#at least with andy i think they had a long rest and it was post saving [REDACTED] by the beach

[grapecaseschoices]

replaying kendis' run bc i wanted to make sure i get to recruit minthy with that new update.

and thsi is the FASTEST gale's EVER told any of my tavs his secret:

they're legit just in the makeshift prison

Gale: We've been traveling quite a while now

Kendis: I just met you like five hours ago.

Gale: I've grown to trust you with these deep dark secret.

Kendis: Don't.

[buckets-and-trees]

hii i have a request this can be for Ransom or Andy

But imagine y/n and him are in an arranged marriage. y/n is doing everything she can for him to sign the divorce paper for examples smashing his cars, serving overly salty food, cutting his expensive clothes into pieces, disrespecting his workers, and spending his money on the most useful things (but if it ransom spending money at “low class” retail shops only bc I feel like he’ll hate that), etc.

instead of giving her a divorce, he just randomly starts acting like a romantic gentleman until the night ends he punishes her 🙊😈

I have to apologize for taking so long to answer this ask... and forgive me for not using all the inspo you dropped my way, but from the MOMENT I read this, I knew it was going to fuel something very specific for I'm Your Man Andy and his entrapped fiancé reader., and so I still needed to post it as an answer to this to give some credit where it's due. So even though it took months and months to get to here, this is the result.

Title: Don't Look Too Far Characters/Pairings: soft!dark mafia Andy Barber x female!reader Word Count: 6.4k Summary: After jetting away with Andy for a week, you're back. The reality that this is going to be your life starts to settle in in very unsettling ways. And although Andy's taken so many liberties with you already, he finally crosses a line you didn't know was on the board.

Content/Warnings: violent behavior; spanking as punishment; emotional manipulation; explicit smut: nipple play, cock stroking, vaginal fingering, oral (female receiving), vaginal intercourse, unprotected sex; use of pet name (sweetheart), implied dacryphilia

Author Note: This is not a stand alone section! You can find the previous parts here.

Author Note 2: I've been sitting on this for a long time, and I'm excited to finally have it here to share with you. Some of you genuinely seem to love this awful Andy, and you'll like this chapter. Some of you kinda like him against your will and I think you'll like this chapter (cough @stargazingfangirl18 cough). Some of you loathe this man, and you might like at least a few things in this chapter (looking at @biteofcherry).

You are glad to get home from your whirlwind trip with Andy.

Everything had been stunning, luxurious, and beyond your wildest dreams in one of the places you’d been longing to go almost your entire life. Even Andy had been nearly wonderful and certainly subjected you to endless spoiling and copious amounts of exquisite sex.

He makes all of this so difficult.

The private jet touches down in the early afternoon, and Andy allows you to avoid him until dinner. One of the things he’d made clear was an expectation from day one was having dinner together. After dinner, he insists on taking you for a ride in his Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante – not his only sports car in the gargantuan garage of his mansion, and not even the only Aston Martin. Though he gave you no choice in whether or not to join him, he doesn’t force conversation, merely lets you enjoy the scenic drive, occasionally holding your hand. Once home, he takes you to bed and gets you to scream out through two orgasms for him before he lets you rest in peace.

The next morning, you awake alone. Andy only invokes a little small talk in the kitchen, lets you know he’ll be taking a few meetings, places a kiss on the top of your head while you eat breakfast at the counter, and then leaves.

It is more room than you have been used to in the mornings, and you don’t question it. You are happy to have the Saturday to yourself.

Three days after Andy so decisively put his engagement ring on your finger, he put a black card in your wallet. Today you will break it in.

You start at a hair salon you have never been able to afford but that had been on the “essential” list of prenuptial rituals for some of the wealthiest brides you’d planned nuptials for. Having the long-standing relationship with the establishment to arrange appointments for your clients meant they were willing to fit you in last minute for the late morning.

You hold yourself back from doing anything drastic. You don’t want to give Andy the satisfaction of driving you to go for a new style. You leave more than a generous tip.

You get lunch at a small sandwich shop – one of your favorites. You choose a table with a view out one of the large windows. It’s nice to be in a familiar place, even with the presence of Shep watching out for the non-existent security threats.

After lunch, you ask Mark to drive you to the plant nursery you love.

You get everything you want, leaving no plant behind if it strikes your fancy. You buy lovely pots for all of them and never look at price tags. When you tap your card for the enormous bill, it’s with a self-satisfied smirk on your face.

Next you go to the nail salon. They are busy, as it’s Saturday afternoon, just as you knew they would be, but they say they can take you in an hour or less, and since you have no demands on your time, you’re more than fine waiting.

As it’s late summer, it really is too warm for the plants to stay in your car, so you insist on sending Mark home with the plants – you know better than to try to convince Shep to go with him. The man has made it clear he will not shirk his duty as the point man for the security Andy has assigned to you. He’s ever present, and you don’t give him a hard time – he’s only doing his job. Shep doesn’t like your suggestion, however, and instead calls someone from the house to come pick up your plants so neither of the men have to leave.

Once your pedicure and manicure are complete, you check your phone while you’re escorted to the SUV. Your mom has sent you a text.

MOM: Call me when you get a chance! I want to hear all about your trip!

You frown as you slide into the backseat.

How did she know?

Since being trapped and installed into the life of the mob boss, you’ve avoided getting together with any of your friends or family, phone calls, and any deep text conversations. It’s self-isolation, nothing mandated from Andy. But what would you tell them about your new circumstance? Forced into an engagement with a charming, handsome man who just happens to be a mobster with control issues you were sure you could never escape from? Not a subject you want to get anywhere close to.

You only hesitate for another moment before you hit the call button and place the phone to your ear as Mark starts your drive home.

“Hello, dear!” your mom’s voice is clear and full of excitement.

“Hi, Mom,” you reply, smiling despite yourself.

Your heart aches for the weeks it’s been since you two last spoke. You missed her voice. You’re close with both of your parents. Your job had kept you incredibly busy over the past five years, but you usually spoke with them at least once a week and made it out to their house in the suburbs once or twice a month.

“I got your text,” you say simply, not sure how else to begin.

“Yes!” she exclaims, her voice full of enthusiasm. “I want to hear everything about your trip! But first, we have to talk about Andy!”

She can’t see it, but your jaw drops. “Andy?”

“He made us promise not to say anything until after lunch today – and I’m sorry, it’s why I haven’t texted or called all week, I wasn’t sure I couldn’t NOT bring him up, but he told us everything! How you met–”

“Well, you know I planned that signature gala for him,” you interject, somehow needing to jump in to clarify that point.

“Of course, yes, but how he was so impressed by you but waited until the event was over before saying anything, how he couldn’t help moving so fast with you. When he reached out earlier this week to set up the lunch with your father and I, he said he wanted us to meet him without you there so that we could thoroughly vet him and judge for ourselves without worrying you, make up our own minds even though he was obviously hoping we would approve since you’re engaged, but he didn’t reveal that detail until today.”

“Oh,” your mind is racing. “Andy always seems to have something up his sleeve.”

She laughs. “I can only imagine! And things certainly developed quickly!”

“Yes…” your voice is thick with hesitancy, and you know you can’t hide it from her.

“But your father and I want you to know that while you don’t need our approval, you have it. We’re surprised, but we approve. He’s so clearly smitten with you, and we know you would never jump into an engagement like this unless you were sure. We trust you.”

You don’t know what to say.

“I would have told you and Dad about the engagement,” you say. You don’t know when you would have. You were still so freshly coming to terms with its reality and ramifications…

Now telling your parents about Andy is yet another thing he has stolen from you.

“We know! We were young once, too! I can only imagine how much that man must have swept you away!” she soothes and exclaims, her voice bright and beaming through the phone.

It makes your chest ache because if this had evolved without Andy’s constant control, it might have been like this, and you would have gushed and been giddy with your mom right now in this moment.

“Why don’t we get lunch tomorrow just the two of us?” you suggest, wanting nothing more than to talk to your mom, but desperately needing to get off the phone so you can regroup, clear your thoughts, and figure out what in the world you are going to be able and willing to tell her.

“I would love that! Where do you want to go?”

You quickly sort out details that you promise to confirm over text, say your goodbyes, and then you end the call. You set the phone on the seat, drop your head back, and shut your eyes, fighting back angry tears. You wouldn’t let them fall down your cheeks.

“Your mom sounds like a lovely woman,” Shep interrupts your thoughts.

The laugh that tumbles out of your mouth is short and underscores how ridiculous all of this is. “She is. She’s not perfect, but she’s the best and has the biggest heart,” you respond with a genuine smile.

“She passed it on to you,” he says, meeting your eyes briefly in the rear-view mirror.

“You two should probably meet her tomorrow,” you offer up.

“We look forward to it,” Mark chimes in.

That’s the end of the exchange, but it dawns on you that while these two men have been assigned to your personal security and transportation, and they’re work for Andy, they have been nothing but professional, and you can see now that while they’re not warm and soft, there is a degree of care from them that has developed or that you’re only now recognizing exists that does seem to go beyond being a paycheck for them. Mark is probably close to your age, and you would guess Shep is eight or ten years older. Both men wear wedding bands on their left hands.

Having to have them assigned to you, you’re grateful it’s these two seemingly good men.

You’re sure there could be much worse.

You’re quiet the rest of the ride home, but your mind doesn’t stop racing.

“Would you like to get out at the front of the house or in the garage, ma’am?” Mark asks as you near the house. He always asks because the house is so large it makes a difference.

The corner of your mouth lifts as you decide, “The garage, please.”

The garage is a drive in basement level on the southeast corner of the house and holds two dozen cars, including the black Range Rover designated for you. You wonder if you’d ever be allowed to drive a car of your own again.

More aware now of the men, you notice there is a degree of ease that settles particularly over Shep now that you’re safe in the house again. You wonder if that’s always been the norm or if there’s a higher threat potential than usual. The shift does clue you into the reality that Andy is involved in more dangerous things than you thought. Instigator or target, you don’t know which he is, but regardless he’s swimming in dangerous waters, and you’re tied to his fate now.

This is your life.

Would you have chosen it?

Would you have?

A month ago, before the gala, you had genuinely been taken with him, even thought of him as you went to bed, alone, a hand on your breast and a toy between your legs and imagined what it would be like to have him there dealing out your pleasure instead. You hadn’t thought any serious interest being reciprocated from even the faintest possibility.

You had been so wrong.

And he’s dealt more pleasure than you had ever experienced.

More pain as well.

He was mindful of your physical limits, even if he rode them mercilessly.

He failed to comprehend the gravity of the rest of the pain he caused.

And today he reached a limit you hadn’t been expecting.

You slide out of the backseat when Shep opens your door, and instead of heading for the staircase in the corner, you move to the south wall of the garage and start opening cabinets. Shep tracks your movements but gives you space.

In the second set, you find Andy’s golf clubs.

Perfect.

You test a few of the drivers, and when you’re satisfied you’ve got the heaviest in your hands, you pull it clean out of the bag and make your way directly to the car you’ve noticed Andy favors most.

His silver Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante.

The very car he drove you around in last night.

You hold nothing back in your swings, cracking the glass with your second hit. The third doesn’t do much more damage, so you move to the metal body, and here’s where you see you will get at least some of your satisfaction, easier to create dents in the metal than breaking the windshield. You do manage to smash one of the windows. Then you round on the next car.

Neither Mark nor Shep move to stop you, but you do see Shep is on the phone briefly.

You guess that you won’t be alone for long, so you move to a third car. Andy arrives as you lay into the fourth car. You look over at him with apprehension, unsure of what his next move will be. He meets your gaze, surveys the damage you’ve done so far, looks back at you, and then takes up position leaning against the Range Rover.

You grit your teeth, then raise the club over your head and bring it down with a battle cry over the hood of the silver Porsche 911 Turbo. A fifth car bears the fire of your rage, and mid-swing on the sixth is when a someone finally grabs the other end of the iron. You scream in fury and turn to face Andy, who’s looming over you, his blue eyes dark, stormy, and his mouth a thin line.

You yank against the club, but his grip is firm. You don’t let go though, still trying to wrest it from his hands, eyes locked on his, and he uses the rod to pull you closer to him, nearly chest to heaving chest (yours, not his).

“That’s enough, sweetheart.” His fingers work yours away from the metal rod, and he clasps one of your hands in his to keep you close while - eyes on you - he tosses the club to Shep, who catches it easily.

You huff and try to pull your hand away, but he interlocks your fingers and then starts to lead you away and up the stairs. Not wanting to allow him seeing any petulance from you, you comply and follow him in silence. Adrenaline starting to taper off, you feel exhaustion seeping into your limbs, and part of you wonders if Andy knew you were reaching the end of your strength and stopped you before you would have lost steam on your own. Your stomach seethes.

Once on the main floor, you fall in step with him, not needing the staff to see anything that will make them talk. Some of them may be oblivious to why you’re here, but you know there are those who are aware at different levels that you aren’t here as the other half of a fairytale.

Your destination turns out to be the family dining room, not the formal one.

Dinner, of course.

He pulls your chair out for you, tucking it politely as you sit, and then takes his place across from you.

Sometimes you and Andy talk over dinner.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

If he’s going to be silent about today, say nothing more about your vandalism on arriving home, then you certainly are not going to stoke conversation. His eyes are on you frequently, but you ignore him.

Halfway through dinner and after taking a sip of wine, Andy finally says, “Your hair looks nice.”

You scoff. “As if you really noticed. Your men told you where we were.” You know it’s hardly changed.

Andy set his fork down. “Look at me,” he demands, tone serious, and so you comply. “They’re your men, and don’t make the mistake of thinking I will ever fail to notice a detail, especially when it comes to my wife.”

Your heart skips a beat - part fear, but part some flare in your heart that you hate reacting to his words. You raise your chin in defiance. “I’m not your wife.”

“Yet.”

Threat and promise.

As if the exquisite engagement ring whose heavy weight you were growing so used to weren’t a constant reminder.

Rather than think further on that, for the rest of the meal you consider his correction that Shep and Mark are your men when you’d said they were his. It was an interesting distinction, and you would put feelers out to ask about it later - not Andy, but maybe with the men.

When dinner is over, Andy stands and reaches for your hand. He always does. It’s unsettling because if only you had ever had a choice, the gesture would be endearing. A few nights over this month that you’ve been his, he kissed the back of your hand and left to attend to business. Some nights, he wanted to watch something with you before bedtime, or go on a drive like last night. Most often he takes you to the bedroom.

It’s the latter tonight.

You walk silently to the master suite together. Every muscle in your body is taught with tension, with the simmering rage and hurt of the day seething through your veins.

Andy closes the door and turns to face you.

“Do you want to tell me why you’re so upset before or after your punishment?”

“My - what?!” You glower and put your hands on your hips. “Why am I being punished? You let me smash two more cars before you even stopped me.”

“It’s not about the cars, it’s your refusal to talk to me about something that clearly has you worked up.”

“Worked up?” Your eyes widen and then narrow. “I’m not worked up, Andy, I’m infuriated.”

“Then tell me what crime I’ve committed.”

You scoff and turn away.

He catches you before you’ve taken two steps, gripping your upper arm. He hauls you toward the bed, takes a seat on the end of the mattress, and then lays you down over his lap. He takes both your wrists in his left hand and holds them firmly while his right hand pulls your pants down.

All of it happens so swiftly that you can’t even fight him, but you cry out when the first, harsh slap hits your bare ass. The sting is sharp and shocking. The second comes quickly after. You try to shake out of his hold, but he growls your name, tightens his grip, and the third slap comes even harder.

Four. Five. He kneads the flesh of your ass between some of the smacks. Eight. Fifteen. Twenty. Somewhere in the middle, the smacks morph into a swirl of simultaneous pain and numbness – a mirror of how you feel. You’re sobbing once he finally stops, body sagging in defeat over his lap. He lifts you carefully and lays you stomach down on the bed. You fold your arms and hide your face into the frame of them to cry and settle into softer cries, and Andy lets you have the moment of privacy.

It’s not long before you register Andy’s return though, his weight sinking onto the bed next to you. Then his hand is on your tender backside, applying a cold cream to your skin, and the relief makes you let out a shuddering sigh. He works it over you slowly, gently, methodically. By the time Andy’s finished, so are your tears. You’re still full of emotions, but they’re a swirling, complicated mess. You feel like the frustration has been spanked out of you, but you’re still hurt and angry, but now you’re also confused by this tender act. This only extends when he urges you to roll over, and sit up, and he kisses your forehead. You look up at him dolefully, he wipes away the remaining tracks of your tears. He’s shed his clothes from the day and is now bare-chested and in a pair of navy silk pajama bottoms. He proceeds to gently help you take off your shirt, your bra, and then slips you into a silk robe he’s brought from the closet.

Then Andy stands, scoops you up into his arms, and heads to the balcony of your master suite. He settles down onto the loveseat and arranges you in his lap so you’re sitting sideways over him, and he wraps his arm around you. It’s more of the confusing closeness, physical intimacy that you crave but can’t give into with him. It’s the first time you’ve been out here, and it affords a beautiful view of the darkening sky. Yet another thing you would have yearned for but don’t want like this.

“Are you ready to talk?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” you say honestly.

He puts his hand under your chin and tilts your head up to look at him. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

“But will you hear me?” You ask and turn your head away and out of his hand.

He smoothes his thumb over your jaw but - to your surprise - doesn’t force you to look at him as he had before. Instead he lets his hand drop and brings it around your waist so he’s got both arms banded around you again.

“You’ve taken so much from me, Andy. You’ve made it abundantly clear that I have no way out of this, but it’s been mounting and it came to a peak today. I had a day to myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to spend it with my friends or my parents because I can’t tell them about us! I haven’t spoken or texted any of them on more than a surface level since this all began. And I haven’t gone back to work yet, but I want to work, I need to work, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to tell them either!”

He is quiet for a moment. And then, “I knew you hadn’t told anyone, but why do you think you can’t tell them about us?”

