

“Bucky no,” you didn’t look him in the eye, he followed your gaze to your bed where a man was laid sprawled out amongst the covers. Bucky stumbled backwards as if he had been shot

“His name is Joel,” you explained quietly, “I’ve moved on Bucky, I think its time that you do too.” With that you shut the door, leaving Bucky to pick up the pieces of his broken heart like you had to do yourself 2 months earlier.

[serenefreakgeekao3]

Something You've Forgotten (Part2)

Tag List: @xx-thedarklord-xx @rmh8402 @drarryismymuse (still! Ugh!) @dewitty1 (?? Another one really?) @lumos394 @markedplaces @pressedflowersandvinyl @whatisthisthingcalledlife @malec4everr @maqicool @just-a-flicker-of-hope (so many people, thank you all!)

[Sorry sorry, but prepare for more angst. I promise, next part will have the fluff!]

“Look, not that it isn’t a joy hearing of these memories that I don’t remember,” Draco drawled on, annoyed that Potter kept insisting on telling him how close they had gotten, and how close Draco himself had gotten to Granger, “But could you please tell me how I got this way in the first place? What explosion?” There was irritation in his voice, this being the fifth time he asked Potter to explain to him what happened. The boy seemed to be trying to avoid it. Draco glared directly into those beautiful- no, stop that- into his emerald- Green! They’re just green!- into his green eyes, blinking a few times to keep his thought process on track. He watched the smile on Potter slowly deflate along with his posture, and a sigh slowly spread through him.

“Fine, fine,” Potter mumbled, leaning back on the chair situated next to the hospital bed. “Okay, we were on a special date-”

“What was so special about it?”

“Stop interrupting me if you want to know what happened,” Potter growled out, narrowing his eyes at Draco before slumping once again and shaking his head. “We were walking down the sidewalk of muggle London when there was a car crash in the middle of an intersection. Then another, and another. We were frozen in place, staring in horror at all of this when a large semi came around the bend. He tried to turn, to brake, but all he managed was to roll over and pile into the middle of everything. Fires were everywhere, there was so much screaming. And-” Potter’s voice choked, and Draco felt himself soften, his eyes wide in horror, “And, with you being a Healer, even if these were muggles, you wanted to help. You began running into the fray, and of course I didn’t think twice either as I ran up to try to pull a lady out from an overturned car. But then someone yelled out about gasoline. And then-” Potter stopped, a flash of pain and grief completely encasing his features before he glanced away, his eyes shining with obvious tears. “Fuck, and then the gasoline from the truck dripped onto the road and met with a stray car fire. You were too close, and when the explosion happened you were flung back. The force was so great- I couldn’t believe- I was-” Potter choked on his words, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees, burying his face into his hands.

Draco’s mind was racing. There were so many questions he had, like what the hell a ‘semi’ was, but from the way Potter told his story he could piece what he needed to know together. His mind raced, wondering if those muggles were okay, that he was apparently a Healer, why was he in this hospital if they were in muggle London, did Potter stick around to help out the others? Draco raised his hands, rubbing them against his face as he took a deep breath. He heard Potter’s low grumble of a voice next to him as he continued.

“After I pushed through the shock, I immediately ran to you. You were slumped against a building, and there was blood everywhere. You were unconscious, and I had thought-” Potter coughed, shaking his head before continuing, “After I found you alive I knew that the nearby muggle hospital already had their hands full. I dragged you into a nearby alley and apparated us to, well, here.” Potter sighed, running his hand through his hair.

A quiet stillness surrounded them, settling like a thick blanket of dread, and Draco drew in a deep breath. “Thank you for helping me, then.” He mumbled, glancing down at his hands and wringing them together. They seemed slightly older than he remembered, his blue veins sticking out on his hands. His fingers idly ran over them, pressing down and feeling the tube slip around under his finger.

“Of course I would help you, Draco,” Harry sighed, and Draco glanced over to see him run his hand through his hair once more, the messy bun completely undone and forgotten. Draco shook his head, remembering how Potter supposedly liked him, and glanced back down to his hands. “I think you need some rest. I’m going to go talk with Jas- with Healer Tallon and see if there’s anything I can do.” Harry stood, immediately moving toward Draco and leaning down. Draco flinched under him and glared up with confusion toward the boy who was bending over toward him. Harry hesitated, hurt evident in his face as he slowly backed away, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “Sorry, force of habit,” He mumbled before spinning on his heels and walking away.

Force of habit? What was he trying to do, kiss his forehead goodbye? The thought shot a bolt of pain through his chest and he took a deep breath, shaking his head. There was no way this was real, that Harry had somehow been able to forgive him and actually like him enough to date. Draco remembered his old feelings, how had fallen for Harry so early on even if he hid it with insults and hexes. How he had to hide it without the shield of anger, instead attempting a shield of indifference their eighth year. How Potter hadn’t even spared Draco a second glance at all throughout the whole year. This just couldn’t be real.

