#but more importantly. it is loving ann hours

[samarecharm]

[shadowtriovibes]

the train ain't even left the station

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 2K

Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"

in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.” “Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly. A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’” “No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

September 1, 1910

Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.

As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.

Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.

Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”

But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.

Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.

He glances up at the clock and grins.

“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”

Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.

“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”

Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.

“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”

“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”

“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.

“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”

“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”

You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.

However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.

“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”

“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”

“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”

That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.

“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.

He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”

You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”

He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.

“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”

With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.

“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.

“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”

Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.

(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)

You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.

“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”

“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”

Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.

“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.

You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.

As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”

“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.

A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”

“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”

“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).

They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”

With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.

You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.

“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.

Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.

“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.

“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.

Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)

[alonetimelover]

Easter Monday

pairing: Harry Styles x slavic(polish)!fem!reader

summary: Harry nad YN are spending their first Easter together, embracing their cultural differences. To celebrate Easter Monday Harry found something very interesting on the internet, hoping to make YN happy, he decided to surprise her with it - id didn't go as planned.

word count: ~1,3k (a little baby)

a/n: so i found out about this holiday in Poland and decided that it would make a fun, fluffy piece for the slavic!reader trope. if i got something wrong, please do tell me!

(another piece of wiriting with a slavic! reader is here > BRITs awards <)

masterlist

When Harry met YN, he promised himself to learn about Polish mores, some words to understand at least a part of what YN was talking about with her family back home and Polish food. Being a pescatarian excluded him from trying quite a few national dishes but YN found enough alternatives for him to eat. He loved it (or so he told YN). 

Here he was, on Easter Sunday evening, researching Polish mores during Easter. For the first time in their relationship, they decided to spend those holidays together at Harry’s home in London.

The cultural differences were noticeable. YN didn’t grow up with Egg hunting on Sunday morning, but with going to church on Saturday to have food sacred. On Sunday morning there was an Easter breakfast - eggs (so many colourful eggs), the sour rye soup (yes, soup for breakfast) served in a round bread bowl, variable meat on the cold platter and, most importantly, cakes - mazurek and babka. Harry felt that he’d especially love those cakes. 

Harry growing up didn’t do much for Easter. He enjoyed sleeping in for a few days, hunting eggs on Sunday and then going on with his life. His family never attached much importance towards Easter - they used those days for family time, hosting board games’ tournaments with a feast happening in the dining room. 

So saying that YN’s way of celebrating was a shock for Harry was easily not enough. 

“You want to celebrate the way that I’m used to?” She asked him two months before Easter. 

“Yes.” He kissed her knuckles. “I want to spend it the way you always do. We’ll paint those colourful eggs and then eat this big breakfast.”

“Pisanki, those are the colourful eggs. And that big breakfast is almost not edible for you.”

“Because of meat?” YN nodded her head. “Well, then we’ll go to the local market and buy some plant based alternatives. Polish Easter breakfast with a twist. What do you say?”

“I love it.”

That was what they had done. 

Harry invited his mother, sister and her fiancé to celebrate with them. All of them sat down with brushes and paint, and decorated the eggs. YN prepared the breakfast - with plant based sausage, and with two cakes baked just the way her grandma did, while Harry was responsible for taking care of the guests, saying “I’m so sorry, but I know, I’ll just ruin whatever you’re doing there, my love." 

Everybody enjoyed breakfast, agreeing that soup being present was a mistake, but wasn’t untasty. Cakes did a furore - Anne asked for a recipe and Gemma promised to beg for them constantly. YN was happy that people appreciated her culture. 

And when people left, just mere two hours ago, Harry and YN tidied up in the house and she went to sleep, he, on the other hand sat in front of his computer, searching. ‘What Poles do on Easter Monday?’ was a question tapped into a search bar. After clicking the first website linked, with a shock appearing on his face, eyebrows raising higher and higher with each word read, Harry stood up and went to the bedroom. He needed to visit a park tomorrow’s morning to get what was needed. 

The next day YN woke up to a cold bed, which was more than expected - Harry was an early bird (woke up as early as 5 am) when YN liked to sleep until at least 6:30. After doing her morning stretches and going to the bathroom, she moved downstairs to start on the breakfast. Harry usually waited for her, so they could eat together and talk about their plans for a day. 

“Harry! Baby! I’m making coffee, you want some?” She called into an (probably) empty house. 

While not getting an answer, she went to the kitchen starting Harry’s fancy coffee machine. She needed caffeine. 

It was strange that Harry didn’t leave any note, saying where he had gone. Nothing on the fridge, or under a fruit basket and no text either. She started to get worried when halfway through her first meal of the day Harry’s plate was still full and slowly getting cold. 

Over the speakers, YN listened to Lana Del Rey’s album Ultraviolence, singing silently under her nose. She didn’t hear the back door slowly open and close. She didn’t hear the steps nearing her body. Most importantly, she didn’t hear the movement of the bucket full of water being directed at her. 

“Ah!” She screeched when the cold water covered her whole body. From the top of her head to her toes, there was no dry spot. She was soaked and not in a good way. 

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” Harry screamed, unconsciously murdering the language with a smile on his face, and started to hit YN with pussy willow branches. 

“Harry! Are you out of your mind?” YN asked, trying to simultaneously flick the water from her face and catch the branch that had been continuously hitting her upper arm. “Harry, stop it!”

“What?” He asked, confused, stopping mid-air. “Why did you stop me? It’s a tradition!”

The ligt bulb switched on in YN's mind. She understood, for a moment looking at Harry with an open mouth and big eyes. “ Oh God!” She finally laughed. “Oh my God!”

“What - what is going on?”

“Harry, did you - did you find about this day on the internet?”

“Yes, obviously. Where would I get information about something like this from?” He still couldn’t comprehend the tradition that he was taking part of. What was the point of it? 

“Maybe me. Someone that actually celebrates it?” YN prompted. 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Harry said quietly, putting down the bucket and moving around the kitchen to get YN a clean tower. 

“Listen - thank you -” she responded, after getting the towel, “- people don’t do it like this anymore.” She began drying herself off. “There is no hitting with branches. And not only boys are throwing water - it’s not gender-driven.”

Harry sat down in front of YN, getting sad.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, clasping her hands in his. “I - I just wanted to do something that would make you feel like people around you know what you celebrate and do on specific holidays. ‘Supposed to be a surprise. Didn’t work. I’m sorry.” he kissed her knuckles, looking at her like a lost puppy. His eyes big and a little pout present on his lips. 

“And I appreciate it so much.” She pecked his pout away, making him smirk. “These holidays, you've made me feel like I was back home. it means the most to me. Just didn’t like getting bitten up with a pussy willow.”

“Not a fan?” Harry’s smirk getting more daring. 

“Not really. When it comes to Easter Monday, I’ve always just splashed people with water and called it a day. Well, when my cousins and I were younger, we used to just pour water on each other from the garden hose. It was entertaining. But always doing it outside of the house.” YN gave Harry a look towards the wet floor. “If not, we were cleaning not only the water but the whole house.”