“What am I supposed to say?” You scoff. “I can’t tell them that you threatened me with blackmail and forced me into our engagement!”

“No,” he agrees, “You can’t tell them that.”

“So, what am I supposed to tell them?”

“That you fell for my charms, that I surprised you when I declared my intentions and by how serious I was, that I made it almost impossible for you to refuse me. It’s enough of the truth.”

You frown and scrutinize his face. “Enough of the truth,” you repeat, the words tasting bitter in your mouth. “Is that how you always live your life?”

 He lifts his chin, a flash of hardness in his eyes. “I’ve done what I needed to.”

“You didn’t need to go behind my back to meet my parents!” You blurt, the hurt in your voice bleeding out despite trying to keep it in, to keep it away from him, not wanting to share something so personal.

“I want to have a good relationship with my in-laws. My mother’s dead and my father was sentenced to life in prison when I was a kid.”

“But they’re my parents,” you stress. “I should have been able to be the ones to tell them about getting married. You stole that from me.”

Andy studies your face quietly.

You drop your gaze. You won’t tell him why stealing this moment – more than anything else he’s done – was your breaking point. You doubt he would care or understand, but he also doesn’t get to know something so personal. He hasn’t earned that right.

“You love them,” he finally says.

You nod. “We’re very close.”

He falls silent again.

Finally, you give an exhausted sigh. “Why did you have to do this to us?”

“I wanted you.”

“I wanted you, too. You should have let us fall into it.”

“Fall now.”

“I can’t,” you protest, and you look up to argue further, but he’s faster, cutting you off with a kiss.

His lips are demanding, and the heat he pours into the kiss seeps into the cracks he’s been chipping away inside you, and your traitorous body leans into the moment. You’re exhausted physically and emotionally.

You don’t know how you can ever let yourself fall for him.

But as his hands soothe up and down your back, you wonder if you have to deny yourself everything for the rest of your life?

What if you fell into him for one night? Allowed yourself to let go, to forget for just a few hours? You are so tired. And your body aches. And after so much hurt, betrayal, and anger running high through your veins for so many hours now, after the shock and release from being put over his knee, maybe you just want to forget and get lost in pleasure.

Pleasure you know he was far too capable of giving.

Not only capable of giving, but master of overwhelming you with it.

After he’s stolen so much from you these last weeks, maybe you want and need to steal a night of ecstasy without any thoughts.

You shift on his lap, his arms still around you, until you’re straddling his lap. You leverage his broad shoulders to push yourself up on your knees, and you look down at him. You can’t read everything in his dark blue stormy eyes yet, but you can interpret some of what’s there. He’s intrigued and you can see the spark of hunger flaring, but there’s something else you can’t quite read.

But that doesn’t matter right now.

He doesn’t pull you in closer, but his arms hold you steady in your kneeling stance. You reach for the tie of your silk robe, and you slowly pull it loose.

“Tonight is not for you,” your voice is low, quiet, but not soft, “it’s for me.”

His eyes narrow a fraction, but as you shrug the silky garment off your shoulders, he helps let the robe fall free to the ground.

Andy’s eyes rake over your naked form, drinking in every curve and dip of your body. His hands glide up your sides, rough palms contrasting with the softness of your flesh. You shiver despite the warmth of the evening air.

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the solid muscles there. Your fingers trace the lines down to his abdomen, following the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband. You can feel the evidence of his arousal, and he groans, gripping your hips tightly, and you squeeze his length - big as the rest of him - the cock that has ruined you.

He leans in and his lips burn a trail down your neck, over your chest and find one of your breasts, nipping on the swell before licking at your aereola and taking it into his mouth. Your fingers rake into his hair, and he sucks insistently until your nipple is almost painfully hard. He releases it with a pop, then moves to give equal treatment to your other breast. You press your needy cunt down against his groin, keening for him.

You grind against him, and he can’t help but groan. In one fluid motion, he stands, lifting you with him. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist instinctively as he carries you back into the bedroom. He lays you down on the bed with surprising gentleness. He takes less than a second to push his pajama bottoms down and off before he joins you on the bed, his body covering yours.

His weight presses you into the mattress. You feel every inch of his hard body against yours, and you arch up, desperate for more contact. Andy's hand slides between your bodies, finding your slick folds. He groans when he feels how wet you are for him.

"Always so ready for me," he murmurs against your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there.

You whimper as his fingers tease your entrance, circling but not entering. You buck your hips, trying to force him inside, but he pulls back with a dark chuckle.

"Patience, sweetheart," he admonishes.

But patience isn't what you want tonight. You want to lose yourself in sensation, to forget everything but the pleasure he can give you. You reach down and grasp his thick length, guiding him to your entrance.

He forces your hand away with a tsk, and you glare at him, but he is grinning, moving down your body already. He kisses the sensitive spot on your lower stomach, the one he discovered that always makes you gasp and arch your back for him. His shoulders force your legs open to accommodate his frame as he plants himself between your thighs.

Andy's mouth descends on your core, his tongue laving your sensitive folds. You arch into him, a moan escaping your lips. His beard scratches deliciously against your inner thighs as he works you over with his skilled tongue. He alternates between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit, building your pleasure steadily.

Your hands fist in his hair, holding him against you as you rock your hips. The coil of tension in your belly winds tighter and tighter. Just as you're about to topple over the edge, Andy pulls back, denying you release.

“Andy, please,” you beg.

Andy's breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, making you shiver and whine. He places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, then another, slowly working his way back towards your center. You squirm, desperate for more contact, but his strong hands hold your hips firmly in place.

He chuckles, the vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through you. "I thought this night was for you," he teases, his beard scraping deliciously against your thigh. "Let me take care of you."

Before you can protest, his tongue laves a long, slow stroke up your slit. You cry out, your back arching off the bed. He repeats the motion, this time circling your clit with the tip of his tongue.

Your hands fist in the sheets as Andy's talented mouth works you over. He alternates between long, languid strokes and quick flicks of his tongue, never letting you settle into a rhythm. Just when you think you can't take anymore, he slides two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spot that he knows makes you see stars.

"Oh god, Andy!" you cry out, your hips bucking against his face.

He hums against you, the vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. His fingers pump in and out, matching the pace of his tongue on your clit. The dual sensations are overwhelming, and you feel yourself hurtling towards the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy murmurs against your flesh. "Let go for me."

His words are your undoing. Your orgasm crashes over you in waves, your body arching off the bed as pleasure overwhelms you. But he’s anything but finished.

Andy doesn't let up, his mouth and fingers working you through your orgasm and pushing you towards another peak. Your body trembles, oversensitive but craving more. You tug at his hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away.

"Too much," you gasp, but he ignores your weak protest.

He adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously as he continues to lap at your swollen clit. The intensity builds rapidly, and before you can catch your breath, you're tumbling over the edge again. This time, Andy pulls away, allowing you a moment to recover.

He kisses his way up your body, pausing to nip roughly at your collarbone. When he reaches your mouth, he kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into the kiss, your hands roaming over his broad back.

Andy positions himself between your thighs. You reach between your bodies and guide him to your entrance. You need him inside of you. He pushes in slowly, stretching you deliciously, filling you completely. You both groan as he slides in to the hilt, and you throw your head back. He stills there, kisses along your jaw, then gives a soft rock of his hips, rutting against you, but not thrusting.

“Move,” you plead, wrapping your legs around his waist to urge him on.

Andy leans down and claims your lips again, demanding the intimate kiss as his price, his tongue licking into your mouth to tangle with yours. He then sets a steady rhythm that has you moaning with each thrust. You buck your hips to draw him in with each stroke. The room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of pleasure.

You drag your nails down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. He hisses, then retaliates by biting down on the juncture of your neck and shoulder. The sharp pain mixed with pleasure makes you cry out.

"Harder," you demand, needing more, needing to lose yourself completely.

Andy growls, his grip on your hips tightening as he complies with your demand. He pulls almost all the way out before slamming back in, the force of his thrust pushing you up the bed. You cry out in pleasure, your nails digging into his shoulders. He sets a punishing pace, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

The headboard bangs against the wall with the force of his movements. Your walls clench around him, drawing a guttural groan from his throat.

"That's it, sweetheart," Andy grunts, his voice rough with exertion. "Take what you need from me."

You're climbing higher and higher, chasing that blissful peak. Andy snakes a hand between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. He rubs tight circles over the sensitive bud, and it's too much.

You shatter, screaming his name as waves of pleasure crash over you. Your body convulses, clenching rhythmically around him. Andy fucks you through it, prolonging your orgasm until you're a trembling mess beneath him as he chases his own release.

It takes a few more strokes, and then he’s spilling his hot seed inside of you, groaning against your neck. He collapses his weight onto you for a few moments, catching his breath. Your hands roam over his back. If you had been given the chance to choose him, to choose this life, wrapped in his arms right now you would have felt blissfully content, and so since tonight was a pass on reality, you let a satisfied sigh fall from your lips.

Andy’s lips find yours again, and you kiss until you feel floaty and boneless beneath him, head empty of all thoughts.

When the fervency of the kisses finally slows into a languid calm, Andy finally rolls off of you. He reaches for the switch to turn off the soft lights that had been on, then settles on his side, facing you. He traces lazy patterns over your form with his fingers, and you close your eyes and simply feel.

You didn’t know you had fallen into sleep except that the motion of Andy pulling you into his chest so he can spoon up behind you pulls you back into consciousness. He chuckles softly at your little mewl, and then pulls you a little closer to his warm chest and plants a kiss on your neck, just below your ear. You settle against him without complaint.

You’re exhausted, and you don’t know where he finds the resilience, but his hand snakes down to cup your cunt again, and you hum as he begins to work your clit. You have no strength left in you, but if you don’t have to work for it and Andy’s going to give it to you, you’ve learned under his hand that he always knows how to coax out one more climax from you when you think you’re already spent.

Your breath speeds up again, and you can feel the promise of pleasure pulling at your muscles, tightening them for one final release.

As he works you quickly up to that point, he speaks directly into your ear. “You said tonight was for you, not for me. It’s the lie you needed to tell yourself to let go, and that’s fine, but know that your pleasure is always pleasure for me.”

And so unfairly, your body comes for him right then, exactly as he wants you to, and you cry out before going even more limp in his arms. He presses another kiss on your neck, and you can feel his satisfied smile against your skin. You desperately wish you could break out of his arms and roll away from him, but you do not have even an ounce of strength left, and so you simply let the exhaustion overtake you and escape from him in sleep.

You’re vaguely aware of how close Andy keeps you all night. Since he typically does, it’s a surprise when you wake to an empty bed. There is only a vague suggestion of sunlight beginning to come in the windows, so you know it’s still incredibly early. The sheet is down around your waist, and you splay your arm out to where Andy should have been. The bed isn’t cold, but there’s only a hint of warmth, so you know he’s been up for a while.

As if unnervingly on cue, Andy comes in from the ensuite bathroom and hums at seeing you awake. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

He strides right up to the edge of the bed, leans down, and plants a kiss on your cheek, then rubs his hand softly over your jaw.

“Morning,” you respond.

You hate how lovely this scene should be. Your heart wants it, but your brain reminds you not to accept this contrived intimacy he pretends is real and normal.

He crosses the room and retrieves his phone, starts to put on his watch, the finishing touches before he embarks on his day.

“You can sleep in,” he says softly.

“Why are you up so early? It’s Sunday.”

“Early tee time at the country club,” he answers.

You make a vague sound of acknowledgement and pull the sheet and duvet back up to burrow in for a lazy morning of more sleep and maybe some reading.

“Enjoy lunch with your mom, by the way,” he says at the door. “I’m teeing off with your father, so I’ll persuade him to have lunch with me to give you two time as just mother and daughter.”

You suck in a sharp breath and he departs, dropping this revelation, and leaving you to seethe at his making yet another bold move, seeping steadily further into the foundations of your life.

SO

YEAH

Still with me here?

Even though I figured out the plot point for this chapter a while back, when I wrote it, I had to take a break a few times because I was upset over how some things were playing out.

I was also surprised by some of the development with her security detail of Mark and Shep. I randomly made them up really quickly during Prepare for Takeoff, but then here I learned they were going to end up being even more important than I thought (including something key for two specific future plot points).

next part: Burned Off the Haze

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The Sisters Black

A tragedy.

Hey! It's been a while since I've been active, but I updated my Marauders series on ao3 yesterday and I'm really proud of the new chapter (I think it's one of the best things I've ever written, actually); and since it's the first chapter from Narcissa's POV it works well enough as a standalone piece of writing, so I figured I'd cross-post it here, too :)

The only context you need is 1) it starts as a flashback, but present-day is Christmas Eve 1972, 2) Narcissa found out about Andromeda's relationship with Ted Tonks during August 1972, which caused a falling-out between the two of them, and 3) Narcissa still kept that relationship secret from the rest of the family. Also, there's a teensy bit of mildly violent child abuse at the end. You have been warned.

(Also also, it's long. If I could put more than one 'keep reading' cut, I would. You have once again been warned.)

•••

Narcissa Druella Black, aged four and one quarter, pearl of her mother’s eye and diamond of her family tree, had never liked the house in London. 

It certainly wasn’t as nice as her house, which was much larger, and prettier, and had an outside with lots of grass and trees and flowers, instead of dirty-looking bricks and Muggles. Her house was sunny, and warm, and filled with sparkly things—but the London house was dark, and cold, and the whole thing always smelled a bit like an attic. Except for today. Today it also smelled a bit like blood.

Cissy shuddered. She hated blood.

She wanted to leave, but that was against the rules, and anyway, Andy was holding her hand. Andy was nine, and very good at following the rules. She never would have let Cissy leave. Bella might have—but then she would have told. And then she would have laughed while Cissy got in trouble. 

They were in the drawing room on the first floor now, and they were waiting for something. Cissy couldn’t remember what. She hoped it wasn’t anything to do with the blood smell.

She heard a door close upstairs, and then footsteps, and then Uncle Or’yun came into the room. He was holding a loaf of bread in a green blanket, which Cissy thought was odd. It was even odder when Mother said it was ‘beautiful’, and asked if she could hold it. Bread wasn’t beautiful. 

‘How is she today?’ Father asked. He sounded upset. 

‘She’ll live,’ Uncle Or’yun said. Of all the adults, he always sounded the least fancy when he talked. ‘The Healer says she’ll need a few more days, still, but Wally’s a tough nut—can’t get rid of her that easily.’

He chuckled. 

‘Would you like to hold him, Narcissa?’ Mother asked, bending down to show her the bread—and then Cissy realised it wasn’t bread at all. 

It was a baby.

Cissy gasped. She loved babies. She only knew one, Siri, but he was the most perfect thing in the world; he had soft black hair and chubby little cheeks and he smelled like biscuits and it was so easy to make him laugh. She’d never been allowed to hold him, though—Mother always said that three was too young. She had to wait until she was older. But four and a quarter was definitely older than three, and it seemed Mother had recognised that fact. 

‘Oh, can I?’ she asked, rather breathlessly. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, I think so,’ Mother said, smiling. ‘Sit down on the sofa, and I’ll show you how. Andromeda, sit next to her, in case she needs help, and Bella, would you like to—?’

Bella made a face.

‘Ew. No, thank you, Mother—I’ll stay over here.’

That was alright with Cissy. Bella might scare him.

She settled herself down amongst the cushions, being careful not to let herself sink too deeply, and held out her arms. 

The baby was much warmer than she’d expected, and much heavier. It was a good weight. He looked a lot like Siri; he had less hair, and he was smaller, but when he opened his eyes they were exactly the same. Grey like the sky, or a silver ring, or a lake in wintertime. Grey like hers. It made her smile.

‘What’s his name?’ Andy asked, reaching out to stroke his hair. Cissy repositioned herself so her sister could see better.

In answer, Mother tapped the wall behind them. Cissy looked around. It was the family wall, the one that Andy said had all their names on it. Cissy would be able to read it someday, but for now, all she saw were squiggles. 

‘Regulus,’ Mother said, pointing to the newest squiggle, thread still bright with spellwork. ‘But I’ve been told we can call him Reggie, if you like.’

Reggie. That was a good name, Cissy thought—it was easier to say than Or’yun, anyway. She leaned down to kiss his head.

‘Hello, Reggie,’ she whispered. ‘You’re perfect.’

The problem with being the youngest, Cissy had decided, was you were always doomed to be last. Last to show magic, last to get married, last to be sent off to school—it simply wasn’t fair.

Sometimes, when she was feeling especially petulant, she wondered why she bothered doing anything at all if her sisters had always done it first. By the time it got to be her turn, the specialness had rubbed off entirely—and what was the point of something if it wasn’t special? 

When Peony Parkinson fell in the pool and found she could breathe, she got a new dress and a goblin-made bracelet. When Cissy blew up Bella’s broom—at six! A whole year younger than Peony!—everyone was too busy getting ready for Andy’s going-away party to even notice. 

Although, come to think of it, perhaps that was for the best. It gave her time to hide the pieces. 

‘What’ve you got there, Cissy?’ 

Cissy jumped. She’d been attempting to stuff the splinters into the back of her wardrobe, but the last one was slightly too large to fit lying down and kept falling over when she propped it up. 

‘Nothing.’

She positioned herself in front of the wardrobe, well aware of the evidence poking into her back.

‘Really?’ Andy smirked, leaning against the door frame. ‘Looks to me like a broomstick. Or like it used to be a broomstick, anyway. Not mine, I hope?’

‘It’s not a broomstick,’ Cissy lied. ‘It’s…a chair. I blew it up.’

‘Blew it up? Like with magic?’

Cissy nodded. 

‘Brilliant, Cissy!’ Andy exclaimed. ‘Can I see it? I don’t even care if it’s mine, that’s wicked!’

She’d taken to talking like a boy, lately—and an uncultured boy at that. Cissy didn’t know where she’d gotten it from. Probably a Prewett.