Draco slid down onto the bed, mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite comprehend, and one that seemed out of place in his head. It was a quote, Draco surmised, though one he never remembered learning.

‘Growing isn’t just living with your mistakes, but knowing that while you can’t change the past, you can always change your future. No matter how tarnished the soil, you can always plant seeds that will grow into a magnificent flower bed to rest your head on.’

__________

“Like I’ve said Harry, I need to run more scans. I don’t know if this’ll last forever, if it’ll come back in two days, or if he’ll need to be around things he’d remember to bring those memories back.”

A familiar voice nagged at the edges of Draco’s subconscious, bringing up memories he couldn’t quite grasp, images that were blurred and sounds that were almost mute. His head spun with thoughts he couldn’t place, and he groaned, shaking his head and burrowing it into his pillow.

“I need you to go now,” The familiar voice whispered, and it helped to pull him back into the real world.

“No, I need to see him. I need to-”

“At a later date, Harry. He’s not being released anytime soon. You know where to find him.” The whispers were hard to hear, voices mending together until a sharp pain ran from the back of his neck up through his head like a bolt, crash-landing against his forehead as he groaned out again. He pushed through the agony, the pain of it dying down slightly as large hands began pressing into his shoulder and urging him to sit up.

“Come on, Draco. I need you to drink this potion,” A voice insisted, and a glass vial was thrust into Draco’s hands. He didn’t think twice, just wanting the pain to end, and downed the bitter contents. His eyes were still squeezed closed, the pain lessening until he was able to relax his face, and once tense body. He finally opened his eyes, blinking and glancing up toward a square jaw, brown eyes, and dusty brown hair. He narrowed his eyes, taking in the sight before the name was able to crawl it’s way out.

“Thank you, Healer Tallon.” He watched the older man’s gaze narrow before backing up, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Did Harry tell you my last name?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, nodding as the last of his pain ebbed away. Why was that important? He watched the Healer deflate slightly, but take a deep breath and walk around toward the end of the bed, grabbing a clipboard that hung there before flipping through some papers.

“I’d like you to spend the next few minutes that I examine you to try and see if you remember anything more than you did yesterday.” He withdrew his wand, walking around to Draco’s left and waving it slowly over his body, hovering about a foot away. Draco stared at the faint blue light surrounding the wand, prodding his memories and trying so hard to remember who was in that compartment on the Hogwarts Express. Trying to remember the sidewalk in muggle London where the crash had happened, where his first instinct was to run into the middle and help. He tried to remember these ‘dates’ that Potter said they went on, though as that effort mixed with his own disbelief, it was even less likely to work.

“Nothing, Healer,” Draco mumbled, shaking his head as he glanced up and met the eye of the older man. Draco began wondering, if he was a Healer did he work at this hospital? Did the Draco that he doesn’t remember know this man, was he a friend?

“Don’t beat yourself up Draco, it isn’t your fault.” The tone was a practiced indifference that Draco knew well, and he glanced away when he realized he was comforted by the tone. There was something about his presence that calmed him, just slightly, and Draco was torn between feeding off of it and relaxing and attempting to keep his shields up, never letting his guard down. The Healer’s wand stilled, the blue light fading, and a hand was laid lightly on Draco’s arm causing him to jump slightly and glance at him. “Just relax, Draco. Nothing can get you here.”

“Healer,” Draco began unsteadily, glancing away from the comfort clear in his eyes, “Potter said I was a Healer. Did I work here? Did I know you?” Quiet surrounded them before the hand was slowly removed and Jason rolled his stool around to sit on it once more with a huff, resuming a position that almost look natural for him with the clipboard once again against his leg, his arm resting across the top of it.

“Yes, Draco. After you graduated Hogwarts you had spent some time with just yourself and your mother, as you probably already know you had planned out ahead of time,” Draco nods along, worry creasing his brow as he thought of her, and a streak of guilt that this was the first time since he awoke that he had, “St Mungo’s waited a reasonable amount of time before sending their letter stating that they wished you to join the apprentice Healer program, considering you were second in NEWTs only to Hermione Granger. Rather, Hermione Granger-Weasley now.” This news didn’t really shock him, and Jason seemed to suspect this already as he continued. “You accepted, and began your apprenticeship. That lasted three years, and you chose your field of study as Dark Curse Cures, or DCC, your last year. You figured you had so much experience with it anyway, you might as well put your knowledge to good use.” Draco flinched slightly, memories swimming in his head of a noseless man, green lights and screams floating through the darkness.Jason snapped his fingers, pulling Draco out of his head in confusion, staring at his hand he held out. The man smiled, shaking his head and lowering his arm to look at the clipboard on his lap.