“Am I going to be doing the same?” Harry asked with the same smirk from before, he enjoyed it. 

“Yep. Absolutely.” YN stood up rapidly and moved to the closet to give Harry a mop. “Chop, chop!”

With a laugh, Harry gripped the mop and started cleaning. Unfortunately for him, the bucket he used was voluminous, and the amount of water on the floor was significant. While looking for the bucket to wring out the excess water, Harry lost his focus. Suddenly, his whole body started shivering from the cold liquid dripping from his head and down to the floor. 

“Happy śmigus-dyngus day!” YN laughed at Harry. 

Quickly enough, they both were running around the backyard - most clothes discarded in a run - under the rain of water from the garden hose. YN felt like a careless child again, and Harry decided just then he always wanted to see her that happy.

Sometimes misinformation on the internet could lead to good times, he thought. But only sometimes.

[sirenjose]

Analysis of Anne (Annie) Lester

Annie’s mother came from a “wealthy British family” (likely a merchant family based on Annie’s backstory), while her father was a “nameless painter”. He was likely Czech as Annie’s original backstory mentions being either born into a Czech family or growing up in the Czech Republic.

Whether or not she actually lived in the Czech Republic, her father fell in love with her mother (Wendy), who he apparently saw as his “muse”. Based on what he says to Annie later and how he wants her to be, he apparently loved/admired Wendy due to her “ladylike demeanor”/”lady’s bearing”, “talent”, and beauty, while Annie’s trailer also uses the words “dignified, decent, elegant”.

Wendy really looking forward to Annie’s birth based on the baby room and wooden toys that she purchased for Annie. Unfortunately, she dies on November 29th due to hemorrhaging during Annie’s birth.

Annie’s father is very upset over her death, and even more so due to his view that Annie failed to adequately replace her in terms of talent, beauty, personality, and behavior. Due to this viewpoint, he likely was very strict on Annie, who he likely attempted to train and educate her on how to properly act like a lady and everything else he saw as necessary to be a lady.

This left Annie only 1 hour of free time a day. Only 1 hour where she was allowed to be in the baby room and play with the toys all left by her mother. Only 1 hour where she was allowed to “be herself”. Annie was clearly unhappy over how her father was trying to make her act and behave. Annie loved her mother but she could not perfectly replace her. She was her own person, a person that wasn’t the sort of perfect lady her father wanted her to be. But she had no choice while she still lived with her father, who showed little to no love to Annie due to her continued failure to be ladylike enough to replace her mother. So she used that 1 hour to escape from reality into her own fantasy world.

1 of the toys in that room is said to be “wings for gliding” with it seeming like “its owner was planning an escape with limited materials available”. It is possible she wanted to use these to escape her father, but for now I’m assuming she built them as part of her fantasy rather than actually used them to escape, but it’s hard to know for sure.

As Annie grew up, suitors attempted to woo her, though they were not the good type as her backstory describes them as “unscrupulous womanizers hoping to live a carefree life supported by her riches”. This had to do with the fact that, after Wendy’s death, Annie stood to inherit “50% of her estate, including property assets, when she comes of age”. They weren’t the only ones interested in Annie’s inheritance, as her own father, who likely had no real love or care left for Annie after this long, likely decided this money was the only thing of value left regarding Annie.

1 of the suitors Annie meets feels to her to be the perfect man. Considering her trailer mentions “The beautiful flowers, the adoration of the crowd, a gorgeous dress, and a seemingly perfect fiancé” as well as used the word “grandeur”. This could mean she was forced to act like a noble lady, likely including attending parties, which is where she met all these suitors, including the one she fell in love with.

Based on the fact Annie in her deductions says “He seems to know me well. Most importantly, he accepts me despite my shortcomings”, it almost seems less like Annie was interested in marrying and instead simply sought someone who offered her real love with no strings attached. Someone who loved her for who she was rather than desired her to be someone she wasn’t and didn’t want to be. After growing up under a strict father who showed her little to no love, a man who refused to accept the way she wanted to be and only showed approval if she did what he wanted, Annie sought acceptance. But this need made her vulnerable, as right now she was said to be “kindest to those she trusted and was prepared to believe in them implicitly—at least, this is what she used to believe”.

The issue with this implicit trust was that the man she thought would be the one, the love of her life, was actually another liar and scammer. Based on Annie’s deduction 8, Annie’s fiancé had been working with Annie’s father to manipulate Annie into marrying her so they could get their hands on her inheritance.

Considering Annie’s father interest in her inheritance, and based on how Annie’s deduction 2 describes Annie’s father as a “nameless painter” managing to somehow marry into a “wealthy British family”, I wonder if Annie’s father never truly loved Wendy or Annie and only married Wendy due to her wealth, just like the suitors trying to marry Annie for her inheritance now. I wonder how long he’d been planning to steal Annie’s wealth, and if he’d been thinking about it even before Annie’s birth. I also wonder if Annie’s fiancé was actually a friend of her father’s, and that could be why he was able to work with him to attempt to steal Annie’s inheritance. From how Annie says her fiancé knows and accepts her for who she is, I wonder if Annie’s father could’ve told her fiancé about Annie and her desire to give her fiancé a better chance at winning her over.

Based on Annie’s deduction 9, it seems they succeeded in getting that 50% from her. One of her backstories mentions she did get married and had a miscarriage too. Whether or not that happened, after the 2 scammed Annie out of her inheritance, and without Annie’s father financing Annie at all, her financial status fell “under the poverty level”. She also was deeply hurt by the betrayal, and it was only than that she began to not implicitly trust everyone.

Based on Annie’s 1st letter, it seems due to her poverty, she was forced to temporarily live at “Holloway Nursing Home”. While there, the mention of hoping to bring “uplifting” news helps further confirm Annie was pretty depressed after what had happened to her. Her trailer uses the words “Deceived, Manipulated and discarded, Just like a toy”, so this is likely how she felt after the betrayal, while “imprisonment” is how she felt with her father.

In the CN version, it instead calls it the “Holloway Sanatorium Temporary Ward”. A “sanatorium” is a medical facility providing long-term care (usually for treatment for people with chronic illnesses). It is possible she was sent here after her “miscarriage”. On the other hand, Holloway Sanatorium is actually a real place in Surrey, England. It was said to be “for the care and treatment of the insane of the upper and middle classes”. This implies Annie was likely sent here for reasons tied to her mental or emotional state.

She is referenced to have some pretty severe anxiety during the games which she likely developed due to how she grew up under her strict father who didn’t show Annie any love, only seeing her as a failure her whole life, with her backstory implying he made her feel “worthless”.

Her anxiety likely also ties to her toys, as these toys were said to symbolize “comfort, family, and stability, and she only feels when she is around them”. This could imply she developed a kind of dependence on them, as she may have essentially used them as an emotional/mental crutch and tied them in her mind to her mother, who Annie knew had loved her despite never having the chance to meet her, even though her mother was gone. Without any of her toys or safe room, her mental state likely deteriorates to some degree.