‘Don’t say wicked, Andy,’ she said. ‘It’s undignified.’

She’d learned ‘undignified’ only a month ago, and it was her new favourite word. It described how she felt about a great many things. 

‘You’re undignified. Let me see the broomstick.’

‘I told you, it’s not a broomstick!’

She tried to shield the contents of the wardrobe from view, but Andy was much taller, and she pushed right by. She grabbed the largest bit, which read Comet 77 near the top. 

‘Oooh, Bella’s going to kill you,’ Andy sang, holding it aloft. ‘You know she was hoping to make Chaser this year, right?’

‘Please don’t tell her! Please, Andy, just say you did it, she likes you better, and Father can buy her a new one—’

‘Right before I have to spend ten months sleeping in the room next door to her? I think not. And besides, nobody’d believe me. I haven’t made anything explode in years.’

It was true. Andy, as they were often reminded, had always had excellent control.

‘Can we say Siri did it?’ Cissy suggested, feeling desperate now. 

‘No. He’s three, and he’s a Black, so we have to look out for him. What did Bella do to you, anyway? She had to have done something.’

‘She said my bow made me look like a baby. And I’m not a baby.’

Andy grinned. ‘You are, sort of. But the bow is cute. Alright, fine—we can say Cousin Jude did it. He’s stupid enough, and I know for a fact he’s just been throwing rocks at the koi for the last hour, so he won’t have an alibi.’

‘Thank you, Andy.’

‘Anything for you, Cissy. Now let’s get our story straight before Mother comes to find us.’

Jude Rosier spent dinner in a spare bedroom, recovering from a stinging hex to the face. Cissy almost felt bad, listening to him whimper—but then she remembered how very undignified it was to throw rocks.

Neither of Cissy’s sisters attended her eleventh birthday party. 

When she was being rational—which was admittedly not very often—she understood this wasn’t entirely their fault. It was a Wednesday in April, and they had class. Never mind that Bella could Apparate, and their father and uncle were both on the board, so they definitely could’ve gotten permission, and it was right after the Easter holiday, so there was no way they had homework—no, obviously whatever stupid, juvenile shenanigans they were getting up to at school were far more important than the second-most important birthday of their little sister’s life. 

Obviously.

Cissy compensated by inviting every single pureblood under the age of eleven she could think of. Hattie Burke, Emmeline Vance, a Rowle, an Abbott, a Jareth. Marius Flint and Cousin Evan for the boys to play with—let it never be said she was a bad cousin. She even invited the Prewetts. And she hated the Prewetts.

Her cake was lemon crème, five layers high, drizzled in blueberry syrup and speckled with little sugar pearls. Her house elf Bibbin had spent all day yesterday making it, and Cissy couldn’t wait to taste it. But first, she made everyone else go to their seats so they could sing for her. 

Emmy was on her right, and she was leading. Cissy had decided to grant her this honour because she had the best voice (after Cissy herself, of course—but it was improper to lead your own ‘Happy Birthday’) and because she was the prettiest (again, after Cissy). She was doing a wonderful job—they’d gotten all the way to ‘happy birthday, dear Nar-ci-ssa’, and Cissy loved the way she said her name—when, to Cissy’s shock and horror, she was interrupted by an insolent, audacious little giggle. 

‘Siri!’ she snapped, tearing her eyes away from Emmeline’s adoring brown ones. ‘Be quiet!’

Sirius stuck his tongue out at her. It was purple, from the punch. 

‘Yes, Nar-ci-ssa.’

If Cissy hadn’t been such a perfect little lady, she might have throttled him then and there. But she couldn’t very well do that in front of her guests, and so she took a deep, steadying breath, smoothed her skirt, and turned primly back to Emmeline.

‘I’m sorry, Emmy,’ she said, offering a gracious smile. ‘But I’m afraid you’ll have to start over. My cousin lacks manners, you see.’

‘That’s alright, Narcissa,’ Emmy said. She wasn’t quite as gracious as Cissy, of course, but she was very close. ‘I’d be happy to.’

She coughed delicately, and opened her mouth again. But this time, instead of her lovely voice, all that came out was an awful, ear-splitting ‘SQUAWKKK!!!!!’

Mortified, Emmy clapped her hands to her throat. And somewhere down the table, boyish laughter rang out once more. 

Cissy was on her feet in an instant. 

‘SIRIUS ORION BLACK!’ she shrieked. ‘You put her back this INSTANT!’

‘C-can’t,’ he choked out, eyes wide with glee. ‘Wasn’t me!’

Like Cissy was fool enough to believe that. This little trick was one of Sirius’s trademarks. Just last week he’d hit Cissy herself with it, when all she’d done was tell on him for tracking mud in the halls (like some common garden gnome! The nerve!). It had taken her house elf ages to fix it, and he’d gotten off with only a single stinging hex. 

‘It was so!’

‘Wasn’t!’

‘Was!’

‘Wasn’t!’

‘WAS!’ 

All around them, her guests were staring, some in amusement and others in fear. Emmy was crying now, still making those pitiful squawking noises as she clutched at her neck, and Sirius just sat there and laughed and laughed and laughed!

‘Narcissa!’ 

There were hands on her shoulders, her mother’s hands, trying to calm her down, get her back to her seat—but Cissy was having none of it. 

How DARE he? she thought furiously. How dare he ruin her party? She should’ve never invited him! She should’ve locked him in the cellar! She should’ve snapped all his toys in two! She—she hated him!

‘Narcissa, my darling, remember your control—’

Cissy sucked in a breath, ready to scream again. 

And then the cake exploded.

The next time she saw Emmy, Cissy was walking down the corridor of the Hogwarts Express, sniffling quietly and doing her best to pretend she wasn’t. 

Andy had left her! And what was more, she’d made it into a trick! She’d stood there and smiled and nodded and promised their parents (yes of course she’d mind Cissy, they needn’t worry a bit), and then the moment they’d stepped on the train she’d ducked into a compartment with Charlotte Greengrass and Sally Lowe and slammed the door in Cissy’s face. 

Cissy hated her.

‘Hello, Narcissa!’ Emmy said. Her eyes had a captivating, joyful sheen to them that day, like the polished mahogany handle of a broom. ‘Let’s sit together!’

And so they did. 

‘Emmy, you’re so lucky not to have any sisters,’ Cissy sighed, a while later, once they had evicted a spotty girl with the most unfortunate vermillion hair from her compartment and claimed it for their own. ‘It’s a terrible curse, truly. All they do is make you feel silly, and steal your things, and take everyone’s attention for themselves, and you can never do anything to get them to notice you!’

‘I don’t know,’ Emmy said, sincerely, the same way she said everything. ‘I think I might like it. It would be nice, knowing I had someone who would always, always be there, even if we didn’t always get along. Especially if we didn’t always get along.’

Cissy thought about that. 

‘Well, if that’s what you want, you don’t need a sister. You need a best friend.’

‘A best friend?’

‘Yes,’ Cissy said, smiling. ‘Me!’

Emmy smiled back. It was the most dazzling smile in the whole wide world. 

That night, they were both Sorted into Slytherin. There was never any question: Cissy was a Black, and Emmy was going to be the finest Quidditch player in history. There was only one House that could possibly hold a pair like that. 

For two years, Cissy hardly ever spoke to either of her sisters. She had no need to; she had Emmy. They woke up together, went to class together, ate their meals together, ended the day watching the fish swim side by side. When Emmy joined the Quidditch team, Cissy went to every practice, and when Cissy was invited to balls and banquets, Emmy was there on her arm. Her sisters were long gone by then, anyway—Bella into her books and politics, Andy out to explore what else life had to offer. Their paths had diverged. Cissy still had yet to reach the fork. 

Then Andy started writing. 

‘“Dear Cissy”,’ Emmy read aloud, one morning at breakfast. ‘“I know it has been some time since our last correspondence—”’

‘Merlin, is she your sister, or your grandmother?’ laughed Hattie Burke. ‘She writes like a corpse!’

Cissy flicked her wand, and Hattie’s cup tipped over, dumping hot tea into her lap. Hattie gasped in pain and outrage. 

‘Leave us,’ Cissy said. 

Hattie went.

Cissy glared icily at her retreating back. One week, she thought to herself. One week before Hattie could be allowed back on their bench. And it was only her regrettably esteemed last name that was keeping it from being much, much longer.

Nobody interrupted Emmy. And nobody spoke ill of her family.

‘Go on,’ she said. Emmy nodded. 

‘“I know it has been some time since our last correspondence, but I wanted to say congratulations on your invitation to join the Slug Club. It was expected, I’m sure, but it deserves recognition nonetheless. I heard your friend Emmeline—”’

Emmy paused to meet Cissy’s eye. 

‘“—was invited as well. She must be very impressive! Slughorn hardly ever invites more than one third-year from a single House. Please write back soon, and let me know how it all went. Love, ACB”.’

Emmy flipped the parchment over to check the backside. 

‘That’s all there is,’ she said. ‘Short and sweet. I see you haven’t told anyone how the King Slug only invited me under duress.’

‘It wasn’t duress,’ Cissy said, hiding her half-smile behind her spoon. ‘Just a guiding hand. And you know he would have invited you next year. All I did was speed up the timeline.’

Emmy raised her goblet in a toast. ‘For which I have already expressed my undying gratitude. Are you going to write back?’

‘Perhaps. If I find I have something to say.’

But she already knew that she did. 

She had so, so much to say.

‘Do you like it?’ Cissy asked (not nervously, never nervously…but perhaps a little bit warily). ‘I know it’s a big change, but I just had to see…and the witch at the salon said this colour would compliment my features…’

‘It’s beautiful,’ Emmy reassured her, gazing up out of the crackling green fireplace in Cissy’s bedroom, propped on her elbows with her lower half missing. ‘Come closer, let me touch it! It looks so smooth and soft, like a waterfall—I didn’t know you were changing the texture, too!’

Cissy obliged, leaning down so Emmy could run her fingers through the ends of her hair. 

‘Well, I wasn’t planning on it at first,’ she explained. ‘But the salon witch said it would be more flattering this way. Curls look better dark, apparently.’

‘Mmm,’ Emmy said, still stroking her head. ‘Actually, you know whose hair this reminds me of, Cissa?’

Cissy felt her cheeks grow warm, despite the heatless flames. 

‘It wasn’t on purpose! Plenty of people have this sort of hair, not just him.’

‘I haven’t even said who I’m talking about!’

‘Oh, you don’t have to,’ Cissy sighed, leaning back against the legs of her chaise. ‘We both know.’

Lucius. Even thinking his name made her sigh again, longing bubbling up from her chest to her throat like dandelion seeds in the wind. His broad, strong shoulders…his balanced, chiseled jaw…his hands, casing hers in an alabaster shell on the dance floor at Slughorn’s Christmas party…and his hair, sleek and golden and shining like the sun as it fell around his vale-green eyes…

‘Oh, Emmy!’ Cissy cried. ‘Will he think I’m being silly? Does it look like I’m mocking him?’

Emmy reached out to place a comforting hand on her knee. ‘No, of course not! I was only teasing, Cissa, it’s really not at all like his. The colour is completely different, and yours is so much longer and finer…and besides, I doubt anything you could ever do would make that boy find you silly. He’s smitten with you, anyone can see it.’

Cissy moaned. ‘No, he’s not, he’s with Peony, he loves Peony, she’s going to grow up to be Lady Malfoy and I’ll be stuck here, in this mausoleum, with Bella, until I’m an old maid and I don’t even need any potions to make my hair this colour—’ 

‘He is not with Peony,’ Emmy said patiently. ‘Peony Parkinson is a fibber and a braggart, and you know better than to listen to a word out of her mouth. Steve says they only let her come along with them to Hogsmeade because Pierce promised their parents, and that she was so annoying they dumped her in the Three Broomsticks halfway through. And besides, he danced with you!’

‘Yes, but Peony isn’t in the Slug Club, so he couldn’t dance with her! I was only her—her substitute.’

Emmy rolled her eyes. ‘Cissa, you are nobody’s substitute. Alright? Especially not where Lucius Malfoy is concerned. I’ve got to go, I can hear my mother calling, but your hair is gorgeous, you’re gorgeous, and you will grow up to be Lady Malfoy. Merry Christmas! Floo again tomorrow!’

‘Merry Christmas! Love you, Em—’

But Emmy had already pulled her upper body back through the fireplace, and vanished. 

Cissy sighed once more. She hoped Emmy was right; Lady Narcissa Malfoy had such a nice ring to it. 

Downstairs, she heard the front door open.

‘Mother! I’m home!’

Andy! Cissy jumped to her feet, bent over her vanity to run her brush through her new platinum hair, then skipped lightly out in search of more compliments. 

‘Oooh!’ came the gratifying gasp from below. ‘Who is this veela, and what has she done with my sister?’

Cissy stood in the doorway of Andromeda’s dark bedroom, dressed in an emerald bridesmaid’s gown, a single, unfinished sheet of parchment clutched in her hand. 

Andromeda sat like a statue at her writing desk, stark white surrounding the black of her irises. 

‘Cissy, please,’ Andromeda begged, honeyed voice suddenly sickly sweet in Cissy’s ears. ‘I didn’t mean it…you can’t tell…’

Who is this stranger, Cissy thought. And what has she done with my sister?

The last dance of the Malfoys’ 1972 Christmas Eve ball was the Waltz of the Flowers, performed by an orchestra of bark-skinned wood nymphs hired all the way from Russia itself. As they played, creamy white petals drifted down from the ceiling, spiralling in the air on an imperceptible breeze to form fractal patterns of snowflakes above the whirling guests. In the centre spun Cissy, grey silk billowing out around her, Lucius in black, the whole room watching her glide through his arms like a glittering crystalline swan.

When the music finished, Lucius plucked a petal from the air, and tucked it into her braided crown. 

‘Narcissus papyraceus,’ he whispered in her ear. ‘Charmed to last a lifetime.’

Cissy sighed.

Outside, three dozen thestral-drawn carriages lined the long, swooping drive of Malfoy Manor, lit by two of Lord Abraxas’s great dragon Patronuses, twining gently in the starry sky. 

Cissy stood waiting on the front portico with Emmeline, reluctant to say goodnight. Emmeline was especially beautiful that evening. Her glossy black hair was twisted into an elegant knot at the base of her neck, just above the high buttoned collar of her mulberry dress, its straight lines drawing the eye to her slim, athletic waist. She had been utterly wasted on Corban Yaxley, who had left early to throw up his wine in the bushes. 

‘Where was your sister tonight, Cissa?’ Emmeline asked. ‘The fun one, I mean. I thought she was finished travelling.’

‘Back at the crypt, with the boys,’ Cissy replied. ‘And don’t call her that, Em, we’re still angry with her.’

‘Angry’ was, of course, not entirely accurate. But Cissy didn’t know how else to describe the feeling of walking along a high wall, hand in hand with someone she trusted completely, being reassured over and over don’t worry, I won’t let you fall, the wall is safe, and then being pushed head-first into the stinging nettles far below. 

Andromeda was lucky she had volunteered to stay behind. If she hadn’t, Cissy would have set fire to all her dresses just to make her. 

‘Alright,’ Emmeline said, cautiously. ‘And when do you think we might…not be?’

‘Never.’

Lucius returned, then, and offered her his arm. 

‘Your carriage awaits, my lady.’

If any other man had said something so horrifically trite within a mile of her hearing, Cissy would have laughed him out of England. But when Lucius said it, all she could do was sigh.

She bid farewell to Emmeline, and allowed Lucius to lead her over to the larger of her family’s two carriages, already occupied by Bellatrix and their parents. Cissy shivered as he pressed a cool, featherlight kiss to her gloved hand. 

‘Until we meet again,’ he murmured.

Cissy sighed. 

As soon as the door was shut and the carriage had started trundling away, Bellatrix leaned forward, fixing Cissy with a venomous smirk. 

‘You two,’ she said gleefully. ‘Are pathetic.’

‘Bella!’ Mother said, aghast. ‘Be respectful! Lucius Malfoy is a handsome, well-bred young man, and your sister is a very lucky—’

‘Lucius Malfoy,’ Bellatrix cut her off, curling Lucius’s name around her tongue in a mocking, sing-song voice. ‘Is a love-sick, cowardly fool who would be better off as a drawing in a little girl’s storybook than a member of my master’s new order.’

‘Well, it’s a good thing he isn’t, then,’ Cissy retorted, glaring. ‘Nobody wants to join your stupid cult. Lucius is going to be a respected, influential—’

‘Ha!’ Bellatrix shrieked. ‘Tell me, Cissy, where exactly do you think dear Lu was just now? Who do you think he was speaking to?’

‘Bellatrix,’ Father warned.

‘Me, Cissy! He was speaking to me, practically begging to be given an invitation, because he wants to “secure his future” for his “family” before he “proposes”, like the Dark Lord cares at all about the petty romantic dreams of children—’

‘Bellatrix!’ Father shouted. ‘That’s enough!’

Cissy sat there, dumbstruck. She glanced out the window, watching the diminishing spectre of Malfoy Manor shimmering merrily behind them.

‘Before he…proposes?’ she whispered, feeling suddenly lighter than air. 

A smile spread across her face.

Bellatrix looked disgusted. ‘You have flobberworms for brains.’

But Cissy was beyond caring what her nasty, bitter sister had to say. It wasn’t her fault Rodolphus Lestrange was ugly and boring and never around—she had Lucius. She turned to her father beside her.

‘Father, is this true?’ she demanded. ‘Is Lucius going to propose? To me?’

Father closed his eyes, rubbing his nose wearily. 

‘Yes, Narcissa. He has approached me—’

‘Eeeeee!’ Cissy squealed. ‘When? When is he going to—’

‘If you would let me finish!’

Cissy winced. ‘Sorry, Father.’

‘The boy has approached me to ask if he may use our New Year’s Eve gathering to declare his intentions in front of the community. It would—’

Cissy had let out another squeal of delight. 