“What was that?” The question filled the air after a short silence and Jason just seemed to chuckle in response.

“That was an experiment your therapist put you through. For the last three years, anytime you lost yourself in your bad memories you would snap to bring attention to the present and force yourself to do other things. Only people close to you know about it, and help out when you get too distracted. I think the first person besides you to snap was Harry himself, and it sort of spread. I’m not around Harry much myself, but I think he does the same trick.” Jason glanced up, smirking at him, “I think your brain is trained now that whenever you hear the snap you don’t even need to busy yourself, the memories just flush away and you’re okay. Seems like it now, anyway.” Draco blinked, realizing that the memories had fled the moment the sharp noise flooded his ears. He shook his head, taking a deep breath and looking at him.

“Okay, so you said only close friends know about it. You didn’t answer my question of whether I knew you before.” Draco crossed his arms, mostly for his own self comfort, and watched as Jason nodded slowly, standing and moving to place the clipboard back where it belonged.

“Yes, we’ve known each other since you first started your apprenticeship. I have to admit, at first I was weary of you. But you proved yourself time and time again in just the first few months. After a year, I grew rather attached to your presence. I was your mentor every year until you chose your major, and then a friend afterward. My field is in emergency trauma and head injuries, which is why you were brought to me directly.” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m still deciding whether or not I should relinquish this case to someone else, though it’s not like every person who could take my place doesn’t have their own relationship with you here in this hospital.”

“Oh, nonsense Jason. You know you’re the best qualified person for the job. If Draco was in his right mind he would want you to be the one to heal him.” The voice shook Draco, and he widened his eyes, glancing quickly down to his hands as the familiar yet unfamiliar man rounded the curtains.

“Harry, if Draco was in his right mind he wouldn’t need me to heal him,” Jason replied easily, laughing and shaking his head. “Have a good lunch, then.” Draco furrowed his brow. Lunch? He glanced up in time to see Jason leaving the room, his eyes then landing on a brilliantly happy Harry holding some kind of wicker basket.

“Hey Draco!” His excitement seemed endless, like a puppy who was just adopted by their foreverhome. He shook his head in disbelief, wondering why the man bothered to come back.

“Harry,” Draco replied wearily, watching him. His eyes flicked back down to the basket as Potter held it up, his grin widening even more if that was even possible.

“It’s time for a picnic!”

[scripttorture]

(1)Thank you for your blog! I admire that you dedicate so much of your time for so hard a topic, and I personally learned quite a lot from it (…for example, that brainwashing does not work). Lately I have read quite a lot about revolutionary movements in Russia (mostly XIX and beginning of XX century) - and it seems that accounts of political processes, trials, interrogations, torture etc. do sometimes paint a different picture than the works of scientists you quote.

2)For example , you stress repeatedly that solitary confinement causes such severe memory problems that it actually is useless for interrogators to use this torture to gain accurate information. During my historic readings, I have stumbled on some cases where it does exactly that. The case of Gregory Goldenberg springs in mind - Goldenberg was a member of a terrorist group „People's Wil“ which later assassinated tsar Alexander II.(3)Goldenberg was captured during the preparation of a bombing in November 1879and was put in solitary confinement during the interrogation. А very cunninginterrogator, deputy procurator A. F. Dorbrzhinskii, started tofeed into his delusions and spin a story about the government which reallywould like to usher liberal reforms and would not touch the revolutionaries ifthey went back into legal field. (4) In April 1880 (so, after severalmonths in solitary), Goldenberg confessed - and left a 80-page-report listingall the revolutionaries he knew (and he knew a lot), with their names,features, illegal addresses, etc. It was an accurate information and has leadto many arrests. (5) Another example is a process of Decemberists of1825. During the trial after a failed political uprising, more than a hundredpeople were arrested, put in solitary cells and interrogated - the most were insolitary confinement for half a year. They were forced to write confessions,and most, unfortunately, provided the interrogators with an accurateinformation that led to more arrests and convictions. (6) (The processwas very well documented, most survivors left memoirs and letters, and no oneclaimed afterwards, when they were pardoned and it was safe to do so, that theywere convicted for lies - so I gather that the information had to be *more orless* accurate). … And so I became really interested why it seems that in thesetrials solitary confinement *did not* cause memory problems? I have thought,may be these are the outliers, statistically? (7) Or it was so, thatthey confessed not because of it, but because of other reasons (wanting toavoid punishment/save their fellow friends etc.), and solitary did not manageto impede with their memory?) Or that the political prisoners with strongbeliefs have better chances to survive it? Or was a perception of memorydifferent? (meaning they had memory problems, but it was still possible forinterrogators to latch on the snippets of info? (sorry for wording, Russian ismy first language!)

Your English is absolutely fine. :) 

But I’m not sure if thisquestion is about fiction or writing. Which is the focus of the blog.