Besides her anxiety, there’s also the outcome of Annie’s fiancé with her father betraying her and taking the inheritance from her mother. Annie’s emotional state isn’t described anywhere, but it likely isn’t hard to imagine how this likely affected her.

Annie already had developed feelings of low self-worth, insecurity, and a multitude of other issues due to how she grew up under her father. Then when she was betrayed by someone she felt might finally accept her for who she is, this further devastated her mental state. We know, despite how she grew up, that she still trusted to some degree, and was kind and implicitly believed those she trusted, but this was destroyed following the betrayal, and she likely developed trust issues (becoming more guarded and afterwards not opening up as easily). Besides this, she obviously would’ve felt deep emotional pain, heartbreak, and betrayal after what her fiancé and father did. Anger, sadness, confusion and loss would also be expected, as well as lower self-confidence and increased self-doubts and insecurity.

If Annie had been sent to a mental facility, this could imply she, at least for a time, had extreme emotional instability, and could’ve been shifting between emotions quite rapidly, from sorrow enough to cause her to cry uncontrollably, to panic attacks, or even intense anger. I imagine it had to have been enough to impair their ability to function or threatened their well-being for her to be put there. It’s also possible she experienced delusions or hallucinations due to her distress or deteriorated mental state. At the very least, panic attacks tied to her severe anxiety (which could also reasonably put her at risk of arm) are also fairly likely. She was likely sent to the mental facility to help her stabilize.

While she was there, before she’d stabilized but was recovering, she met Nicholas Oz, an attorney appointed by Wendy to inform her that Annie’s current status had activated a portion of the will Wendy left for Annie, which gave her a different 30% of Wendy’s estate as Wendy had made Annie her “designated inheritor”. This was a 30% that had “remained unrecorded” and had included “Madam Lester's foreign assets and assets entrusted to the care of her relatives and friends, all of which will be inherited by you”. Included in the items inherited by Annie is a “brand new children's wooden aircraft”, which could be the same one she uses in game (and may have been a real life, better version of the wings she’d built herself in the past).

I wonder if Wendy potentially knew a bit of the about how Annie’s father truly was and did all this in advance for this very kind of situation. Maybe that’s why there was a condition in her will that gave Annie 30% if Annie fell below the poverty level, which could imply Wendy had potentially foresaw this happening.

In any case, Annie (now definitely not living with her father if she hadn’t already escaped him before) used the money to build a toy shop (the objects that had helped her escape her miserable reality into a fantasy world where she had real freedom) and pursue her own desires. She also hoped her store would help bring happiness to other children and help grow their own fantasy worlds. Her toyshop is successful, and is said to have helped her regain her confidence. She vows to “get back what she deserves and her dignity”.

The last thing we know is she receives an anonymous letter that promises information on the “two scammers” (aka her father and fiancé who stole her inheritance) and so she decides to go.

[ineffably-human]

it's how definitive it is for me. it's how we've actually ficced and debated this for years and they wrote it so crudely and unimportant, in a way that they can't really revisit later. no chance of more thoughtful or better storytelling next year, about one of your show's central goddamn questions.

this is our arguable main character, he is our entry point into everything else. and as that entry point, Guillermo's story is about dedicating his entire life to something, finding meaning in it since he was young, finding and latching onto it when he's not even supposed to know it exists. clawing his way forward for a place at the table where he's decided he wants to sit. risking his life at least a half dozen times I can think of.

Guillermo's story is about damaging his relationship with the entire rest of the world, throwing himself in with people who take years to admit they even like him. rejecting his family and his innate nature and lineage. tying his most important relationship up in it: this is the person who'll give him the thing he wants most in the world. one day Nandor will look him in the eye as an equal, as someone Like Him, who can stand next to him forever. his relationship with Nandor, at every stage, has always been a combination of 'do I want you or do I want to be you? does claiming me as one of yours mean I am yours? am I allowed to have forever with you?'

Guillermo's story, this season, is reacting to every single stage and marker of finally getting what he wants with joy, with the exceptions of 1) stepping away from a family that never seemed to understand or fulfill him in the first place, 2) having it happen in a less than ideal place and way, hurting Nandor in the process. the central problem of his turning isn't his feelings, which are extremely clear, it's how this impacts his relationship with Nandor. (answer: exactly the way you think it will. he's upset and then he gets over it. nothing else changes.)

and then suddenly we're told: Guillermo can't be trusted about what he's consistently said he wants. he hasn't given thought to a regular, inextricable piece of what it means - even though he's been next to, and engaged in, violence that's way more direct and bloody and sometimes even more senseless. the guy whose vampire entry point was Anne Rice never thought about The Horrors for some reason, because he's an idiot now. some people can Handle It and some people Can't, and he Can't because by the way when the vampires said he couldn't get what he wanted because he was lacking in some way, they were right.

suddenly, in the eleventh hour, it's off the table now. and even though every single other part of him has been tied up in it for his entire adult life, that's somehow a simple decision to make.

and more importantly, the show is going to take maybe five minutes at best to tell us that, and to make it clear it's not something that's a 'maybe' or a 'someday'. character development can't smooth it out. he can't try to fix it. it's just how it is.

yeah, of course in life you prepare for things that then swerve unexpectedly and take you in different directions. there are things you dream of that aren't how you imagine in reality, and you change gears, and you adapt.

and those are huge moments. they matter.

Guillermo doesn't get to mourn it. he doesn't get to reflect on where it places him with his loved ones. he doesn't even really get space to decide it on his own before declaring it in front of everyone he's ever met.

he has no anchor for his entire place in the world anymore, and if the amount of attention and care paid (read: very little) means anything, we're not supposed to feel very much about that at all. and we're not meant to have any indication of where he's going next. and I fucking hate it.

it's a lazy, thoughtless, botched-ass job, and I expected better.