‘—of course, have to be somewhat of a lengthy engagement, given your age—’

‘What? Oh, no, Father, that doesn’t matter, I can leave school after this year, I don’t need to sit my N.E.W.T.s—’

‘Narcissa Druella Black! If you do not stop interrupting your father, I will personally ensure you live the rest of your days as a painting in the attic! Is that clear?’

‘Yes, yes, sorry, Mother! But I truly don’t see what the problem is with my age, I don’t care about school, I’ve never cared about school—’

‘I care!’ barked Father, making Cissy jump. ‘Salazar’s sake, girl, you aren’t even of age! Just imagine the field day the Prophet would have! I had thought I had raised three daughters who could see beyond their rose-tinted spectacles long enough to consider this family’s reputation—but it appears I have only raised two!’

Yes, and I’m one of them, thought Cissy, sulkily, but she swallowed her retort.

‘Yes, Father,’ she said instead, doing her best to contain herself. Control, control, control. ‘Thank you, Father. I look forward to my engagement.’

‘And,’ Father continued. ‘An extended engagement period should give Mr Malfoy plenty of time to ingratiate himself to your Lord before the wedding, Bellatrix. I am sure he will prove himself most useful.’

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. 

‘Because, Narcissa,’ Mother added, watching her carefully. ‘Bellatrix’s organisation is not some “stupid cult”, and Lucius is wise to recognise its potential. I know you spoke out of anger, but you would do well to hold your tongue on such matters in the future.’

Cissy shrank a little in her seat. 

‘Yes, Mother.’

‘Ithink she should have to apologise,’ Bellatrix pronounced, smirking again. ‘Otherwise, who knows what I might have to report back…to who…’

‘I’m very sorry, Bellatrix,’ Cissy said quickly, a little needle of fear poking at her inflated heart. ‘I didn’t mean anything I said, and I will never say anything like it again. Never.’

Bellatrix continued smirking. 

None of them said anything else the entire rest of the carriage ride, leaving Cissy to stare out the window and dream in peace about her husband and her ring and her dress….and by the time they arrived back at the London house, their carriage right behind her aunt and uncle’s, she felt so full of happiness and love and graciousness that all she wanted to do was run inside and share her news with everyone she possibly could. 

Maybe, she thought, she needn’t always be angry at Andromeda after all.

‘Andy!’ she called, bursting through the front door into the dark entrance hall. ‘Andy, come here! I have something to tell you!’

‘Narcissa! You’ll wake the boys!’

‘Good!’

She kicked off her heels and raced up the stairs two at a time, practically flying to the third floor, where Andy was staying. Andy’s room was dark and cold—she must have been down in the library—so Cissy continued on up to find her cousins, beaming all the way. Regulus loved romantic stories, he would be thrilled!

‘Reggie!’ she said, when she found him in Sirius’s room, curled up in the foetal position on Sirius’s enormous sparkly bed. ‘Reggie, wake up! I have news!’

She shook him, but he only groaned and rolled over. Cissy huffed, and shook him harder. 

‘Reggie! Wake up!’

‘He won’t,’ said a small, mournful voice. ‘I tried.’

Cissy whirled around. 

Sirius was sitting in the window seat, hugging his knees to his chest. His face was pale orange in the glow of the street lamps, dark shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and under his eyes. His pyjamas were mud-streaked and wrinkled, and cutting through the arch of his right brow was a thin, jagged scar he had not had that morning. 

‘He won’t wake up,’ Sirius repeated, voice breaking. ‘I don’t know how to wake him up.’

Cissy felt all her excitement rush down and out through the gaping hole that had opened in her stomach. 

‘What do you mean, he won’t wake up?’ she whispered. ‘Why won’t he wake up? What did you do?’

‘I didn’t do anything! It was—’

‘What did you do?’

‘Nothing! It wasn’t me, it was—’

‘WHAT DID YOU DO?’

‘IT WAS ANDY!’ Sirius screamed, leaping to his feet, little white fists shaking at his sides, eyes like two shards of glass. And then he crumpled to the ground again, gasping, rocking back and forth.

Cissy watched him, filled with rage. 

‘Andy?’ she hissed. ‘You’re a shit liar, Sirius! Andy would never hurt Reggie! You did something! This is your fault, and I—’

She cut herself off. Reggie was in trouble. She needed control.

Cissy rushed to Reggie’s side, turning him onto his back. She felt his pulse—weak, but there. His breathing was shallow, but even, and his eyes were fluttering like moths behind their closed lids. She pulled one up, and saw that his vibrating pupils had expanded to crush his beautiful grey irises to slivers.

‘Help!’ she called. ‘Kreacher, Andy, Uncle Orion, HELP!’

Footsteps came hammering up the stairs, and then Uncle Orion was there, wand drawn, hair wild. 

‘The boys!’ he gasped. ‘What’s happened to the boys?’

Cissy tried to tell him, but she found she was suddenly sobbing, and all she could do was support Regulus’s limp neck while Uncle Orion took his face in his hands, throwing his wand to the floor.

From down below, she heard an anguished cry, like a gull’s dying call. And then she heard Bellatrix.

‘ANDROMEDA!’

Cissy’s blood ran cold. 

She shot out the door and down the stairs. 

If something happened to Andy—and we never—and I never said—

Between the first floor and the ground, she passed Bellatrix, storming upwards with her gaze burning like hot coals above her twisted, snarling mouth.

Cissy grabbed her sleeve. ‘Where’s Andy?’ 

Bellatrix shoved her aside. 

In the dining room, Cissy found her parents and her aunt. Her mother was collapsed on the floor, wilted and weeping, and Cissy knew at once she had found the source of the cry. Her father was at her mother’s side, shaking her the way Cissy had Regulus, repeating her name over and over and over. And her aunt…

Aunt Walburga was just standing there, straight-backed, staring out at the street. 

Cissy swallowed.

‘Where’s Andy?’ she begged. ‘Where’s my sister?’

In answer, Aunt Walburga raised her left arm, holding out a single sheet of parchment.

Once, when she was still a child, Cissy went walking in the woods behind her house. It was spring, and the flowers were out, and she wanted a wild primrose for her window. 

She hadn’t known what bees were, then. She had learned.

‘Andy, Andy, help, it hurts!’ she remembered sobbing, running back to the manor with her wrist red and swollen. 

Andy had laughed at her, but then she had taken Cissy’s wrist in her hands, and bent down to give the sting a kiss. 

‘There,’ she had said. ‘All better!’

And, miraculously, it had been. 

Then Andy had given her a hug, and a promise. 

‘Just come back to me if you ever get hurt again, Cissy. I’ll be here.’

That was Cissy’s first memory of magic. It was also her first memory of love. 

Now, Narcissa sat, numb, on a sofa in the London house’s drawing room. Her hair was loose, jewelled pins and flower petals discarded in a pile on the table beside her. She held in her hands a letter. She couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus enough to read it again, but she didn’t need to. She remembered.

Dear Family, At approximately 7 o’clock this evening, I walked out the front door of this house to begin my life with the man I love, and whose child I am carrying: the Muggleborn wizard Edward Tonks. I have chosen him over you. I am gone. Do not try to find me. If you do, you will regret it. I have emptied my vault at Gringotts and transferred all funds to myself and Edward’s new joint account in an overseas Muggle bank. I have not stolen anything from you, as these funds are my rightful inheritance and earnings. I hope to spend them on as many Muggle books, toys, and inventions as my daughter desires. She will never know you, and I do not want her to. I know you will not believe me when I tell you this, but I love you. I only wish you were not so blinded by your own hate and ignorance that you yourselves had forgotten how to love.  Goodbye. Andromeda Cassiopeia Black (soon to be) Tonks

A hand reached down and snatched the parchment.

‘Fuck,’ Bellatrix said, folding it in half. ‘That ungrateful’ —she tore it in two— ‘mudlicking’ —she tore it into fourths— ‘whore.’ And she tossed it into the fire. ‘We don’t need her, Cissy. We can make it like she never even existed.’

Narcissa watched the scraps shrivel up and burn.

On the wall behind her, a black hole smouldered in between Bellatrix Cygna and Narcissa Druella. Bellatrix’s wand, lying on the coffee table, was smoking gently. 

Across the room, under the window, Narcissa’s parents sat with their fingers interlaced and their heads pressed together like standing stones. Her mother had not spoken another word. Her father would only say that he was tired.

Aunt Walburga was by the fireplace. Her wand was in her hand. 

The door opened, and Uncle Orion entered, guiding a slowly-blinking Regulus by the upper back with one arm, leading Sirius by the elbow with the other. He shoved Sirius forward, and Sirius tripped over his bare, muddy feet, coming to a stop on his knees in the centre of the room. 

‘Reggie,’ Narcissa breathed, as he sat down heavily beside her. ‘Are you alright?’

Regulus didn’t answer.

‘It was a sleeping charm,’ Uncle Orion said grimly. ‘Still not sure which one—much too strong to use on a child. But he’ll be fine in a bit, he just needs time to wake up.’

Narcissa wrapped her arm around Regulus. He laid his head on her shoulder. 

Uncle Orion grabbed Sirius roughly by the elbow again, jerking him upwards. 

‘On your feet, son. Tell us what happened.’

Sirius’s eyes darted around the room. He brought one arm up to rub the other, breathing deeply. 

‘I—I did,’ he said shakily. ‘After dinner, I was in my bed, reading—reading a bit of Philomena Foxtail before I wrapped it, you know, just to see if it was good enough—and Reggie came in to find the pine paper, because I had been using it, because I knew it was his favourite—and then—and then I forgot what happened, but then I was asleep, so that must have been when Andy—when Andy—’

Sirius started gasping again, but Uncle Orion grabbed his chin and poured a sky-blue bottle of Calming Draught down his throat, which made him splutter and cough instead. 

Uncle Orion thumped his back. 

‘We need you coherent for this.’

Sirius nodded vigorously, and swallowed several times. 

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. Okay. Okay. So, Andy must have cursed us, but for some reason it didn’t hit me as hard, because I woke up right when she was leaving and my head hurt, and I realised what was happening, so I chased after her, but she got in this car—it was a yellow car, I remember that, but I don’t remember the letters, because I didn’t think, I should have thought—’

‘Coherence.’

‘—right, right, right, but I chased it, I was running, and I almost had it, but then—then I fell, and that was when I hurt myself—’

He gestured to his eyebrow.

‘—and when I got all dirty. And when I looked up, the yellow car was gone, so I couldn’t chase it anymore. So I came back, and I put some dittany on my cut, and that was when I realised Reggie wouldn’t wake up, so I just sat there and I waited for you to come home. And then you did. And Cissy found us. And that’s what happened.’

Sirius stood there, breathing deeply. At some point during his monologue, his wandering gaze had landed on Regulus, who was now sitting up straight, all lingering remnants of sleep wiped from his pale, sharp face. Narcissa tightened her grip on his shoulders.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. 

Then, swift and fluid as a striking viper, Aunt Walburga stepped forward, slashed her wand upwards, and re-opened the cut on Sirius’s brow.

‘Liar,’ she hissed.

Sirius was down in an instant, howling in pain as he clutched at his head. Narcissa flinched backwards, and Regulus shot his hand out to grab hers, spindly fingers holding on with pulverising strength. She saw her father release her mother to lean forward, watching. She heard Bellatrix gasp in delight. 

Uncle Orion yanked Sirius up again, dragging one arm away from his face. 

‘I said, on your feet.’

For the rest of her days, Narcissa would remember how glad she suddenly was that her own father—when he was angry—always, always yelled.

Aunt Walburga seized Sirius’s other wrist, forcing it to his side. Blood oozed from his wound, obscuring his eye, coursing down, down, down over his fine Black cheekbones and his soft child’s jaw, darkening the emerald of his pyjamas and landing on the intricately woven rug with a drip, drip, drip drowned out by the stuttering, aching sound of his cries. 

‘Wh-wh-why-y—’

‘The truth,’ Aunt Walburga demanded, tracing her wand slowly along the arc of his face. ‘Now.’

‘Tha-a-at w-was the t-truuaahhh!’

The end of her wand had cut him again—a tiny, scarlet dash cleaving his lower lip in two.

Narcissa looked away. 

‘Do you really expect us to believe,’ asked Uncle Orion. ‘That you were able to resist that girl’s spell, while your brother was not?’

‘I-I did-d-dn’t say—’

‘We knowyou had something to do with this!�� shrieked Aunt Walburga. ‘You have always been the problem, you, doltish, defective, deceitful, a perfect future handed to you on a platter, thrown away! You have poisoned this family, and we have allowed it for too long! NO MORE! THE TRUTH!’

‘No, no, no, I’m telling the truth, I swear—’

‘We can continue on like this all night, son, but things will be better for everyone if you—’

‘Uncle,’ came Bellatrix’s low, breathy voice. ‘Allow me.’

Narcissa kept her eyes fixed on the hand she couldn’t feel.

Long, black skirts whispered along the floor towards bare, muddy feet.

‘Narcissa,’ said Uncle Orion. ‘Take Regulus to bed.’

‘NO!’ Sirius screamed. ‘No, no! Father, don’t let her, please, PLEASE!’

Narcissa stood. 

‘NO! CISSY!’

She pulled Regulus along with her. 

‘CISSY, HELP ME!’

She wrapped her arms around him and walked quickly out of the room.

‘CISSYPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEDON’TLEAVEMEPLEASENOREGGIEPLEASEDON’TLEAVEMEALONEWITH—’

The double drawing room doors shut behind Narcissa and Regulus, choking Sirius’s pleas to a muffled whine—but they couldn't quite block Bellatrix’s high, clear, euphoric shout.

‘IMPERIO!’

Narcissa didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep moving, had to keep control, had to get to safety, safety from the truth, safety from the cackling, spitting monster wearing her sister’s skin. So she pushed on, upwards, up to the very top of that horrible old house, Regulus half-collapsed against her like a broken china doll. They reached his bedroom, and she slammed and locked the door behind them. They spent the dwindling night huddled in a corner on the floor. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them cried.

It wasn’t until the grey Christmas dawn filtered in through the windows, and the screams from below had long subsided, that Narcissa unclasped her sore, bruised hand from her cousin’s, and returned to her own room across the hall from the cursed one, and found the envelope tucked in her box of treasures. 

She only read the first line—Dear Cissy—before she took out her wand and set it alight. 

Bellatrix was right about one thing.

Fuck that selfish, lying, traitorous bitch.

•••

If you made it down here, thanks for reading all that!!! And if you liked it, the rest of the fic is here, on ao3 :)

[nevermindirah]

a public transit meet-cute

inspired by this post

"Your ticket is for this time next week," the clerk had said.

Nile could come back in a week, but the whole point of this trip is to see her dad, and his leave will be over by then. Damnit.

She's doing her best to pull herself together when she hears someone say, "Excuse me."

The man says he couldn't help overhearing and offers her the spare ticket he suddenly has because his friend ditched him. Which is so kind. Unfortunately, this train is only going as far as Frankfurt.

"Of course. Well, just in case, here's the list of the 5 places this ticket is going between here and Budapest."

"No way."

"Sorry?"

"I'm supposed to be going to Budapest."

"Would you... still like to?"

"Wow, um, yeah. Thank you." Like, wow. This is beyond lucky. And nice of this person. Whose name she doesn't know yet. "I'm Nile."

She and her rail station hero both go to shake hands and are both stymied by the fact that their hands are full of luggage. The awkward laugh they share is… nice.

"Sébastien," the man says with a cute little nod.

As they wait in the boarding line Nile asks what's bringing him to Budapest.

"Meeting friends," he says. "Minus Andy, who was supposed to be traveling with me, but her ex-wife barreled into town and swept her off her feet."

They chatter their way through the boarding line, then once they're settled in for the first leg of their trip, their conversation winds down to companionable silence. Nile spends most of the ride alternating between working on a research paper, doodling in her sketchbook, and just enjoying the view. Sébastien sits quietly next to her typing away at what from a few glances seems to be some kind of tech job.

Transferring is a little rushed but they make it onto their next train just fine. Sébastien naps for the first few hours of that leg while Nile finishes up her work. She's about to get dinner when he wakes up, so they go to the bistro car together.

Nile was lucky enough for a stranger to come by and solve her can't read the dates on train tickets problem. As the trip wears on she's finding just how much she hit the jackpot — she's having a great time hanging out with Sébastien.

If she'd booked for the right date, she would've been doing this exact same trip, only she probably would've missed her second transfer. Fortunately for her, Sébastien has a lot more experience hopping across Europe and was able to navigate them through a chaotic 7-minute layover.

The longest they stayed in one place for the rest of the trip was wherever they did their fourth transfer, a three hour and change layover that Nile spent most of asleep on Sébastien's shoulder. They'd gotten pretty comfortable with each other by then, she guessed. Or at least she had. He didn't seem to mind.

Finally they're on their fifth and final train of this ridiculous adventure. As the sun comes up, Nile gets an enormous coffee and starts to tell Sébastien all about what she and her dad have planned for their time together. She's talking a big game about what she'd like to do today as if she's not gonna crash by noon and need to head to the hotel for a long nap.

Sébastien and his friends are more play-it-by-ear about their plans, and more intent on night life than museums, but a few places are on both their lists.

"Who knows, maybe we'll run into each other," Nile says without really thinking about it.

But then Sébastien's eyes brighten. "I'd like that," he says.

Now that Nile's thinking about it, she'd like that too. A lot, actually.

"Hey, if you… if you want," Sébastien starts. "I don't know what your plans are, if you're going to stay the extra week or… If you wanted, I've got the extra seat for the return trip next Thursday."

She smiles. "Wow, thank you." With a little laugh, she adds, "Again."

"How about we exchange numbers, and you can let me know what you decide?"