 Commenting onhistorical cases is interesting, but reading up on them and trying to figurewhat actually happened takes a lot oftime. Master project or PhD levels of time.

 This is also somethingapologists love doing, bringing up historical hard-to-refute examples wherethey say torture ‘worked’.

 I don’t think that’s your motivation(or indeed any of the readers on the blog) but it is a tactic I’ve seen used andone Rejali briefly discusses.

 So what I’m going to dois I’m going to approach this not by intensely studying these particular cases(I’d love to but realistically I don’t have the time to do it properly) but bypointing out the bits that are usually missing from stories like this one.Basically I’m looking back over the detailed analysis of cases that do exist and drawing on the differencebetween what happened and what torturers saidthere to give an idea of what mighthave happened here.

 Let’s start withGoldenberg.

 To me the case you’redescribing doesn’t read like solitaryconfinement in the sense I use the term. Solitary confinement means 23 hours ormore a day without human contact.

 That includes theguards and interrogators.

 The situation you’redescribing sounds very much like the interrogator, Dorbzhinskii spent a lot of time with Goldenberg. That’sactually a very good (though manipulative) interrogation strategy.

 It sounds as thoughwhat Dorbzhinskii did was isolate Goldenberg and then befriend him. He took months to carefully build up a trustingrelationship with Goldenberg, probably spending significant periods of timewith him every day. Because, well, it takessignificant periods of time over days, weeks and months to build up arelationship like that. I imagine Dorbzhinskii would have had to spend at least 3-5 hours a day with Goldenbergand probably spent longer (6-7 hours daily would not surprise me). He wasprobably also instructing the guards to be civil, friendly and treat Goldenbergwith respect as any abuse would have broken the trust he was building.

 Building that kind oftrust is a good interrogation tactic,it’s something that really works. It’s something I’ve suggested in the past asan alternative to a ‘brainwashing’ narrative.

 It sounds to me asthough Goldenberg didn’t confess because he was in solitary confinement: heconfessed because he trusted his interrogator. And that really seems to be oneof the main aims of realinterrogation.

 I wouldn’t class thisas a torture case. I’d class this as clever, manipulative, interrogation.

 And I’d therefore expect the information volunteered to bereasonably accurate (though it is worth mentioning that even witnesses andsuspects who want to give authoritiesinformation can make honest mistakes).

 What happened with theDecemberists is rather trickier for me to pin down.

 If the honest successrate was really that high then I’d suggest the interrogators were using similartactics to Dorbzhinskii. Again the fact that each prisoner had a cell tothemselves does not necessarily meanthey experienced solitary confinement.

 And as you point outthere are a lot of reasons why people confess that don’t necessarily have anything to do with committing the crime.

 The number one reasonfor false confessions in modern Japan is thought to be poverty (Rejalidiscusses this). Given the choice of confessing and receiving a lightersentence or losing all the money they have in a defence case that might fail a lot of people chose toconfess whether they’re guilty or not.

 The pardons may alsohave been a major factor. If the Decemberists knew they were likely to bepardoned if they confessed then confessing (regardless of the truth of thematter) would have made sense. Because if they didn’t confess in that situation it could be seen as furtherantagonism towards the Tsar, inviting a ‘guilty’ verdict and a stiffpunishment.

 Sometimes when people are guilty and the authorities don’tactually have any evidence against them they can be manipulated into confessingand giving more details of their crime away. This is usually done by foolingthe suspect into thinking the police already know all the details and have allthe evidence.

 I’d suggest that couldhave been a tactic here.

 It’s also pretty commonfor people to falsely confess if there is sometruth in what they’re saying. So for example someone who had attended a lot ofDecemberist meetings, or listened to them speak but not actively participated could probably be persuaded toconfess to more than just standingthere listening.

 And I do mean persuaded rather than forced.

 Essentially I feel likeif the police campaign against the Decemberists was this successful then thechances of it involving torture or solitary confinement (as opposed toisolating the prisoners from their allies) is pretty small. From yourdescription I would guess that theguards and interrogators used tactics to befriend and win the trust ofindividual prisoners.

 They probably also promised them reduced punishmentsand said confessing would protect the prisoner’s friends and family.  

 Basically it soundsextremely likely to me that these particular cases didn’t actually involve longterm isolation or abuse. It sounds as though these cases met with successbecause the interrogators used non-violent tactics, to build up a relationshipwith the criminals involved. They got confessions and information by winningthe trust of the prisoners. That is realistic,sensible interrogation.

 I might be wrong,because I’m going purely from your description and there are probably otherfactors that a detailed historical analysis would bring up. And it’s always worth considering who recordedpieces of history and why when looking at anything historical.

 Hopefully this isenough to answer your question though (and help anyone who is thinking about writing interrogation in historical Russia). :)

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