[rgr-pop]

if i was a normal level of unwell right now i’d be baking a loaf of bread. i don’t want to have to leave the house tomorrow and i can’t bring myself to go to this stupid womens meeting. i have been so clear that i can’t do non constructive meetings that don’t specifically need me right now because i’m worn so thin, but if i don’t come on my sunday off i’ll lose credibility and these other orgs won’t work on the abortion fund projects. it feels like it’s always all on me to defend the value of doing repro work— and sometimes that’s okay and as you know i’m stepping up to work on this structural problem. but the problem is that if i show any signs of fragility—or god forbid say, “i need my sunday to myself this week,” or even worse, “my pet snail is dying and it’s going to impact my productivity for a week,” what i will be told is, well, you don’t have the capacity to sustain this work, so we’re going to stop working on it.

and the problem isn’t exactly that i’m the only one doing it (right now for example i have a street outreach brigade pamphleting hash bash lol in ann arbor, a political research crew prepping for the leg piece, a new Posting partnership planned for soon, the fundraiser ask is being made by someone else, plus some workings in a second chapter… look at me defending the work to you!), but we don’t have quite everyone with ownership over the project yet (which you build to) and, as i’ve said, everyone is depending all their willingness to not put up walls around this on whether or not i personally look energized and perfect and like i know everything every time they see me. meanwhile i want only one thing all the time (to kill myself). and i can’t be in this position because i’m not doing great. but i’m an ill and severely mentally ill person who can—i know—do a couple hours a week of organizing most weeks. and i believe you can build effective campaigns that bring in more people and build capacity and bolster people’s belief in the power working collectively for 2-10 hours a week can have to change people’s lives and make them feel mostly better rather than mostly worse. it’s important to me to hold that line. but i personally can’t survive being scolded by social workers (anarchists) and sociopaths (postleninists and social movement strategists) not to mention the regular misogynists who I HAVE TO PRESENT THIS TO IN A WEEK HOPING THAT THEY DONT DO SOMETHING MEAN TO SCARY TO ME IN FRONT OF EVERYONE!!

anyway the thing is that i’m so fragile that i don’t see a way where this consciousness raising or whatever meeting doesn’t ruin my mood for the next few days, because every single one so far has been so bad it has edged on a traumatic experience. and i have to deal with that on top of everything else i have in my life (snail dying, baby, ANTS, being solely responsible for housework and most bills, feeding myself on no money, medical appointments, all my loved ones in crisis due to being poor women, eclipse???, my union, eating disorder, chronic pain, SNAIL DYING). and if you were a loser wannabe social worker you might say “it sounds like you don’t have capacity to organize” and, WRONG. i don’t have the capacity to waste two hours of my life + the bus travel on a consciousness raising meeting where someone tells me what’s wrong about me. and i disagree with the relational organizing (or even post bernie labor type) partisans a who say, that’s where the organizing happens. i disagree and i have a different theory of how this works (i may be inventing a caucus lol). and most importantly i think that i personally am more like a majority of working class women than i’m different. the main thing that makes me most different from other working class women is how much time i commit to communism. i want to change this!!!

today i need to work on things but i’m focused on my snail and the feelings around this. i’m having a hard time feeding myself. i don’t think crying on a saturday with my dying pet snail while managing mental illness during an eclipse makes me someone who can’t organize and i do NOT think getting psychologically torn to shreds by a social worker in training or a social movement strategist trying to force me to do drugs at a retreat is going to make me a better organizer.

j invited us over after the meeting and i’m overcome with guilt about coming empty handed. i miss him. i saw him in passing at the last meeting. he makes me happy and feel better. i don’t think i should be with him because i worry all i can do is complain. and he will be reminded why everyone hates me et cetera. but after i saw him that day when i wanted to die he reached out right after and said do you guys want to come over for dinner.

i can’t do the dishes. i made sniva a carrot. she got up to eat it. her trapdoor is so withered but i don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go on reddit to think about it. i want her to live six more days. i genuinely don’t know whether i’m neglecting her or should let it be. i am almost sure there is nothing i can do to fix her trapdoor. i’m going to do a small water change/replacement tonight if i can be upright enough. that’s it!! im as good as murdering her

[jazlynriddle]

Welcome to your life - Pt 2:

Acting On Your Best Behaviour Ch 8:

Summary:

They'd seen it in their fellow orphans often enough to recognise the pattern and were now forced to admit, despite their hopes to the contrary, that Isidora had likely suffered similar side effects.

No… they'd always known she had. The Keeper had just wanted the power that Ranrok had, enough to convince themselves that they would be able to handle it better than that naive woman.

With the start of the Keeper’s sixth-year in Hogwarts, comes a whole slew of headache-inducing challenges from the most unexpected of places. Between insignificant pests throwing wrenches into their plans and tedious teenage drama, that the Keeper is entirely unprepared for, they wonder if they'll make it to their NEWTs without losing their sanity.

Or worse, Ominis or Sebastian.

Warnings: Sebastian x MC x Ominis! Drug Addiction! Spoilers! Slow-burn corruption! Dark content! Fucked up 1800s orphanages! MC has no love for Anne or Solomon! Dubious happy ending (it's happy for MC, Seb and Ominis at least).

You can also read on AO3! (chapter specific warnings below)

Notes:

Warnings: Best paired with spy movie music, I recommend The Man from Uncle tracks xD

I am so tired holy shit- Writing this while being a DM is rough but I ain't quitting that easy! Plus, I'm actually really happy with how this chapter turned out, I really want to have more of a buffer though, finishing a chapter just in time for my scheduled upload time makes me feel slow. x')

"Good luck." Sebastian whispered, gently squeezing the Keeper's shoulder, before continuing down the corridor, walking past Amit who was seated at a bench beside the door to the Detention Chamber.

The Keeper nodded, while Sebastian slipped into the room, with the intent of remaining inside until Amit and Macnair had left. No doubt Sebastian would be familiar with it considering how much time he'd spent in detention over the course of his Hogwarts career and, more importantly, Macnair wouldn't find it odd for him to enter said room.

Meanwhile the Keeper turned left, opened the gate, and began walking through the long tunnel that led to the Death Day Party Room. Mindful of Macnair stopping to wait outside the gate since the tunnel was one-way.

If everything went according to plan, the Keeper would be in and out of the Undercroft without the bullies being any the wiser.

The Keeper had been pleasantly surprised when Jackdaw had agreed to clear the Death Day Party Room of any ghosts for them for two hours. As thanks for avenging his death and destroying the Guardians in the cave where he died.

As such, while Natty followed Selwyn, and the rest of the team were currently in the Death Day Party Room, preparing for what they believed was phase one. The Keeper's true phase one was already well underway and off to a good start.

By having Sebastian accompany the Keeper for the first few minutes of their journey towards the Death Day Party Room from the Slytherin Common Rooms, they had successfully encouraged Selwyn to choose Ominis to stalk. Thus, allowing Sebastian to split off from the Keeper and later head back into the Slytherin dorms to steal the bullies' diaries.

Of course, there was absolutely no point in acquiring the diaries a second time, but they had to steal those useless books for the sake of appearances for Natty's team. The Keeper would later be sure to comb the diaries with Ominis, to redact any information pertaining to Solomon from them, before handing the trash over to Natty.

Ominis' task then, was to lure Selwyn over to the Death Day Party Room via a more roundabout route, while the Keeper drew Macnair with them directly to the same destination.

Staggering the two bullies' arrival at the room, where Garreth and Poppy were preparing to transform, would allow them to lure Macnair away from the room with the first Keeper double. Before Ominis brought Selwyn to be tricked into stalking the second Keeper double in the other direction.

Thereby, freeing Ominis to join the Keeper and keep a lookout while the Keeper went into the Undercroft. Amit and Natty would each accompany Garreth and Poppy to help them hide from the bullies when their time ran out.