Some things Nile later decides to do:

leave her dad at the hotel to enjoy an early night in while she goes to meet Sébastien and his friends at a bar

dance with Sébastien

kiss Sébastien

start calling him Seb

kiss him some more

take him up on his offer to travel back to Marseille with him

go on a real date with him, not with his friends in tow (though they're great) and not on various trains (though that was so much more fun than she could ever have imagined)

go back to his place >:)

marry him

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Does anyone want 345 GB of John Oliver? Because I have just spent the last couple of weeks gathering 345 GB of John Oliver, organizing and labeling everything with the original air date and show and episode titles/guest lists (honestly, that took more effort than just downloading it all), and then uploaded it to a Google Drive. A Google Drive where I get the first three months at a discounted rate, so it’ll definitely stay up as long as that. No promises after that, because the price will go up and I don’t think I can afford to pay monthly to maintain that. But I’ll see how it goes. If anyone does get this link and wants to keep what’s in it, definitely download it to your own hard drive because it won’t stay up indefinitely.

I’m not going to post the link publicly for obvious reasons, but if anyone wants this link, you just have to message me. Don’t be shy if we don’t know each other or talk on here or anything, I’m happy to share with anyone who wants it. All I ask is that you don’t share the link publicly either, that makes it more likely that it’ll stay up for as long as I keep paying the fee, at least.

This Google Drive has most things where John Oliver was a main writer and/or creator, and also appeared in it. And then it has a folder for all the acting roles he had after moving to America – so anything where he plays a character, rather than “as self”. And there’s a folder for just everything I could find from pre-move to America – panel show spots (TV and radio, though TV is just Mock the Week), radio stand-up spots, an article he wrote for The Times in 2003, videos I took off YouTube, that stand-up show he did with Andy Zaltzman that they released on The Bugle, that one time when he sat at a desk across the room from Armando Iannucci and read out fake news stories. Three different sitcoms where he appeared in one episode each, for one scene each. One time in 2001, he turned up on a sitcom that starred Ardal O’Hanlon as an alien superhero, but John’s only role was to come in for about one minute and ruin Hugh Dennis’ day. In one episode of a different 2001 sitcom, which starred Thick of It Minister and noted child pornography collector Chris Langham, John's entire role was to fuck with Robert Webb for one scene and then sit in the background of some others, looking at computers from the 90s. Is this something you would like to see? Then send me a message!

Here is a list of things that are not in my Google Drive:

- Any of his “as self” appearances, post-move to America, that aren’t in John Oliver’s own show (one where he was the host, or a writer like on The Daily Show). Interviews and other guest appearances on talk shows or podcasts – gathering all that up would take the rest of my life, so I haven’t bothered.

- Last Week Tonight season 11, after episode 1. As I write this, episode 1 is the only episode that’s out, so of course nothing past there is uploaded. As more episodes come out, I’ll try to add them, but I don’t want to commit to that, so I don’t know how much will go up.

-  The stuff I haven't been able to find from his pre-America days. That means the lost section of his "as self" IMDB page, as indicated by my MS Paint yellow circle:

I have all the pre-America stuff on his IMDB page that's not in that yellow circle, so please let me know if you know where to find the lost yellow circle files.

This, which I would say has now become my biggest white whale in terms of lost John Oliver media:

A Radio 4 show from May 2005 in which John Oliver and a runner-up for the Perrier Award in 1987 talk about the election for eight episodes. With writing credits to a young Andy Zaltzman, a young Mark Watson, a slightly less young but younger than he is now Robin Ince, and a guy who was in Chris Addison's sitcom and is married to Margaret Cabourn-Smith. And some people I haven't heard of. I don't hold out a lot of hope for finding a copy of this show, but obviously, if you have a lead, do let me know.

He also did a Radio 4 sitcom about an orchestra with Lucy Montgomery and some people I've never heard of in 2004. I bet it's terrible, I'd love to hear it.

Oh, and John Oliver doesn't actually appear in this but I've heard Andy Zaltzman describe some stuff that Zaltzman and Oliver wrote for Bremner, Bird and Fortune that I've never been able to find.

Other than that, I have most things. Please send me a message if you would like access to that, you can send a non-anonymous ask if you prefer that but it just can't be anonymous because then I can't reply privately.

[moonchildreads]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love❤

aaaaaaa this one's hard!!! i've only written small town so far (which you can read here lol thank you for giving me the chance to shamelessly promote my work losty 🤎) so what i'm gonna do is share my fave five chapters instead!

chapter 3 - tonight she comes - this is when we meet our girlie dot, and it was my first time writing the hellfire club all together in the same room. here's where we start to explore their dynamic as a group and it's full of foreshadowing for things that haven't happened yet 👀

chapter 10 - that's what friends are for - this chapter has everything i love: the hellfire club spending time together, the gentle will they/won't they between eddie and dot, deep conversations with chrissy, dnd, and a lot of bickering. i consider this one to be one my best chapters and it was the longest i'd written at the time! 💕

chapter 13 - you give good love - another entry into one of the chapters i'm most proud of and, again, it includes a lot of the things i love about small town: wayne being a menace, chrissy being eddie's biggest supporter, dot and eddie realising that it isn't them individually vs the world. this was their first big fight, and i had been working on this fic for around a year by the time i posted this specific chapter so it'll always be special to me. got 3/3 laughs with the sponge bit amongst my friends so that's a win to me! 🧽

chapter 15 - don't you want me - the whole sleepover at gareth's will forever be one of the bits i've enjoyed writing the most about this fic. i adore that little gremlin and so much of him (and the rest of hellfire, really) is based on friends i've had throughout the years. there is something so very pure about a platonic friendship (stobin, am i right?) and if chrissy is eddie's steve, i wanted to give dot her very own robin in gareth. this was me officially confirming that both eddie and dot are bi/queer and bonding over rocky horror, which felt important to me as a queer girlie. it's my fic and i can do what i want, lol 💗💜💙

chapter 20 - self control - the moment everyone was waiting for!!! the love confession!!! it was messy, and so uniquely them, you can't take it and give it to anyone else because it's so dot and eddie that there's just no other way around it: if it had to happen, it was going to be like this. other things i loved about this chapter were allowing nancy to dip her toes into dealing with her grief over barb (more on that later lol), the hellfire class of '86 being there for one another, and finally getting to kick andy's bitch ass down!!!! 😈

honourable mention goes to chapter 14 - missing you, which is the mother's day chapter and deals with eddie and dot's mothers who passed away when they were children. i wrote this one while actively mourning someone i'm still thinking about every day and while i will probably be dealing with this for a long time, this chapter helped me purge a lot of my inner demons and helped heal more than i thought it would. it's my love letter to my person who isn't here anymore, and i know that she'd be proud of it because one of the last conversations i got to have with her was about me writing small town, and she was so happy and interested about it.

i'm in the process of writing chapter 23 right now and hopefully i'll get it out this week if i can stop crying at work for more than five minutes lmao. again thank you losty for giving me the opportunity to talk about small town, i love this fic, and i love writing it and talking about it. 🥰

[nicascurls]

Final Family - Alice lives Au because I'm scared of what Don has done in season 3

Usual key changes for my AUs apply: Nica still has her limbs (fuck you Don), Season 1 took place 2 weeks after Cult like it was supposed to meaning Season 2 was 2018 and this then goes on to be just before Season 3 (around fall of 2019). True to the Final Family AU started by @streets-in-paradise and @losersclubisms Andy has adopted all the younger Chucky survivors and Nica still hunts Tiffany when possible but lives with them the rest of the time after rescuing Caroline.

So basically, Alice's 'death' happened not long after Chucky successfully possessed her, making her about 8 years old at the time. (I believe Curse was supposed to take place around January of 2013, I'm happy to make a post explaining why I think that if people are interested) Since we don't know Alice's birthday I'm just gonna make it the same as Summer's, so late May.

What ended up happening was as Chucky in Alice's body tried to stab the victim, they ended up being able to grab the knife and fight back, stabbing Alice in the abdomen before fleeing the scene. Chucky, afraid of dying since he didn't have his army of dolls yet, quickly made his way back to where he had been staying and transferred his soul back into a Good Guy before leaving Alice to bleed out. Alice however, managed to get up and at least out of where Chucky was staying before collapsing and someone finding her and taking her to hospital.

Long story short, Alice survives the attack and after being discharged from the hospital, is put back in foster care but she gave a different name after waking up out of fear of Chucky finding her again.

Over the next 5-6 years, Alice is sent to multiple different foster homes and during her free time secretly tries to find a way to visit Nica until the news comes out when she is 12 that Nica escaped and is assumed to be behind the murders that took place at Harrogate before her escape.

This is when Alice starts to form a reputation of 'trying to run away' from her foster homes whenever she gets an idea of where Nica and as she has worked out, Chucky and Tiffany would probably be.

Eventually, Alice settles down in a foster home since she realises that with Chucky and Tiffany being involved again, she needs a better constructed plan, and she gets along well with her current foster mother.

This takes us to fall of 2019, obviously the Final Family are all together, but Nica still believes Alice is dead. (When Chucky was possessing her he could essentially look into her memories and vice versa, and Chucky ended up showing Nica Alice's 'death' at one point during the year she was imprisoned). Chucky and Tiffany are working together again since they realise the danger they are in with the survivors together and at some point, Chucky finds out that Alice survived and they both go after her.

Now 14 year old Alice wakes up to a noise one night and creeps downstairs to find her foster mother dead and quickly flees the house, grabbing the bag she had packed for emergencies. From the research she had done over the years, she found out what had happened to Sarah back in the 80s and that Mike Norris was the one who first killed Charles Lee Ray. With that in mind she heads towards Chicago, hoping that someone in the police department may have worked with Mike and know where she could find him now.

This leads to Mike getting a call one evening from one of his old work friends, claiming that a girl has turned up asking if they knew where he was and that he saved her grandmother in the 80s but she won't tell them her name.

Mike and Karen both know the story about Alice from Nica and Andy, so quickly make their way to the station where they recognise Alice from the photo Nica has. They end up sharing their stories and tell Alice that they know where Nica is and that she is safe. Since it's late that night, Alice ends up staying with Mike and Karen for the night as they leave a message for Nica telling her they need to meet as soon as possible.

The next day, Nica gets back to them and they bring Alice over to the cabin, needless to say, it's a tearful reunion for both Alice and Nica. Andy and the kids obviously agree to Alice staying with them instantly and she ends up living at the cabin too and attends the same school as the other teens once again using her real name.

It turns out all the other kids get along great with Alice (especially Lexy since they bond over having shitty mothers and Devon through thier love of reasearch and the general fact that Devon is the most chilled of the kids) and Alice loves having so many people around since she had always wanted cousins or siblings. The twins also adore her and are very protective of her, calling her their little sister. Basically, Alice fits into the family instantly and Nica is overjoyed to have her niece back and to know she's safe.

[barclaysangel]

Sick Day

This is 100% dedicated to @streets-in-paradise as a little belated birthday present (feliz cumpleaños, amiga!)!

Lucy, remember how I was writing a Barclay-Wheeler oneshot where Andy was sick and Jake and Junior were taking care of him BACK IN JULY (I'm awful, I know)? Well, since I realized too late it was your birthday yesterday, I decided I was going to buckle down and finish the oneshot. I spent all night and this morning writing it and I finally finished this 3.3K oneshot!

I reeeeeeally hope you like it, sweetface, because I started writing this when I was still weary of my Andy skills so I hope I did him justice by writing in his POV. Also...I think this is the first Barclay-Wheeler written thing that I've ever posted. So...congrats to me I guess!

I hope whoever also reads this enjoys it, please comment what you think of it! Comments help fuel me and make me feel motivated!

Thank you and enjoy :)

As soon as Andy started waking up, he was aware of his head pounding. 

He was confused as to why he had a huge headache that felt like someone was trying to drill a hole into his brain. But it wasn’t until he became more aware of his scratchy throat when it finally occurred to him what was going on. 

Andy was sick. 

Great. That’s exactly what he needed. 

He had spent nearly two weeks taking care of the boys when they got sick. First Junior and it didn’t take long for him to pass his illness onto Jake since the latter had been determined to also help out his cousin due to Junior not dealing with being sick well. 

They were both doing better now, Junior being completely healthy and Jake still having the occasional cough, but Andy actually thought that he managed to avoid getting sick also. 

That was proven to be entirely false when he woke up with a headache and sore throat. 

Fuck, this was going to suck. 

Andy groaned, the sound not agreeing with his throat and caused him to cough into his fist. Jesus, when was the last time he had been sick? He could barely even remember, but he knew that he took care of himself well enough. Except now he had to take care of the boys and himself. 

It would be fine. He could pretend to be healthy, it wouldn’t be that difficult. He needed to focus on Jake and Junior, he could worry about himself later.

It was proving to be more difficult than he thought, physically pulling his body off of bed when every part of him wanted to just lie down and stay there for the rest of the week. What got Andy to keep going and move his legs out the bedroom door was the thought of having to take care of his boys. 

He definitely didn’t want them to try and cook or anything. Especially Junior. Things tended to be very flammable whenever he was too close to the stove. 

At least Jake was a better cook, but he still wanted to be the one to make meals for them anyway. 

Andy all but stumbled into the kitchen, one hand on his head and his eyes just managing to stay open. The boys weren’t there yet, thankfully. He could still hear them bickering in one of their rooms, just like they do every morning. 

He was pretty sure they got along better when they were fighting than when they were actually being nice to each other. 

Andy leaned his forehead against the refrigerator doors, accepting as much of the coldness as he could against his burning head and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, probably for a minute or maybe even ten minutes, but he pulled himself away and opened his eyes once he heard the familiar footsteps from the chaotic teenagers that he took in. 

“Good morning.” Jake said as he walked into the kitchen, Junior coming in with a “morning, Andy” as well. 

“Mornin’.” Andy responded and tried his hardest not to wince from how scratchy his voice sounded and felt, hoping that it wasn’t noticeable. 

“Dude, why do you sound like how Kyle’s gonna sound like in ten years if she keeps smoking?” Junior asked and yelped quietly under his breath, presumably from Jake nudging his elbow against his cousin, a habit he got into if he was sure that Junior’s words were a little too blunt and mean. 

Apparently, his new “smoker voice” was more noticeable than he realized. 

“I just woke up, kid, not everyone sounds great when they first wake up.” Andy told him, keeping his back turned to the boys as he opened the fridge door to grab the milk and eggs so he could make pancakes, something he did every Saturday. 

“I mean, you do sound…off.” Jake chimed in this time and even though he wasn’t looking at the kids, Andy knew could practically feel them staring at him. 

“I don’t sound off, this is how I normally sound.” He insisted, swallowing a few times in a pitiful attempt to soothe his sore throat, which felt like he was swallowing glass, as he went over to one of the cabinets and grabbed a bowl. 

“We know how you usually sound, short stack. You having a gravelly smoker voice is definitely new.” Junior said, somehow not earning an elbow nudge from Jake. 

Andy turned his head to shoot Junior a glare for the short comment. The glare must’ve looked pathetic because both of the teenager’s eyebrows scrunched together in concern so he quickly turned his attention back to the pancakes he was trying to make. 

“Are you okay, Andy?” Jake asked him, a worried tone in his voice. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” He reassured Jake in a—hopefully—convincing manner. He wasn’t quite sure if it worked, but he hoped so. 

Andy closed his eyes in an attempt calm the raging headache that was growing by the minute. He didn’t even bother to open his eyes when he cracked one of the eggs. 

“Uh…Andy?” 

“Hm?” 

“You just cracked the egg into the sink…the bowl is behind you.”

Andy opened his eyes and sure enough, he realized that he had indeed cracked the egg into the sink, judging by the almost sickening yellow yolk that was staring up at him. He rubbed his forehead with one hand and dropped the egg shells into the sink, grabbing another egg and turning around to face the bowl. 

“Mhm, yeah. I knew that. Was just…testing to see if the egg was still good.” He lied, trying once again to sound convincing but knew that the boys weren’t buying it. 

“Andy, you’re an even shittier liar than Jake and that’s definitely saying something.” Junior bluntly told him, which prompted another elbow to his ribs from Jake and he shot his cousin a deadly glare. Then Junior turned his attention back to the adult, squinting for a moment before his eyes widened with realization. “Oh, shit…you’re sick, aren’t you?”

“No, ‘m not sick.” Andy denied and looked away from Junior’s piercing stare. 

Then his body decided to betray him, quickly burying his face into the crook of his elbow as he sneezed harshly three times in a row. Andy sneezed so hard he nearly doubled over, his back aching in the process, but he’d die before admitting that and dealing with another joke about him being old from the boys. 

No one said anything for a moment before Jake broke the silence. “Yeah, you’re definitely sick.” 

Junior suddenly nudged his cousin’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Good job, Jake, you gave Andy your disease.” 

Jake gave Junior an incredulous look. “I gave him my disease? You were sick first and then got me sick, you jackass!” 

“Enough!” Andy stopped the fight that was bound to break out between the cousins by raising his voice. It succeeded, but the adult nearly winced again from the headache his own damn voice gave him. He still swallowed what was left of his pride, quickly wiping his nose on his sleeve before straightening up. “I’m not sick. I’m just tired. I’m fine.” 

For a moment, the boys didn’t look convinced at all. They just stared at him, eyebrows raised until Junior sighed and shrugged his shoulders. “You’re right. I’m sure you aren’t sick. You probably just didn’t get enough sleep.” He said in such a casual tone that it made Andy raise an eyebrow this time. 

“Uh huh…yeah.” 

“Right,” Junior took a few steps closer until they were only a couple feet apart, “that’s exactly what’s going on, it makes total sense.” He then put his hand on Andy’s cheek, patting it a couple times almost goodheartedly before whirling his head toward Jake. “He has a fever, definitely sick.” 

Oh, that little shit! Andy cursed mentally. 

He should’ve known that the most mischievous of the two kids he adopted had a trick up his sleeve, he always did. 

“I knew it was only a matter of time before he got sick.” Jake said while standing up, shaking his head and observing the grown man more. 

“Kids, I am fine!“ Andy tried to convince them but his shitty lies fell upon deaf ears, Junior’s hand moving to the back of his shoulder and gently pushing him out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah right, you seriously are a worse liar than Jake.” Junior scoffed and ignored his cousin’s “hey!” at the slight jab toward him while the latter grabbed his sleeve and joined in on tugging the adult toward his bedroom. 

Andy knew that the little shits weren’t going to be listening to him at this point, so he just gave up. At least, that’s what he told himself. He really was exhausted and every part of him was screaming to just lie down and fall asleep. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hold his ground and stop the boys from dragging him back to his bedroom. Andy knew that it wouldn’t work to begin with—damn those boys for being already taller than he was—so he continued stumbling over his own feet until they finally got to his room. 

“Okay, get in bed, Andy.” Jake said stubbornly, lightly pushing him onto his bed. 

Andy sat on the bed before adjusting himself to start lying down, having almost no energy to continue arguing with the boys. The cousins got to work pulling the blankets up to Andy’s shoulders, finally getting the adult to protest. 

“You-you two really don’t need to do all this—” 

“Andy, I will punch your lights out to make sure you rest if I have to. Don’t test me.” Junior threatened the man while practically tucking him in, Jake finally not nudging his cousin despite his almost terrifying warning. 

It seemed as if, for once, they were both in agreement. 

Great, he was being bullied by two teenagers. 

Andy opened his mouth to speak but instead began coughing severely into his fist. Each painful sounding cough was enough to make his lungs ache and his back to feel like he was being stabbed. He wasn’t sure how long he was coughing for, not until he was able to feel Junior’s hand patting his back to ease his coughing and then Jake pressing a glass of water to his hands so he could drink it. 

When did he get a glass of water? 

Andy’s coughs began to slow down so he was able to drink his water, carefully sipping it. The cool liquid helped refresh his burning esophagus but still brought a painful feeling in the back of his throat. However, it was enough for his coughs to subside, barely being able to keep his eyes open anymore. 

“Just go to sleep, Andy. You took care of us, now it’s our turn to take care of you.” Jake said softly now, to probably not aggravate Andy’s headache, taking the glass away and putting it on the nightstand beside him. 

He finally allowed himself to rest his head on his pillow, almost melting from the feeling. His body started to relax, even though he was shivering from his fever, and despite every part of him wanting to argue, to insist that he was fine and that he didn’t need to be taken care of by his own kids just because he was sick, he didn’t anymore. Andy was just too fucking exhausted at this point. 

Just before he could drift off, he heard Junior whisper a “G’night, mom” before he finally succumbed to the sleep he so desperately needed. 

At some point, Andy woke up. He wasn’t sure how long he was out, but the sun was no longer glaring through his window. In fact, the room was almost dark now. 

He realized that there was a damp rag on his forehead, reaching one hand up to pull it aside and drop it beside himself on the bed. His throat was still sore, body aching, and head pounding, but he had to admit, he did feel a bit better. He was no longer shaking with the chills, thankfully, the fever must’ve broken. 

Andy tried to lift his head to see what time it was on the clock before Junior suddenly poked his head into the bedroom and grinned. 

“Oh good, you’re awake!” He said enthusiastically before calling out to his cousin. “Jake! Sleeping Beauty has risen from his slumber!” 

The adult rolled his eyes at the very inaccurate comparison while Jake quickly rushed into the room, both cousins now almost awkwardly yet worryingly hovering over him. 

Jesus, was he like this when the boys were sick a couple weeks ago? 

“How long have I been out?” Andy asked, his voice still grating but not as painful as before. 

The teens paused before Jake smiled delicately. “…nine hours.” 

Andy’s eyes widened. “Nine hours—?!” He started to exclaim before coughing. Just like before, nine hours ago apparently, Jake helped him drink the now completely full glass of water until he was able to stop his coughing fit. 

“I mean, it wasn’t consecutive,” Junior ended up correcting with his hands on his hips, “you kept going in and out of consciousness.” 

“I was?” 

“You don’t remember?” Jake asked and the adult shook his head. “Huh…that kind of makes sense. You were really out of it. Delirious and shit, mumbling too.” 

“Try enunciating next time, so we could further understand the ramblings of a mad man.” Junior threw in with a teasing smile, ignoring the glare from his cousin. 

Andy rubbed a hand over his face, trying to process all of this. “Yeah, I…don’t remember anything. Last thing I remember was you two putting me to bed. And that was it.” 

“I mean, I guess it’s not that surprising. You did have a really bad fever,” Jake said before reaching out and placing the back of his hand to Andy’s forehead, then pulling it away, “Which has gone down now, thank god.” 

“That’s definitely good because your fever did get pretty bad. We were worried that we were gonna have to drag your ass to your car and then I’d have to personally drive you to the hospital. Or worse,” Junior paused, most likely for dramatic effect, “call Aunt Kyle.” 

“Thank you for not doing either of those things.” Andy truly was grateful that the boys were able to lower his fever so neither of those options happened. He sure as hell didn’t trust Junior behind the wheel, the kid enjoyed speed far too much and then all three of them would be in the hospital. 

As for Kyle…he’d rather not deal with her yelling about how he should’ve called her because he was sick. She’d be far more overprotective over him than the boys were being, so he would worry about her later. 

Jake moved to sit down beside Andy on the bed, Junior doing the same on Andy’s opposite side and leaned his back against the wall. “Are you feeling better now, Andy?” Jake asked, his eyes still laced with concern. 

Andy looked at the boys and nodded slightly, cracking a small smile. “Yeah, I’m doing better. Thanks,” he paused for a moment, “you two really didn’t need to take care of me like this, I would’ve been fine on my own.” 

“That’s it, I’m gonna punch him.” 

“No, Junior, you’ll make his headache worse.” 

Thank you Jake for assuring that Junior won’t punch me just because of my headache. Andy thought to himself sarcastically. 

“Look, all I’m just saying is…” the man thought about the correct way to phrase it so he wouldn’t earn a punch from one of his kids, who certainly looked eager to deliver at the moment, “I’m the adult. You two are the children—I know you’re teenagers, don’t give me that look, just roll with me here. I’m supposed to take care of you. Not the other way around.” 

“But you always take care of us,” Junior reminded him, “every single day. Especially when we were sick. Did your brain get fried so much from your fever that you don’t remember?” The last comment finally attained a nudge to his side by Jake’s elbow, leaving Junior to scowl at his cousin. 

“Look, what Junior was trying to say before his asshole alert went off was that it isn’t a crime for us to take care of you. You always take care of us and this time, it was our turn to take care of you. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Jake translated for his cousin as Junior nodded along in agreement. 

Andy supposed, if he thought about it, the boys were right. Everyday, his sole focus was on taking care of the kids. When they got sick, those feelings were enhanced. He rubbed Junior’s back when he coughed so hard that he threw up, he lifted Jake’s head so he could drink water because he was too physically drained to do it on his own. 

From the moment he had the Wheeler cousins, his goal was set to being there for and helping them. Their previous fathers certainly never understood the role that Andy took on, so he made sure to give all the love and support that he had to the boys. 

So maybe, it would be okay to let Jake and Junior take care of him while he’s sick. 

Just this once. 

“Thank you, you little shits.” Andy said to them with a fond smile. 

“You’re welcome, mom.” The cousins said simultaneously, something that he was sure that they picked up from Glen and Glenda. 

Great, he had to deal with another set of twins. Except they weren’t actually twins, just cousins that were born a few weeks apart. 

“You hungry?” Jake asked. “I have chicken soup on the stove, I just need to heat it up since I wasn’t sure when you’d wake up.” 

Andy nodded with a smile. “Yeah, I’m kind of hungry, thanks.” He said as he tried to sit up. Both boys got into action in helping him, propping a few pillows behind him so he could comfortably lean back against the wall. 

The adult knew that the kids picked that up from him, remembering clearly that this was how he would sit them up so they could eat when they were sick. 

Jake left the room to get started on the soup and Junior scooted closer to Andy, resting his head on his shoulder. “You two have eaten, right?” Andy asked, already growing concerned at the mere thought that the boys became so focused on taking care of him that they forgot to feed themselves. 

“Yeah, yeah, we ate.” Junior quickly reassured him. “We’re running on Jake’s pancakes and last night’s leftover lasagna. His pancakes aren’t quite as good as yours, but they made do. And we ate an entire bag of party size Fritos chips.” Junior paused, now bashful. “Okay, I lied, I ate the entire huge ass bag of chips, not Jake.” 

“Good. I’m glad you’re well fed, kiddo.” Andy said quickly, playfully nudging his cheek to the top of the teenager’s head, hearing his kid giggle. 

He knew that Junior still struggled with food at times and couldn’t care less that he ate an entire party size bag full of chips. The kids could eat as much as they wanted, they deserved it. 

Besides, Andy bought those chips knowing how much Junior loved them. It was about time that he went to town on them. 

They sat there in peaceful silence for a few minutes, the silence occasionally being interrupted by the adult coughing, before Jake came in with the soup. The boys started conversing while Andy slowly ate, listening to them joke around and squabble with each other with a smile. 

Maybe being sick and having my sons around isn’t so bad. He thought to himself as he watched Jake and Junior. 

After a moment of watching them endearingly, Andy smiled more. 

Yeah, this really wasn’t so bad after all.

[mugenmine]

I posted 226 times in 2022

That's 22 more posts than 2021!

24 posts created (11%)

202 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fuckyeahfightlock

@destinationtoast

@buckysbaron

@luthienebonyx

@pennypaperbrain

I tagged 210 of my posts in 2022

Only 7% of my posts had no tags

#stucky - 30 posts

#writing - 28 posts

#steve rogers - 27 posts

#mwt - 24 posts

#bucky barnes - 24 posts

#true facts - 23 posts

#mugen writes things - 19 posts

#captain america - 12 posts

#what remains - 10 posts

#you may never see - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 47 characters

#and came up with a wee 2-chapter one after that

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

10 notes - Posted June 16, 2022

#4

I’ve got 50k words between two WIPs now. Six chapters deep into a long fic and two chapters into a 5-chapter novella. This time last year and for many years before that I had zero words. Things are definitely looking up. Not sure how long this writing bout will last this time, but enjoying it while it’s here.

12 notes - Posted April 14, 2022

#3

Title: You May Never See - Chapter 1 Author: mugenmine Fandom: Captain America (MCU) Pairing: Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes Rating: NC-17/Explicit Chapters: 1/4 Wordcount: @ 5000 Contains: Pre-War II Steve and Bucky, Angst, Pining (tags will grow with each chapter)

Summary: His longing for Bucky flared up like summer allergies, some years the symptoms were relentless and painful in their severity, lasting weeks before they worked through his body and he could breathe again. Other times the feelings would be fleeting and easier to swallow back down. He didn’t know why this bout had lasted longer than all the rest, why thoughts of Bucky inevitably drifted to what his mouth would taste like, or what would happen if a touch was allowed to linger. This fever had been raging for more than a month now, and he just wanted it to fucking break.

* * *

So very weird to be writing/posting/putting stories out there again! New fandom, new pairing, new words. (same kinks, yo!) The story is complete and I’ll be posting it weekly. Thanks so much for reading!

15 notes - Posted January 29, 2022

#2

10 Things I Learned From my Duran Duran Fanfic

I unearthed my Duran Duran fan fic from the closet the other night. I've been contemplating posting it on AO3 but after cringing/laughing hysterically for an hour I think it might just be better off staying in the vault. But I did learn a few things...

I was 12 when I wrote it. For some reason I thought I was older.

Prince shows up in the third act.

This might have been my first bondage fic... (Hello, Nick Rhodes!)

I wrote the entire fic in first person starring ME! (*facepalm*)

I paired my least favorite friend with Andy Taylor...

Everyone in England drives an Aston Martin.

Guess overalls are all the rage.

All of my friends grew up to be high fashion models or private investigators...

Halfway through the story everyone goes ice skating.

Somehow we all end up at Studio 54.

It clocks in at 115 handwritten pages. Yikes! Sadly I never gave the story a title.

***

I was digging though my old LJ and found this entry and it still cracks me up. I'm still seriously thinking about transcribing this pencil-on-notebook paper disaster and posting it on Ao3 and just backdating it from the '80s... I'd have to change the names of all my school pals tho.

25 notes - Posted February 7, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

You May Never See - mugenmine - complete

Title: You May Never See - complete Author: mugenmine Fandom: Captain America (MCU) Pairing: Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes Rating: NC-17/Explicit Chapters: 4/4 Wordcount: @18,500 Contains: Pre-War II Steve and Bucky, Angst, Pining, Body Worship, First Time, Bondage, Friends to Lovers, Pre-serum Steve, and more...

Summary: Of all the ways he’d imagined his first time with Bucky—and he’d imagined many—sitting tied up on his kitchen table in his underwear, while Bucky dug under the sink for the first-aid kit had never been one of them.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36746308/

************

And it's done! I guess I'm officially writing for a new fandom now, I've got the receipts! This is the first story in a series that I don't have a title for yet. I'm excited to start the next one...

36 notes - Posted February 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[babyjakes]

and you know, and so do i.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | andy calls you in for office hours, just as he’s done almost every week of the semester. you both know your grade in his class is the least of the worries that he hopes to address.

pairing | professor!andy barber x student!reader

warnings | ed themes mentioned: implied restrictive subtype, no real symptom talk/mostly just body experience descriptions (weak, dizzy, spaced out, confused), resistance to help andisolation, suggestive that reader is severely ill. angst; this is not a fic with a happy ending, this is not a fic headed in a happy direction. soft!very concerned!andy.

word count | 1,179

an | hi friends. this is one of those fics that i don’t really know how to write an introduction for. i think this was mostly written as a way for me to support myself when i wasn’t getting the support i needed. please heed all the warnings given; the topic of ed’s is very fragile, i know, and i want you all to be safe and make choices that’ll be healthiest for you. i wrote this originally after rediscovering a song i used to listen to a lot back in high school when i was in the worst of my anorexia; listening to it again after so long brought back a lot of memories, one in particular of one of the last times i was brought into the er. i was deteriorating heavily and i remember just lying there and staring at the ceiling, listening to this song and feeling like i was back at my childhood home, sitting by the open windows listening to the neighbors’ kids playing outside. idk, it’s a very vivid memory for me. here’s a link to the song (getting lighter, goldmund) for anyone who’s interested.

Sitting in your regular brown armchair, the worn vintage-patterned fabric barely bending beneath your shallow frame, your eyelids droop like flower petals heavy with rain; you could not focus on the man in front of you if your life depended on it.

Standing with his back to you, broad shoulders filling out the deep navy seams of his university sweatshirt, Professor Barber tends to the whistling kettle on the stove, carefully killing the heat as he asks his question again, “Y/n, are you sure you wouldn’t like a cup of tea?”

Eyes lazily resting on some point just beyond the tip of your own nose, you hum some sort of confirmation or agreement, though it isn’t enough for him to understand until he turns around briefly to look at you, his gaze softening in worry as he watches you watch… nothing. Pouring himself a mug, he adds a tea bag and joins you in taking a seat, picking his usual spot on the green sofa across the narrow office from you. Setting his drink down on the coffee table beside him, the man sets his hands in his lap, an expectant silence falling over the room as he looks you over carefully.

And you, are entirely somewhere else. Chapped bottom lip parted ever so slightly from the top, you draw in a shaky breath as something warm hits your cheek; you think it could be a tear before you realize the window is open right beside you, a gentle ray of sun shining in and landing just below your eyes. Closing them for a moment, you stop to listen, the distant sounds of blowing grass and voices from afar filling your chest with heaviness. The whole world feels so light, like you could step right off the ground and float up into the sky on the breeze. For a moment, just a moment, you begin to forget where you are. Everything sounds and smells like home; you wonder if the faint smell of tea leaves in the air is coming from your mother’s favorite olive-green mug.

Voice trembling, you manage to say, “It’s beautiful out.”

“It is,” Andy’s soft voice agrees through the darkness. Andy, he had told you to call him that. Sometime, weeks ago. You never knew why he kept calling you in to see him every Thursday afternoon, and he never offered any reason, and yet- you continued to show up, week after week. Or maybe, maybe you did know. Maybe you do. Maybe even, you know, that he knows.

“It feels like summer,” you admit, your own voice barely recognizable to you as you do your best to fight back tears that have for some reason built up; maybe it was the tenderness of his voice. Maybe it’s the familiar smell of the spring air. You realize that you don’t want to be here; this is a frightening place for you, sitting in the warmth of the early May sun. Your hands squeeze the armrests of the chair as you do your best to remind yourself of your surroundings, but you can’t help but feel like maybe you’ve fallen asleep; maybe you’re dreaming of home. Maybe you’ll never see home again.

“Do you like the summertime, y/n?” Andy asks, watching patiently as you continue to sit with your eyes fully closed, nostrils flaring slightly as you struggle to take in a breath that feels big enough.

Head still heavy with thought, you mumble an, “I don’t know.” I’d like to live to see another one, you think to yourself, but as always, the words just can’t seem to find their way past your lips.

Straightening himself a bit in his seat, Andy nods though you can’t see him, clearing his throat briefly before saying your name once more, “Y/n.” Your eyes open, gaze landing on the man as he sits just a handful of feet away from you, and the look on his face is something you’re not ready for; it’s full of concern. You can’t tell if that’s everything you’ve ever wanted, or everything you’ve been trying to avoid. “Do you know why I assign you here, every week?”

Breaking away from his softened gaze, you try to shrug off the question. “I am barely passing your course,” you admit.

Andy nods, though you somehow already know that’s not where he’s headed. “Of course. But you know that’s not why I ask you to come. That’s not why you do come, is it?”

Heaviness sinks into the tips of your fingers as you blink at his question; part of you knows there’s no point in answering. Though still, you find yourself confirming his guess, “No, it’s not.”