As the Keeper walked around the right bend, they came within view of the nondescript bronze door. Without skipping a beat, they slipped into the room, closing the door behind them, and turned to face Garreth and Poppy.

"Right on time, any complications?" Garreth asked with a confident grin.

"None." The Keeper replied as they dug through their satchel for two sets of their spare Slytherin robes, before handing one to Garreth and the other to Poppy.

"Great, I'll just take some of your hair then-" Garreth reached forward, and the Keeper immediately caught him by the wrist.

"If you think I'm giving you the chance to take more than two strands, you're barmy." The Keeper rolled their eyes.

"I'm hurt." Garreth gasped in dismay, placing a hand over his heart as though he'd taken a knife in it. "Why would you think I would do something as dastardly as secretly steal extra hair so I can make more Polyjuice potions of you in the future?"

"I wonder why." The Keeper responded dryly as they plucked exactly two strands from their head and handed them to Garreth.

"Isn't it a pity we live in such sceptical times?" Sighing dramatically, Garreth shook his head and gestured for Poppy to open the vials.

She deftly popped the caps off and held up the two vials for Garreth to add the Keeper's hair to their contents. The brown and muddy liquid bubbled for a moment, before turning into a deep blood red colour, the thick sludge thinning till it was the consistency of what looked like water.

The Keeper peered curiously at the fluid, they knew that Polyjuice potion was supposed to look and taste differently depending on the source of the last ingredient, and they wondered for a moment how theirs might taste. It did look uncannily similar to…

"Interesting colour, hopefully it doesn't taste like blood." Garreth chirped, clearly having come to the same conclusion, grinning at the Keeper. "You secretly a vampire?"

The Keeper rolled their eyes while Poppy laughed nervously and shook her head. "I'm sure it won't taste like blood, it's probably just red because it's an elegant colour."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." The Keeper chuckled.

If it did end up tasting like blood, they wondered if it would be because of the many goblin and human lives they'd taken. The amount of blood they'd spilled over the span of the previous year would probably be enough to fill the prefect's bath.

"Well, nothing for it, bottoms up!" Garreth raised his vial and poured it into his mouth while Poppy did the same.

Immediately Garreth began coughing and Poppy's eyes widened with surprise.

"Merlin’s balls, why is it so spicy!?" Garreth coughed a few more times, staring incredulously at the vial.

"What, can't handle a little heat?" The Keeper chuckled in amusement while both Garreth and Poppy dropped their vials as the transformation began.

Spicy eh? The Keeper mused to themselves while the sound of bones cracking echoed through the room. Well, that's probably better than their potion tasting like blood.

Seeing Poppy teetering as her body contorted, the Keeper took a step forward, catching her before she collapsed to the floor.

"Ugh- I'll never get used to that…" Garreth groaned in the Keeper's voice as he and Poppy's bodies finally completed the transformation.

"You alright there, Poppy?" The Keeper asked, peering down at their double.

"That was-" Poppy gasped. "A bit worse than I expected, thanks."

"First time?" The Keeper smiled wryly, taking a step away as Poppy seemed to regain her stability.

She nodded with a grateful smile and began changing her robes to the Keeper's. "I'm surprised that the potion tasted spicy, it had an interesting burn too."

"Yeah, the burn kind of reminded me of elf red wine." Garreth agreed as he tugged on the Keeper's robes.

"Spicy red wine?" The Keeper snorted, figures that their essence would manifest as an addictive substance, cosmic irony at its finest.

Though they wondered if there was any symbolic significance behind the spiciness, perhaps the fact that it was something most people either loved or hated? Or maybe even, that it was a defence mechanism developed by plants to avoid being eaten?

"You've had wine before?" Poppy asked, raising her eyebrow at Garreth.

"Yeah, I swapped one of my parents' bottles with cranberry juice." Garreth grinned cheekily as he buttoned their vest and the Keeper burst into laughter.

"Won't they find out?" Poppy asked as she fastened her robes closed.

"Nah, they've never even considered drinking that one, too expensive or something, so I doubt they'll ever find out." Garreth waved a hand dismissively as he took a few steps towards the door, patting the Keeper on the shoulder as he passed. "Alright, I'll get going then, best of luck!"

With that, Garreth left the room disguised as the Keeper, off on his mission of dragging Macnair all the way to the Greenhouses.

"I'd pay to see his parents' reaction, if and when they open that bottle." The Keeper chuckled.

"Must be hard living with Garreth." Poppy laughed. "He's fun though."

"If you can handle his brand of chaos I suppose." The Keeper shrugged. There was something vaguely unsettling in seeing their own face smiling and hearing their own voice giggling. Expressions that were normal on Poppy but felt distinctly unnatural on themselves.

Sure, they laughed and smiled too, but they were pretty sure it didn't look like that. Carefree and light-hearted. Then again, it's not like the Keeper watched themselves emote in the mirror regularly. For all they knew it might look like that. The thought was disquieting, they'd have to ask their partners afterwards.

A moment later, there was a knock on the door and Amit's voice reverberated through the wood. "Success, Macnair took the bait and Natty says Selwyn's heading this way. I'm going after Macnair and Garreth, good luck then!"

Poppy took a breath and placed her hand on the handle. "Alright, my turn. Good luck and I’ll see you tomorrow."

The Keeper nodded and she left the room quickly, determined to keep Selwyn occupied over by the Flying Class Lawn.

They continued waiting, taking the opportunity to rest against the wall, just a little longer. The nausea and dizziness would be over soon.

A few moments later another knock rapped on the door and Natty’s voice came next. "Alright, Selwyn's following Poppy, I'll trail them. Good luck!"

As the sound of her footsteps faded, the Keeper waited for a handful of minutes, before slipping out of the room. They travelled back out of the tunnel and glanced around the empty hallway, taking a few steps towards the Detention Chamber door.

The Keeper rapped their knuckles against it with a quiet. "All clear."

The door opened and Sebastian poked his head out. "How'd it go?"

"Without a hitch." The Keeper smirked as he slipped out through the door.

"Not sure I'd go that far, I'm pretty sure that Onai caught on that Selwyn was following me." A smooth and familiar voice came accompanied by the sound of even footsteps.

The Keeper tilted their head lazily to see Ominis walking over with a wry smile, his wand pulsing with red light as always. "It's fine, I’ll handle Natty."

"If you say so." Ominis huffed lightly, shaking his head.

"Oh ye of little faith." The Keeper chuckled.

"Well, at least if this works, it's not like you'll need her anymore." Sebastian muttered with an uncaring shrug.

"For now, perhaps, but you never know, would be better to keep that resource." The Keeper shrugged. "Alright, we've dallied long enough, let's go."

The Keeper then took Ominis' hand, laced their fingers, and began walking. Pleased when his eyes widened in surprise and the corners of his lips curled up in a small smile.