He hums with a nod, repeating your name once more. “Y/n…”

“I can stop coming,” you say quietly, everything about you: your voice, your body, your presence- suddenly feeling incredibly and dangerously small as your head drops in shame. “I-I can stop. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Shaking his head, Andy’s tone has softened as he tells you, “I hope you won’t stop. I hope you keep coming- I hope you’ll talk to me, y/n. I hope one of these days, one of these afternoons, you finally will.”

Swallowing down a lump in your throat, you can’t bring yourself to look at him again. You know you should get up, you should walk out before this can go any further, but there’s something too heavy about the sunlight on your face, the thick balminess of the air that keeps you trapped in your seat as you blink back more tears. You are stuck; there is no way out for you. And you think that you’ve probably been that way for a long, long time.

“I don’t want to talk,” though you’re expecting your voice to be full of bitterness, you’re surprised to find it’s more than anything else, just weak. Weary.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Andy acknowledges understandingly. “But don’t you think you should?”

“I-I can’t,” you say, eyes struggling up to meet his waiting gaze. “I just… I can’t.”

Smiling gently in defeat, Andy nods. “Well, I can’t force you, and I wouldn’t want to. But I will keep inviting you back, just in case,” he tells you.

As he shifts directions in the conversation, beginning to go on about something that happened the other day in class, the heaviness in your chest rots and blisters into a burning pain. Eyes clouding over as the man’s voice floats up and away, out of reach for your ears, something collapses a little inside you. Pressing your palms into the wood of the chair’s frame, you realize this’ll be the last time you sit here in this spot; next week when youre invitation arrives, you’ll ignore it. You have to.

Eyes drawing to a close once more, you inhale deeply, savoring the sounds of the world through the window as they grace your ears. You’re not coming back, and you won’t hear them again. And a part of you knows you won’t make it home for the summer.

[mprosperossprite]

Since my post yesterday about Nile Freeman’s erasure from The Old Guard fandom, I’ve noticed several non-American folks respond that they want to explore Nile more but feel like they’re missing an understanding of a key piece of Nile’s backstory that it seems like American folks understand without talking about it: that Nile is not just from Chicago, but she’s from The South Side of Chicago.

I’m not an expert, and, once again, I’m a white person. But my best friend is a middle school English teacher who’s taught A Raisin in the Sun, Lorraine Hansberry’s groundbreaking 1956 play about the Youngers, a Black family attempting to achieve the American dream by moving from their apartment on the South Side of Chicago into a house in a white neighborhood. On the first day of the unit, before they even touch the play, she shows her students these two maps.

The first is from 1934. Though the language used to refer to Black people is antiquated (please never use the word this map uses), the data is interesting. It shows each census tract in the Chicago area, shaded based upon what percentage of the population in the tract is Black. The darker the shading, the higher the concentration of Black people living there. Note that there are a series of tracts in the southern part of the map that are shaded to indicate that Black people consist of 80% to 99% of the population in those areas. Also note that most of the rest of the tracts on the map have almost no shading.

So what does this map tell us?

It tells us the Black people in Chicago were concentrated in certain neighborhoods, to such an extreme extent that there are almost no other groups of people in those neighborhoods and almost no Black people anywhere else.

This was intentional.

The US Federal Government engaged in a practice called red-lining, wherein the Federal Housing Authority designated some neighborhoods as “dangerous” and “undesirable” and made it almost impossible to get a home loan in those areas because the agency would not insure mortgages. Richard Rothstein, whose book The Color of Law, interrogates the ongoing harm and effect of red-lining calls this a “state-sponsored system of segregation.” Yes, state-sponsored segregation happened in the North, too.

There were other contributing factors that created this intense housing segregation in Chicago and other northern cities, including restrictive covenants that legally prevented homeowners in certain neighborhoods from selling their homes to non-white, non-protestant people, but the result of all these policies is that during periods of so called “American prosperity,” wherein white Americans were owning homes at higher rates than ever, Black Americans were excluded. The result was neighborhoods like the South Side of Chicago, intensely Black and intentionally impoverished.

But that was almost 100 years ago. Red-lining and restrictive covenants and other housing discrimination practices have now been ruled unconstitutional.

So let’s look at another map, this one from the New York Times’ 2015 project Mapping Segregation. Using the 2010 Census Data, each dot in the map below represents 500 people. The different colored dots represent the different racial categories used by the Census. Notice how in the southern part of the map, there is a wedge that consists almost entirely of the blue dots representing Black people. Notice also, how the green dots, representing white people, are intensely concentrated on the northern shoreline of the city, as well as on the outskirts, in the suburbs.

What I hope you notice about these two maps is that they are essentially the same. They tell the same story.

The end of state-sanctioned discrimination and ghettoization does not reverse the harm and inequality caused by these practices.

All this is interesting, but what does this mean for Nile specifically?

It means she grew up in a segregated neighborhood, in an intensely segregated city.

It means that the glittery downtown and famous lake-shore probably felt almost like a different world, even if it was technically her own hometown.

It means she probably grew up in a community with Black churches and Black hair salons and barbershops and kids playing streetball and cookouts in the summer. It means she grew up in a community with a long tradition of celebrating Black culture and Black arts and Black identity.

It means she probably also went to a school that was chronically underfunded, with teachers who were overworked and underpaid. The odds are good that Nile had at least one full school year where her class didn’t have a permanent teacher at all.

It means she probably grew up knowing the sights and sounds of gun violence in her neighborhood, and knowing people who were the victims of gun violence, both gang related and caused by police.

Perhaps, most important of all, she grew up in a neighborhood which is heavily targeted by US military recruiters. The most common pitch these recruiters make is that the US military will pay for their college education if a person enlists straight out of high school. For many of the people Nile grew up with, and maybe even Nile herself, this seems like the only path to higher education that won’t saddle them with an inescapable amount of debt.

In the film, Nile tells Andy that growing up on the South Side of Chicago with a single mother meant there was a “million different ways it could have gone left.” That might just be the understatement of the century.

And yet one of the reasons I love Nile and think she's so so so important is that her story is not about any of this. Her story is not about how she triumphed over adversity, or how she "made it out." Nile's story is about a woman whose upbringing and identities inform her future actions. She understands loyalty. She understands suffering. She understands fighting for herself and those closest to her and what she believes in. And maybe the South Side had something to do with all that, but it also comes from who she is.

[navybrat817]

Beg Me

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: Distracting Andy from his work is always a fun time. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, hand job, possessive behavior, dirty talk, Andy Barber (he's a warning!) A/N: For @happygowriting 's Hat Draw Challenge (Prompt: “I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.” with Andy Barber) ). Congrats, lovely!!! ❤️ Not beta read, so any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly. Comments, likes, reblogs and asks are appreciated. ❤️

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I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party site or app. If anyone sees my work anywhere but here or archiveofourown under my same username, it has been reposted without my permission. 18+ Please!!! By reading this, you agree that you are at least 18 years old. Enjoy, lovelies!

If you could have dreamt up the perfect man, he would have been in the form of Andy Barber. Handsome, commanding and passionate, there was no denying him and you never wanted to. While he was usually the dominant of the two of you in bed, you occasionally liked to be the one who drove him crazy. It wasn't to give you a sense of power or control. You were just happy to make the man you loved feel good.

You watched him as he sat at his desk, tapping your fingertip against the doorframe. He promised he wouldn't work when he got home, but there he was. You didn't blame him and you weren't even upset. But now was the perfect time to give him something to get him through the rest of the day. 

You walked over to the desk, your hips swaying enticingly. You continued to watch him intently as he tried to ignore your presence, but you saw him look out of the corner of his eye. He cleared his throat as he looked back at the papers in front of him. Smirking, you snatched them from his hand and put them out of reach. You swore he snarled when you kept the smirk on your face.

"I'm trying to work and you're distracting me."

Your body clenched in reaction to his glare. Being on the receiving end of that look scared most people, but you were the exception. It sent a shiver of excitement through you when he didn't blink and you dared to step closer. 

"I know I am, but I can help you out," you offered. 

Andy raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to feigned disinterest. But he couldn't hide how dark his eyes got. "You're going to help me?"

"Yep. I'll get you off and you can go back to it," you said innocently, straddling him as he leaned back in his chair. 

His hand reached up and gently moved along your jaw, the small action immediately spreading more heat between your thighs. You had no idea how he turned you on so quickly with the lightest of touches, but you wanted to have the same effect on him. Before he could pull away, you grasped his hand and brought it to your lips. Your eyes twinkled with something lustful as you sucked a finger into your mouth, moaning around it. 

"You think teasing me is a good idea?" he asked, a slight rasp to his tone as his finger slipped free. 

"Teasing would imply that I have no intention to follow through. And I have every intention of doing so."

Brushing your lips against his, you moved a hand between your bodies to cup him. You felt how hard he was beneath his slacks and you wondered how long he had been worked up. Thankfully, he had you to take care of him. 

"Poor Andy," you said softly as you rubbed him, kissing the corner of his mouth. Feeling his beard tickle your lips made you tremble as you unbuttoned his pants. Maybe later you could convince him to rub his beard against your inner thighs. "How are you supposed to get any work done with your cock so hard?"

You heard the air rush out of his lungs as you pulled the zipper down, feeling his strong thighs tense beneath yours. "Still fucking teasing me," he groaned as your hand grasped the band of his underwear to move it down. "Fuck, honey."

You smiled as you grasped his cock and pulled him free. Holding him in your hand, your fist went tight. You rubbed your thumb across the head as you leaned back and glanced down. The thickness of him never ceased to amaze you. It made your mouth water.

“I told you I'm not going to tease you," you reminded him as you twisted your wrist. "I’m going to jerk you off until you’re begging me to stop.”  

Andy was amazing. Addicting. How could not worship him? You ignored how soaked your panties were as you pumped your hand because this was about him. And after so many nights of him bringing you over the edge multiple times, it was time to return the favor.

"Fuck, honey. Faster," he groaned, his hips rocking as you worked him in even strokes.

"No," you laughed softly. "You have no patience right now, Mr. Barber, and that won't do. Just like my pussy is yours, this is my cock. I'll go as fast or slow as I please."

There was no mistaking the growl this time. He sounded impressed that you took control. "I'm ruining my pussy the second I'm done-"

"The second you're done what? Coming?" you questioned, kissing his cheek as you brushed the head of his cock again. Feeling him leak for you had you lightly grinding your own hips. "I told you. Until you beg me to stop, your cock isn't leaving my hand."

His hips bucked hard enough to rock the chair, his moan low and deep. "You think I won't fuck you with my fingers? Or make you ride my thigh until you gush on these pants?"

"That would be a shame," you sighed, feeling more precum slide across your fingers. "I like these pants… But it would be fun to ruin them the way you ruined me. Just like I want to ruin you."

His head fell back as he could look in your eyes, his hips starting to lose their rhythm. "I was ruined the moment you walked into my life," he breathed.

You whimpered, wanting so badly to take him into your quivering cunt at his words. "Later," you thought because your release didn't matter. But his… "Prove it. Make a mess on my hand. C'mon, hotshot. Do it. Come."

He whined, actually whined, for you as his cock pulsed, shuddering as you watched his release spread between you both. Some of it landed on your hand as you finished stroking him, hot and searing. You wanted to taste every drop as he came down. 

"Fuck…" he panted as his shoulders slumped, catching his breath. 

As you pulled your hand away, you quickly replaced it with the other. 

"What…" he gasped as you brought it to your lips.

"Beg me," you whispered as you began to clean your fingers. "That's an order, Mr. Barber."

[harrysgoldenline]

When In Italy Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

He remembered your order.

It was all you could think about after you sat down, a waitress coming quickly to your table and he gave you a look, asking you if that’s what you wanted. You gave a small nod and you refrained from commenting on it, not wanting to stroke his already enlarged ego you are sure has only gotten big since you have seen him last based on… well everything.

The waitress thanked you both, taking your menus and leaving the two of you alone, giving one another an awkward smile before you looked down at your hands, now regretting pretending to not know what to order in order to hide behind your menu a bit more.

“So…” Harry began, fingers drumming onto the table, “how have you been?”

You let out an airy laugh, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow before leaning back in the woven dining chair, warm Italian sun hitting your face as you looked out at the view and back to him, not even sure what to say. You, obviously, were not doing great and he was.

You open your mouth to start to answer but stop when the waitress comes back, placing the cool, water glasses in front of you and they quickly become interesting as you watch the condensation drop down from the glass onto the table.

“Y/n…” Harry began, looking up at you and sighing when your eyes met, “Can you talk to me? I just want to see what you’ve been up to.”

“What about you?” You counter, heart pounding against your chest, “I feel like you’re the one who needs to check in and share some updates more than anyone else, don’t you think?”

“I guess I deserve that.” He chuckled, taking a sip of water and looking at you over the glass causing you to scoff.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny.” you glare, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to calm your pounding heart, “really makes the whole situation better.”

“Okay, you’re right, I’m sorry,” He nodded, holding his hands up in defense, “but I didn’t know you were going to be there, I would have never brought her if I would have known that, obviously and I’m sorry it happened this way but I’m glad I saw you, I’m glad to see you.”

“Who is she?”

He looked surprised by your question, not expecting you to rip the band-aid off in the way that you did. But, you knew him. Better than anyone you’ve ever known in your life and you couldn’t understand why he was beating around the bush like this so much. You also needed this for yourself, not wanting to fall for his famous charm, looking into those beautiful, jade eyes you knew you would be done for.

It’s the reason your sitting across from at this table at all, not being able to resist his smile, his sot, caring voice as he asked you to see him, having no idea what you would be getting into all, you said yes without any hesitation and you decided in that moment, watching as he went around the clear high priority topic with ease.

“Her name is Olivia.” He sighed, “she’s the director of the movie I’m going to be in and…”

“You’re together?”

He didn’t answer, looking at his hands.

You nodded, taking his silence as the clear answer and you bit your bottom lip hard, tasting blood as your teeth sunk into the flesh, hoping the pain would stop the tears that were stinging your eyes. You could feel your hands shake and you let out a sigh, standing up from the table and running your hands over your skirt, frustrated he didn’t even have the nerve to come out and simply say it.

“I-I’m going to go,” You began to ramble, looking down at the water glass and you dug through your bag, looking for money to pay for your meal and tip the waitress, even though it wasn’t yet served to you, eyes burning as you did your best to keep in your tears.

“Please stay.” He whispered and you shook your head rapidly, pulling out your wallet and looking for a big enough bill, “Okay, let me just drive you back, put your wallet away this is on me.I asked you to come.” He added, pulling out his wallet and laying down a more than generous amount.

“No, please.” You whispered, stepping back as you stepped closer to you, “just, stay. Take my food with you. I’m gonna book a flight home and you guys can have the house to yourselves by tomorrow night.”

“Y/n-”

“Goodbye, Harry.”

You ignored his calls of your name, walking down the pavestone as you made your way through the quaint town, passing the many boutiques and gelato shops you two went through a dozen times.You also did your best to ignore the longing look of pity as you passed by the strangers, thankful your italian wasn’t as good as his, that way you didn’t have to also hear what they were saying about you.

You wandered your way through the beautiful village, wishing it brought you the same amount of joy as it always did, but not it just left you a bitter taste in your mouth, reaching for your phone and calling for a cab, looking up flights the second the car pulled up.

***

Your eyes fluttered open at the sound of your alarm, heart wrenching at the realization that all of this was real and you fist rubbed your swollen eyes, sniffling as you sat up and the details all came back to you.

“He found someone else already.” you had sobbed into the phone to your best friend, clutching at your chest as your back was against the front door. “He already moved on, y/bff/n and he brought her here and-and… I-I got a flight home and I just don’t know what to do.”

You were beginning to hyperventilate, mind being unable to wrap around the fact that he had moved on so quickly, the man you thought you were going to marry, being together for years, had already moved on to someone else.

Your best friend had done her best to calm you, begging you to let them fly there to help get your things together, to at least meet you at a connecting flight so you weren’t flying home completely alone, but you didn’t allow it, knowing how much trouble they would get into with their boss.

“I’ll be there to pick you up.” they told you, after a long pause, their heart was breaking at the sound of your cries, “You’re gonna make it through this, y/n. I know you are.”

You weakly stumbled out of bed, walking straight to the closet and, once again, pulling your bags out and throwing them onto the bed, throwing your all clothes into a messy pile and zipping up the bag, pushing it into the hallway after quickly changed into a clean outfit, slipping on a pair of sneakers as you got ready for your flight home.

Forcing yourself to brush your teeth and run a comb through your hair was harder than you had ever imagined, hating to have to look at your reflection as the face of her was being compared side by side in your mind. You hated yourself more for wishing that Harry tried a little harder, wishing that he had ran after you and tried to at least explain more, extend the olive branch so to speak, even though it would never fully heal your wounds.

Your anxious mind wouldn’t stop reliving your morning with Harry and you couldn’t help but have regrets, wondering if you overreacted, wondering what would have happened if you stayed for the rest of the meal.

Could you ever be friends?

Pushing yourself away from the counter you hoped that the thoughts would subside, wishing you knew the answers but knowing you never would. You shuffled your way into the living room, curling up on the couch as you waited for the car to come pick you up and take you to the airport, not having the energy to reach to pick up the remote so you sat in silence.

Although it felt like minutes, an hour soon passed and you heard the knock at the door and you forced yourself up, grabbing your suitcase and wheeling it behind you as you opened the door, being greeted by the driver who took your suitcase from you and loaded it into the car as you followed behind, finding your place in the backseat.

The time went faster than you thought it would, the drive to the airports, the security line, flights, layovers, all of it. The next thing you knew you were walking down the steps of the airport, seeing the face of your best friend and running towards them, dropping your suitcase in the process as they quickly took you in their arms, holding you as tight as they could.