"Good luck, Sebastian." The Keeper ruffled his hair as they passed him, smiling at Sebastian's scoff as he combed his fingers through his hair and turned towards the Slytherin Common Room.

"As if I'll need any." Sebastian grumbled under his breath as he headed off in the other direction.

Leaving the dungeons, Ominis and the Keeper made the relatively short walk to the Defence Tower in a few minutes. Ominis stopped at the staircase beside the Undercroft entrance, while the Keeper continued past him.

Hearing the Keeper stumble however, Ominis reached out and caught their wrist. "Perhaps I should go in with you…"

"I'll be fine." The Keeper shook their head, placing a hand over his reassuringly. If they lost control of themselves, the last thing they'd want is for Ominis to try and stop them. Who knew what they'd do to him if he stood between them and the energy they were craving. They refused to allow for even the slightest possibility of finding out.

"Wait here for me. I will not be defeated by a mere addiction, I swear." The Keeper placed a quick chaste kiss on his cheek and released his hand, making their way over to the Undercroft door quickly, before Ominis could change his mind.

Sighing, Ominis remained above in the Tower, keeping watch while the Keeper took the secret passage to the Undercroft. All he could do now was trust them, but with so much to lose, that was the hardest task on Earth.

Meanwhile, the Keeper raised the gate to the Undercroft chamber and felt all the pain of the last two months slam into them at once.

At the mere sight of the Repository, the Keeper could feel their heart rate accelerate, gasping for air as though they were drowning. Their stomach churning, their pupils dilating and their palms sweating with anticipation. They barely felt their feet carry them towards the floating orb, would have been embarrassed if they'd seen the desperate way they'd stumbled across the floor.

Despite how uncooperative their magic had been for the last week, to their relief, the Repository responded immediately to the Keeper's wand, unfurling to grant them access to the tantalising energy within.

The Keeper stared into its mesmerising depths and felt the unbearable urge to immerse themselves in it. Their hand reached forward, almost as though it had sentience of its own.

"No!" The Keeper bit out, snatching back their hand and cradling it to their chest. Their teeth clenched and their shoulders heaved with the effort it took to restrain themselves, feeling perspiration bead along their forehead.

They'd sworn they wouldn't allow this to control them. They'd promised Sebastian and Ominis that they could resist and only retrieve enough to last till the end of term.

If they couldn't control themselves right now, they might as well take it all and allow the magic to consume them like it did Ranrok.

But they weren't as weak as that dirty brother killer.

Gritting their teeth, the Keeper instead reached into their satchel and retrieved a jar. Their hands trembled as they opened the jar, raising their wand shakily to collect a bulb of energy and guide it into the container. The length of their wand knocked against the inside of the jar with a loud clack, the sound ringing through the chamber.

They could feel drops of sweat roll down the side of their face, but they persisted. They had to move fast too, the Polyjuice distraction wouldn't last for more than forty-five minutes now.

Ominis and Sebastian were waiting for them.

Two jars.

Three jars.

Their stomach rolled with nausea.

Six jars.

Seven jars.

Every strand of muscle hurt, their wand arm trembling with strain.

Ten jars.

Eleven jars.

Their vision blurred and they shook their head to regain their focus.

Fifteen jars.

Sixteen jars.

The expansion charm on their satchel was so useful- They took a deep breath.

Twenty jars.

Twenty-one jars.

Almost there…

Twenty-nine jars.

Thirty jars.

The Keeper gasped, dropping to their knees as the Repository slid shut above them, their muscles cramped from the effort it'd taken to hold themselves steady.

They couldn't be sure how much time they'd taken to collect the energy necessary, but at least Ominis hadn't come down to the Undercroft himself, which meant that it hadn't reached the end of the hour yet.

The sooner they moved however, the sooner they could finish the last phase of the plan and actually take a proper hit for the first time in two months.

The Keeper forced themselves to their feet and began staggering towards the gates.

Ominis paced anxiously as he counted the minutes that had passed since the Keeper had left his side and descended into the Undercroft.

Were they alright? Had they succumbed to the urge to consume the energy? Would he regret waiting out here for them like they'd instructed? Had trusting the Keeper's self-control been the right choice?

He'd agreed when Sebastian said that the two of them needed to return the Keeper's trust with their own, but there was a difference between trust and neglect.

He'd made the same mistake with Sebastian and Solomon ended up dead. Whether it was Solomon's own fault or deserved regardless, it didn't change the fact that his death hadn’t been good. Sebastian hadn't been in his right mind, and Solomon hadn't helped and all of that made Sebastian, his Sebastian, suffer.

The Keeper was his now too and they were down there, suffering alone and he was just pacing up here rather than helping them!

As Ominis finally reached the end of his rope and turned to march into the Undercroft, the sound of the gate's clockwork gears turning reached his ears. His anxiety immediately peaked, wishing for the nth time in his life, that he could discern their condition visually.

Rushing over, Ominis was alarmed when he heard the Keeper's foot hit the floor with a heavy thud, a clear telltale indication that they were trying to keep their balance but were about to collapse. Moving forward quickly, Ominis caught the Keeper, slipping his arms under theirs and around their waist to support their weight with his torso.

"A- are you alright?" Ominis asked, his voice shaking with panic as he slung the Keeper's arms over his shoulders to take weight off their spine. "Merlin, you're burning up."

Ominis could feel a feverish heat radiating off the Keeper's body and was already considering if it would be better to dunk them into the Black Lake or cast Aguamenti on them.

However, to absolutely nobody's surprise, the Keeper stroked a hand over his shoulder to soothe him and sluggishly shook their head. "M’ fine, just tired. Let's go back to the common room, Sebastian's probably waiting already."

"I think we should go to the infirmary instead-" Ominis tried, trailing off as the Keeper's fingers abruptly tightened around his shoulder in warning. Their firm grip conveyed both that they were yet strong enough to exert force and that he was testing their patience.

Ominis sighed, grumbling under his breath as he adjusted their weight so that he could support them while walking, slinging one of their arms around his shoulders and gripping their waist firmly. "If you pass out before we even get to the common room, I'm dragging your arse to the infirmary."

The Keeper huffed a strained laugh as they began to stagger across the floor with him slowly. "Deal."

As the soothing music and cool, comforting light of the Slytherin common room came into their hazy and distorted vision, the Keeper felt a wave of relief wash over them.

They weren't sure when the Slytherin common room and dorms had come to truly feel like home, but the last time they'd been so glad to reach the bottom of a flight of stairs alive was after they broke their leg while running from the older orphans.

They felt, more than heard, Ominis sigh as the pots at the bottom of the staircase shattered for the millionth time, the familiar high-pitched sound echoing hollowly in their ears. Honestly, at this point, the Keeper was actually curious to know which idiot had decided to place those pots there because they wanted to award that person a medal.

As expected, Sebastian was already pacing by the fireplace and as he looked towards them at the sound of their staggering steps, the Keeper felt a brief moment of deja vu.

Who would have thought that the boy who'd brusquely asked if he could help them, in a tone that screamed 'leave me alone', would become their closest friend and partner. Or that his best friend who'd possessively threatened the Keeper outside the Undercroft would also become their closest friend and partner.

Their eyelids were so heavy, but we made it, Ominis wouldn't be dragging them to the infirmary where they'd have to think of an explanation while they were in this condition. A sigh escaped the Keeper's lips and their eyes slipped closed in relief…

"Sebastian-" Ominis had barely gotten his name out when the Keeper's body went limp against his. "Oh bollocks."

Sebastian, having heard Ominis, quickly moved forward to help him with the Keeper's unconscious form. "Merlin, Ominis, what happened?"

"I think their body couldn't handle being near the Repository and broke down. They were already feverish when they came out of the Undercroft." Ominis replied shakily as Sebastian helped him lay the Keeper on one of the couches.

"Alright, we should take their robes off first, we need to cool them down." Sebastian nodded, lifting the Keeper slightly so that Ominis could help remove their thick and baggy school robes.

"I knew I should have brought them straight to the infirmary, how can we possibly cool them down without potions?" Ominis bit his lip, setting the robes down on the opposite couch and wringing his hands anxiously. "Casting Glacius on them at this point would definitely send them into shock."

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, trying to think of a course of action before Ominis went into a full panic. "We can probably use it on something else…"

A moment of silence passed, only disturbed by Ominis shoes rapping against the floor as he paced. He was about to insist that they bring the Keeper to the infirmary when-

"That's it!" Sebastian reached for the Keeper’s satchel and began digging through it. "Ominis, could you get some cloth we can cut up to wrap with, and a bowl of some sort?"

Without questioning him, Ominis immediately hurried off to the dorms while Sebastian continued searching through the deceptively small bag.

After a few moments, he pulled out three of the Keeper’s wiggenweld potion vials from their satchel and stood. Closing the satchel and setting it aside, he then placed the three vials on the table.

"Glacius." Sebastian incanted, waving his wand over the three vials, freezing the vials and the liquid within them as Ominis returned with one of his winter scarves.

"I think I know what you're going for." Ominis pressed the scarf into Sebastian's hands before placing the basin on the table, waving his wand over it, and casting the water conjuring spell. "Aguamenti."

"There we go." Sebastian placed one of the vials into the gradually filling basin of water, the ice-cold vial cooling the water quickly while he used two quick Diffindo casts to split the scarf into three pieces.

"Here, you can use this one for their face." Sebastian placed one of the scarf pieces in Ominis' hand while he began wrapping the two remaining vials in a scarf piece each.

Sebastian then lifted the Keeper's arms and placed one of the wrapped vials under each of their armpits. Allowing the cloth to spread out the chill of each frozen vial, all to alleviate the concentration of heat in the region under the Keeper's shirt.

At the same time, Ominis dipped his scarf portion into the cool water, wrung it out and patted the cold damp fabric against the Keeper's forehead, letting it absorb the heat from their feverish skin. He dipped it back into the basin the moment the cloth lost its chill, this time dragging the cloth over the Keeper’s flushed cheeks and neck.

Feeling the sharp bite of cold along their neck, the Keeper pried their eyelids open. They felt disoriented, their blurry vision still refusing to cooperate. They shook their head with a low groan, trying to force their ears to work again. When did it get so cold?

They found themselves missing the warmth of Ominis' body against theirs and shifted slightly, realising that their heavy robes had been removed at some point. Cold. Their skin almost hurt from how cold they felt.

"I think the water is starting to get warm." That sounded like Ominis.

"Here, I froze another vial, I'll help you switch them out." Sebastian's voice came from beside them and the Keeper felt a damp and cold cloth placed on their forehead yet again. The sharp bite of cold against their already chilled skin drew a muttered curse from their lips.

"No complaints. If you resist, we're going to drag you to the infirmary." Ominis scolded as he patted the Keeper's warm and flushed face down before dipping the cloth into his basin to cool the towel again. "Always pushing yourself. Would it kill you to actually rely on us for once?"

"...but I did…" The Keeper smiled, that's right, after all, I "wouldn't have been able to resist without you two…"

Ominis' eyes widened and Sebastian blinked in surprise.

A long moment of silence passed as the two boys stared at the Keeper, uncertain how to react and waiting to see if they'd say more, but all they got were more quiet breaths.

A bemused huff came from Ominis as it became clear that the Keeper had spoken without realising it themselves.

"They are definitely delirious." Sebastian commented with a weak chuckle, his voice thick with emotion and he swallowed, wrapping his fingers tightly around the Keeper's.

"Yes, must be the fever." Ominis agreed with a soft smile, gently brushing the strands of damp hair from the Keeper's face.

The Keeper's breathing remained slow and even, and any other words that might have been spoken were lost as they slipped back into a deep slumber.

Notes:

To me, one of the best jokes from the entire game, was the fact that if you choose to cast Crucio on Sebastian during the Scriptorium quest, he stands shakily afterwards, understandably, gasping in pain, saying “That pain- I would have done anything to make it stop, but I’ll survive. Let’s keep moving.” And with less than a second passing from the moment he was gasping and panting, he happily proclaims “We made it!”

Like, it’s such hilariously bad stitching, even a few seconds more would have made it better, but with him going from dying from pain to excitedly declaring that we made it, the whole scene just went from dark to comedy to me. xDDD

Of course, it comes off as callous if he says that after cursing the player, but to me, the fact that he also says the exact same thing in the exact same way, no matter who got cursed, tells me that it wasn’t cruelty or uncaring on his part. He just genuinely saw the pain and spell as ‘a thing we had to do survive and succeed that isn’t anyone’s fault and its just a thing of the past now’. Sebastian is just goal oriented, practical and honestly, less petty than many fully grown adults.

He doesn't even hold a grudge against Ominis when he refused to help, like sure trauma is rough but they were essentially dying! That's the real life equivalent of bleeding to death from your severed arm and your friend, who is afraid of blood, refuses to save you by tying up your stump of a limb.

Calling Ominis ridiculous is rude and blunt, yes. Which is why I had Sebastian apologise for it in Chapter 5 but considering the circumstances, I think its an understandable response from a 15 year old kid.

Also, points to anyone who caught the references to Undertale and Sinbad Legend of the Seven Seas! I've actually been leaving references all over every chapter of all my fics, they're an inside joke at this point haha xD

[bethanydelleman]

What were the chances that Mrs. Weston being a gorvernes got such a good, respectable and rich match as Mr. Weston is Emma? Even Jane Fairfax was considering becoming a gorvernes, and even though she was born poor but she was raised wealthly so I'm assuming gorvernesing must be a good profession in terms of money I suppose? Could any of the Dashwood or Bennett sisters could've considered that profession? Or was it beneath them and why/why not?

Governessing is not a good profession in terms of money, status, ability to marry, or anything. Mrs. Weston was very lucky to be in a family as kind and generous as the Woodhouses and to move in society enough to meet Mr. Weston.