“I got you.” They whispered, rubbing your back as your tears sunk into the fabric of the fabric covering their shoulder, “I’m so, so sorry, sweetheart. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”

“How do you know?” you horsley whispered, “my heart hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” They whispered back, pulling back and looking you into the eyes, giving you a smile and wiping away your tears, “It’s going to be okay, I promise. You are an incredible human being, y/n, you are so unbelievably strong andI know that you can do this and I’m going to be there for you every single step of the way, okay?. ”

And they were.

Being there for you every single step of the way for the next two weeks since you got back from your trip and even moved into your apartment with you for a few days at first as you adjusted. Holding you every single time that you cried, always checking in and making sure that you were taking care of yourself and always being there for you to talk about everything, even though you weren’t quite ready yet, they were there for you when you were going to be and you couldn’t have been more thankful for that.

Now, after a couple weeks of healing, after your plummet on your journey of healing post break up, you felt like you were back on your way up. You started leaving your apartment more again and y/bff/n even got you to go out with them and a couple of friends one night.

Actually starting to feel better and even starting to feel a lot more like yourself.

Your phone buzzed and you quickly took a look down at it, seeing a text from y/bff/n

Be there soon! i can't wait to try out this new coffee place!

You smiled and sent back your quick reply, letting her know you were going to head downstairs touching up your makeup quickly as you looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled back at your reflection, seeing the glow and fullness starting to come back to your face, the circles under your eyes slowly disappearing more and more everyday.

Grabbing your purse off the kitchen counter and sliding on your shoes you got ready to leave your apartment, heading out the door and locking the door behind you, jiggling the handle to endure it was locked before turning on your heel to head out. You go to reach for the elevator button, but it dings as it announces its arrival and you step out of the way, allowing whatever neighbor to have a clear path to their apartment. Instead, you're met with a pair of familiar green eyes.

“Harry?”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

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[nevermindirah]

Do you have any thoughts on the use of AAVE for Nile (or lack thereof) in TOG fanfiction? I've been reading some Book of Nile fic and some writers seem to write her as a Millennial™ (using words like "fave" and "woke") but never acknowledge her Blackness in her patterns of speech. I know we don't see her use as much AAVE in the films, but I would argue she's in situations where code-switching would be valued (first in a "professional" environment in the army, then around a group of non-Black strangers).

Hi anon! I have many thoughts on this and I'm honored you asked me! But I should start by saying I'm white and any thoughts Black fans and especially Black American fans have on this that they want to share would be beyond lovely. (I'm not gonna tag anybody bc that feels rude but please add onto this post if any of y'all see this and want to!)

The main reason I personally avoid AAVE for Nile in my own fics is because I'm not Black. But Nile-centric fics by Black writers tend to avoid using much of it too, at least from what I've noticed/understood, and my guess is it's largely for the reason you mention, that she's in situations that encourage code-switching.

In movie canon Nile is highly competent at tailoring her language to each situation she finds herself in. This fantastic linguistics analysis meta shows how skillfully Nile chooses her vocabulary and grammar to meet her goals with different conversation partners in different contexts. In comics canon Nile had a bunch of different civilian jobs before joining the Marines, so she would've had experience code-switching in the ways that made sense for all those different contexts as well as the Marines and her family and high school and wherever else she spent her time before we met her. And now she's spending her time with a handful of immortals none of whom are native English speakers and a fellow Black American but one with a Queen's English UK accent whose professional experience is in the CIA where high-status code-switching is often an absolute must for success or even survival.

Fics featuring Nile are charged with extrapolating from that to how it might show up in her use of language that she's coping with a traumatic separation from her family and her career and pretty much everything she's ever known and now she needs to be able to make herself understood to people who seem to care about her and each other but are super duper in crisis, three (soon to be four) of whom predate Modern English entirely and the only one who's anywhere near her contemporary she's not supposed to talk to for a century. All of these people are telling her that pretty much any contact with any mortals poses an existential threat to her and the rest of the group. How the FUCK is she supposed to cope with that, like, generally? And would it be a more effective way for her to cope if she talked to Andy Joe and Nicky using the speech patterns that she used to use with her mom and brother, to at least retain that part of her identity even if it means having to do a lot of explaining, or would it meet her needs better to prioritize Andy Joe and Nicky understanding what she means with her words over using the particular words and grammar forms she used with her family?

I've seen several fics, both Nile-centric / BoN and otherwise, explore this a little bit in how/whether Nile uses Millennial™ speak. It's often a theme in Nile texting Booker despite the exile because of the popular headcanon that he as The Tech Guy is the only other immortal who understands memes. But Nile's much-younger-than-Booker mom probably uses Boomer and/or Gen X memes and Andy has been adapting to new communication styles for forever as evidenced by her canon high level of fluency with standard-American-accented English.

Which brings us back to people avoiding AAVE because they're not Black and they don't want to make mistakes (or they're not Black and they don't want to get yelled at for making mistakes, though I think many people overestimate how much they'll get yelled at while underestimating how much these mistakes can hurt). I can imagine some Black fans hold back from using much AAVE in fic because they don't want to share in-group stuff with white people who are likely to then adopt and ruin it, as white people so often do with Black cultural stuff. Some links about this including a great Khadija Mbowe video. I'm saying this gently, anon, because you might not know: woke, an example you cited as Millennial™ speak, is AAVE, and that's gotten erased by so many white people appropriating it and using it incorrectly online.

And also there's the part where fandom is a hobby and you never know when you're reading a fic that's the very first thing someone's ever written outside of a school assignment. This cultural considerations of language shit takes a level of effort and skill that not everybody puts into every fic, or even could if they wanted to because they haven't had time to build their skills yet. It's definitely easier for non-Black fans to project our millennial feels onto Nile than to do the layers of research and self-reflection it requires to depict what Blackness might mean to Nile, and it's not surprising that often people sharing their hobby creations on the internet have gone the easier route. There's not even necessarily shame in doing what's easier. It's just frustrating and often hurtful when structural white supremacy means that 3-dimensional Black characters are rare in media and thoughtful explorations of them in fandom are seen by the majority of fans as not-easy to make and therefore Nile Freeman, the main character in The Old Guard (2020) dir. Gina Prince-Bythewood, has the least fic and meta and art made about her of our 5 main immortals.

I've been active in different fandoms off and on for twenty years and I barely managed to write 5,000 words about Sam Wilson across multiple different fics in the 7 years since I fell in love with him. There's an alchemy to which characters we connect with, and on top of that which characters we connect with in a way that causes us to create stuff about them. Something about Nile Freeman finally tipped me over the edge from a voracious reader to a voracious writer. It's not for me to judge which characters speak to other individuals to the level of creating content about them, but I do think it's important for us to notice, and then work to fight, the pattern where across this fandom as a whole Nile gets way less content, and way less depth in so much of the content that's in theory about her, than any of these other characters.

Anyway, back to language. My two long fics feature Nile with several Black friends — Copley and OCs and cameos from other media — but all of those characters except Alec Hardison from Leverage aren't American. It's very possible I'm guilty of stereotyping Black British speech patterns in I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore. I watched hours and hours of Black haircare YouTube videos in the research for that fic and I modeled my OCs' speech patterns on what I heard from some of those YouTubers as well as what I've heard people like John Boyega and Idris Elba saying in interviews, but the thing about doing your best is you still might fuck up.

I'm slowly making progress on my WIP where Nile and Sam Wilson are cousins, and what ways of talking with a family member might be authentic for Nile is a major question I need to figure out. For that, I'm largely modeling my writing choices on how I hear my Black friends and colleagues talking to each other. I haven't overheard colleagues talking in an office in a long-ass time, but back when that was a thing, I remember seeing a ton of nuance in the different ways many of my Black colleagues would talk to each other. Different people have different personalities! And backgrounds! And priorities! A few jobs ago my department was about 1/3 Black and we worked closely with Obama administration staff many of whom were Black and there was SO MUCH VARIETY in how Black people talked to each other, about work and workplace-appropriate personal stuff, where I and other white coworkers could hear. There are a few work friends in particular who I have in my head when I'm trying to imagine how Sam and Nile might talk to each other. From the outside looking in, God DAMN is shit complicated, intellectually and interpersonally and spiritually, for Black people who are devoting their professional lives to public service in the United States.

One more aspect of this that I have big thoughts on but I need to take extra care in talking about is the idea of acknowledging Nile's Blackness in her patterns of speech. There's no one right way to be Black, and Nile's a fictional character created by a white dude but there are plenty of real-life Black Americans who don't use much or even any AAVE, for reasons that are complicated because of white supremacy. (Highly highly recommend this video by Shanspeare on the harms of the Oreo stereotype.)

Something that's not the same but has enough similarity that I think it's worth talking about is my personal experience with authenticity and American Jewish speech patterns. My Jewish family members don't talk like they're in The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and I've known lots of people who do talk that way (or the millennial version of it), some of whom have questioned my Jewishness because I don't talk that way. That hurts me. Sometimes when another Jew tells me some shit like "I've never heard a Jew say y'all'd've," I can respond with "well now you have asshole, bless your Yankee-ass heart," because the myth of Dixie is a racist lie but I will totally call white Northerners Yankees when they're being shitty to me for being Southern, and this particular Jew fucking revels in using "bless your heart" with maximum polite aggression, especially with said Yankees. But sometimes I don't have it in me to say anything and it just quietly hurts having an important part of me disbelieved by someone who shares that important part of me. The sting isn't quite the same when non-Jews disbelieve or discount my Jewishness, but that hurts too.

Who counts as authentically Jewish is a messy in-group conversation and it doesn't really make sense to explain it all here. Who counts as authentically Jewish is a matter of legal status for immigration, citizenship, and civil rights in Israel, and it's my number 2 reason after horrific treatment of Palestinians that I'm antizionist. But outside that extremely high-stakes legal situation, it can just feel really shitty to not be recognized as One Of Us, especially by your own people.

It can also feel really shitty to be The Only One of Your Kind in a group, even if that group is an immortal chosen family who all loves each other dearly. Sometimes especially in a situation like that where you know those people love you but there are certain things they don't get about you and will never quite be able to. I'm definitely projecting at least a little bit of my "lonely Jew who will be alone again for yet another Jewish holiday" stuff onto Nile when at the end of I See Your Eyes Seek a Distant Shore she's thinking about being the only Black immortal and moving away from the community she'd built with a mostly-Black group of mortals in that fic. Maybe that tracks, or maybe that's fucked up of me.

Basically, this got very long but it's complicated, writing about experiences that aren't your own takes skill which in turn takes time and practice to build, writing about experiences not your own that our society maligns can cause a lot of harm if done badly, it can also cause a lot of harm when a large enough portion of a fandom just decides to nope out of something that's difficult and risky because then there's just not much content about a character who deserves just a shit ton of loving and nuanced content, people are individuals and two people who come from the exact same cultural context might show that influence in all kinds of different ways, identity is complicated, language is complicated, writing is hard, and empathy and humility and doing our best aren't a guarantee of avoiding harm but they do go a long way in helping people create thoughtful content about a character as awesome and powerful and kind and messy and scared and curious and WORTHY as Nile Freeman.

[itlivesproject]

Hi! I only recently downloaded ILW and love it so far. I have a bunch of questions, and hopefully I'm not spamming you guys too much.

First, massive props for making Joss so likeable that I'm actually romancing her in several playthroughs (not all because Amalia is too amazing, and I'm a sucker for a good BFFs to Lovers story. And yes, I'm creating several playthroughs with multiple setups; my main one is the one based on what actually happened when I played ILITW and ILB. Then there's the 'ideal' playthrough where Parker stayed, and neither MC was romancing anyone (I originally romanced Ava) so I can guilt-free set up a romance between ILITW MC and Noah, now another one where it's ILITW MC and Dan, some where MC sacrificed herself, one where Noah actually killed her, some where both the gangs except MCs survived or where everyone other than MC died, and the absolute worst possible setup where everyone who can die, or in Parker's case leave, died. Most are barely started, but you've got me seriously invested in the story, ILW is that good), and making me genuinely enjoy Connor as a character when he bored me in ILITW. Amazing work right there.

Speaking of Joss, I (and I know others in the fandom do so as well) have been wondering, is she on the autism spectrum? That line about her taking some things too literally or something a few chapters ago, I don't remember the exact wording, but it struck me.

So ILB MC vanished, huh. I was hoping we might interact more with that side of the anthology soon, since ILITW has been dominating the story with only one throw-away mention of Tom until then in my main playthrough. Might be Andy romancers had more, but it was Ava for me so idk. I'm definitely excited for whatever you have in store for us in that regard. Does it have anything to do with Annie's sudden reappearance in ILW MC's life 👀?

How many chapters are projected for ILW, by the way? We're at number 9 now, so around halfway, less or more than that?

Also, I keep hearing something about a hiatus, and when exactly does it start, next week? (That would be just my timing, lol. I finally download ILW, and it goes on break immediately after.) Do you have any idea how long it might last, if I may ask?

Basically ILW has really captivated me, you guys are doing amazing, I'm looking forward to all the coming plot twists and branches (which I'm exploring with my different playthroughs as much as I can) and can't wait for whenever the next chapter drops. I probably forgot a bunch of questions I was going to ask, but this ask is already a mile long so I hope I didn't bother all of you too much. Thanks for this project, it really captures the spirit of the IL series in a way I didn't think was possible to replicate. I can tell it was made by real fans, and that's awesome, and for answering these rambling questions!

I love all the different setups you have! 😍😍

So we haven’t explicitly stated if she is on the spectrum but it is an absolutely valid interpretation that I support!

ILW is slated to be a whopping 23 chapters. You can find our progress tracker in our pinned post!

The hiatus will be after chapter 11 airs on July 2, so you have two more chapters before the break 🥲 the length will be a few months at the least but there is no finalized time frame. Basically we just need to finish writing/editing/programming the rest of the chapters so however long that takes 🤷‍♀️

Thanks for sending this in and for all your kind words and support! We value it so so much 🥰 can’t wait to share more of the game with you!

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck Ch. 132 reaction

[The Journey’s End]

Akira being revealed to be sitting slightly to Fuuko’s left during Ragnarok is, likely unintentionally, the funniest god damn thing to ever come out of this series

Cus like...you gotta figure that from the moment G-Liner broke and Anno Un died, he was just chilling with the group the entire time. This raises a lot of questions, like who he went with when Fuuko was taken by Under or how he reacted to Fuuko being STABBED IN THE HEART

Did he know who Ruin was? He must have, right? Ruin must have existed within Information’s vision, unless he was literally only just created post G-Liner? But that’d be weird, considering that he has a scar already. I kind of doubt Sun designed him with a scar, I’m pretty sure his entire thing about being created by God is a bunch of bull, but whatever

Anyway, I think it’s extremely fitting that Akira is the one who both closes out the old and opens the new loops. Not only is he the author surrogate, lamenting the end of the current story and expressing his hope for what he’ll be able to do in the future (possibly an expression of the fear of Undead Unluck potentially being canceled before reaching that conclusion like so many other Jump manga), but he’s also a major impetus for the entire story thus far

Akira wrote To You, From Me, the story that allowed Fuuko to continue living right up until she would meet Andy. For all intents and purposes, he saved Fuuko at the very beginning of the manga, so it’s only appropriate that Part 2 begins with Fuuko saving Akira WITH the story that he allowed her to “write”

Also, fun bit of trivia, the new manga that Akira is talking about being in Jump that week (Sep. 11, 1972, issue #39) is Astro Kyuudan, and the issue of Jump he’s carrying actually has the cover in question!

Astro Kyuudan is about a baseball team made up of boys born with baseball-shaped birthmarks and unique powers that they use to build the ultimate baseball team. I have to wonder if this series was an inspiration for Tozuka, considering that Undead Unluck is about a group with special powers trying to form the best team possible to achieve their goals (in this case killing God instead of going to Koshien). Apparently it’s a series known for doing unconventional things with the sports genre, which is appropriate, considering that Undead Unluck does a decent number of unconventional things with the battle genre

Back on topic, Akira once again found G-Liner, which presumably had again become Information’s host, but that’s a little odd since A) that means that the selection of the Artifact was pre-ordained instead of random as it was stated, and B) that the timing of Information’s capture was the same. I’m going to chalk this up to Tozuka not wanting to get bogged down in the details and instead wanting to do something compelling, which I definitely feel, I’m just the type to think about that kind of thing

Now, here’s the odd thing:

Fuuko’s got her long hair again, tucked into her shirt, implying that Andy hasn’t been around to cut it, but it’s been about 100 years since Fuuko should have been placed in the Loop. Has she really not run into Andy yet? Or are they split up for some reason, like covering as much ground as they can for recruiting the rest of the Negators? 

Fuuko telling Akira about the previous Loop presents the perfect framing device for us to learn how she’s spent the last 100 years, so I’m sure it’ll be made clear soon enough

Backtracking a bit, Fuuko’s declaration that she and everyone else would negate the Gods is as strong of confirmation that they’ll be fighting Luna as I think we could possibly ask for. When she turned to face Luna, we saw the burning Earth framing her determined expression, as if to say that the whole world had her back and that the Earth itself was declaring the Sun and Moon their enemies

The image of Andy’s skull, or the portion that holds his eyes at least (the most recognizable part of Andy in my opinion) floating through space and biding its time is one that I imagine will stick with me for a long time, especially with how it contrasts how bright and bombastic the last several chapters in the Sun fight were

Seeing countless Suns emerging to initiate Ragnarok was honestly chilling, and brings up the question of what’s going to happen after they manage to defeat Sun next Loop: are more just going to keep popping up? Do they only need to defeat one, or do they need to defeat all of them? Will Sun admit defeat if they manage to beat just one, or will its consciousness be defeated in that moment?

There’s clearly a lot more to this than initially suggested, and most likely a lot more build up to the finale than I anticipated, so we might actually hit the four year mark after all!

Time will tell, but I’m very excited to be along for the ride!