Jane Fairfax (in one of Jane Austen's less palatable moments), compares being a governess to the slave trade:

“...Offices for the sale—not quite of human flesh—but of human intellect.”

“Oh! my dear, human flesh! You quite shock me; if you mean a fling at the slave-trade, I assure you Mr. Suckling was always rather a friend to the abolition.”

“I did not mean, I was not thinking of the slave-trade,” replied Jane; “governess-trade, I assure you, was all that I had in view; widely different certainly as to the guilt of those who carry it on; but as to the greater misery of the victims, I do not know where it lies. But I only mean to say that there are advertising offices, and that by applying to them I should have no doubt of very soon meeting with something that would do.”

Agnes Grey by Anne Brontë has a very realistic view of what a governess's life looked like and it is not great. Anne worked as a governess herself, by the way, and the novel is thought to be based on her own experience. Agnes works very long hours for not much pay (between £30-50 pounds per year usually), she is not considered a member of the family and rarely sees visitors. Remember, by the time of the novel, Miss Taylor isn't even teaching Emma anymore, she's basically a paid friend for Emma. That was the dream. Miss Taylor was clearly visiting with Emma's friends which is required to meet a man of gentry status.

Perhaps more importantly, and something Emma discusses as well, governesses were unprotected:

“Thank you, thank you—but on no account.—I would rather walk.—And for me to be afraid of walking alone!—I, who may so soon have to guard others!”

She spoke with great agitation; and Emma very feelingly replied, “That can be no reason for your being exposed to danger now. I must order the carriage....”

Agnes escapes unharmed, but governesses were often orphans, like Jane Fairfax (and probably Miss Taylor as her family is never mentioned), and they did not have men at hand to protect them or chaperones. So the possibility of their being preyed upon by the man of the family, or the sons, or visitors was unfortunately very real. Here are some accounts. However, Miss Taylor is in a house with no sons and Mr. Woodhouse, she is as safe as possible.

So, not only were most governesses not mixing in society enough to even meet a suitor, but even if you did, a man might not consider you because he assumes you are a ruined woman. Lovely.

Because of this danger, the wife of a family may also discriminate against pretty girls, as discussed here in A Woman of No Importance by Oscar Wilde:

Lady Hunstanton: ...Nobody likes to be asked favours. I remember poor Charlotte Pagden making herself quite unpopular one season, because she had a French governess she wanted to recommend to every one.

Lady Caroline.  I saw the governess, Jane. Lady Pagden sent her to me.  It was before Eleanor came out. She was far too good-looking to be in any respectable household.  I don’t wonder Lady Pagden was so anxious to get rid of her.

Lady Hunstanton.  Ah, that explains it.

Also, you needed to be well educated to get a good position. Miss Taylor and Jane Fairfax clearly are, but the Bennet sisters are most decidedly not. Maybe Elizabeth or Mary could pass but the rest would not be very desirable which would probably increase their chance of being in a bad position. The Dashwoods probably could, but they don't need to. They already make an income of £50 off their inheritance of £1000 each without doing any work.

If Mrs. Dashwood died, the £7000 pounds would be split between the girls. They would be able to live together on that income or contribute to the household of their brother or a cousin (pretty sure Sir John would take them in). So there is no way they would need to be governesses.

To sum up, most gentry women probably were doing whatever they could to avoid becoming a goveress.

[gentlejack]

Anne/Ann headcanons, mayhaps? / violetyorkshirelady

⚢ Thank you so much for this ask! I always love to talk about my sweet beloved Ann(e)s whom I miss and cherish so very much ;A; <;3

I think my favourite headcanons must be the ones that concern their day-to-day married life; the time they spend together; their shared little gestures; and most importantly the many things they do to improve each other's existence.

I live for them grooming and pampering each other. I am of the firm and unshakeable opinion that Anne frequently washes, combs and braids Ann's hair, and that Ann never wastes an opportunity to rub some nicely scented lotion into the work-roughened skin of Anne's hands in the evening.

Just as Anne is known to massage the anxiety knots out of Ann's poor shoulders, Ann has developed a special sense for deciphering the keenly-hidden failings of Anne's health. She always knows when Anne's knees are plagued by another arthritic flare, no matter how stubbornly Anne tries to conceal her discomfort. It's why Ann keeps knitting her fluffy knee pads to help against the hardships of those long, draughty winters at Shibden.

Ann has made herself perfectly, comfortably at home on Anne's lap and she occupies that proudly won space of hers whenever they're alone in the room together.

Anne keeps a close eye on Ann's physical and emotional health. She often tries to keep her busy by involving her in personal projects and shared ventures. And she always, always finds a way to make Ann eat, even on the days when she'd prefer to go hungry. (No self-punishing behaviour on Anne's watch!)

Anne's hands are always cool, Ann's hands are always warm. Anne also sticks her icy feet against Ann's shins when they're in bed together, and Ann never fails to gasp about it. But that's all right, because ...

Ann, in turn, drives Anne absolutely bonkers with her snoring. I love headcanons that are drawn from the historical records of their married life, and it never fails to crack me up that little Ann Walker had such an obnoxious snore that Anne frequently fled their bedroom to sleep in ever more ridiculous locations out of sheer desperation. (But she always returns to her wife's side in the wee hours of the morning, because she loves her.)

Now you must tell me some of your headcanons! <3

[fortheloveofaussiegrit]

aus gp 2023 (oscarmark wip and a little nsfw)

The knock at the door hadn’t been completely unexpected, and he didn’t want to admit that he had been waiting— but he had.

It was the early hours of the morning by the time Mark opened his hotel room door, and it wasn’t a shock to see Oscar standing, almost swaying from side to side, looking a little worse for wear. Oscar had raced in his first home grand prix earlier that day, and he had scored points just like Mark had all those years ago. So Mark had told him to go celebrate, and by the way Oscar was not quite able to hold Mark’s gaze and the way he almost stumbled while standing still, it wasn’t difficult to gauge just how much of a good time Oscar’d had.

“You’re still awake.” Oscar mumbled to his manager as he wobbled his way into the room. 

"I am now." He replied, trying to stifle a yawn. He closed the door behind them, leaving his thoughts outside as he turned to see Oscar, noticing that his choice of words caused Oscar to spin so quickly back around that he almost toppled over.

“Sorry— i-i didn’t mean to wake you.”

Mark just shook his head and brushed him off, “you didn’t.” 

Oscar just nodded, looking up at Mark. It was dark in the room with only the bedside lamp on, and his laptop was strewn on the bed from where he had been sitting and working. He had changed out of what he was wearing earlier, but he was still wearing jeans and a t-shirt— Jeans that Oscar had told him were just a little too tight, and the t-shirt that was also on the smaller side, but he made no complaints. The t-shirt that he wore was just tight enough on his arms to show off the definition of his muscles and the jeans… He loved the way the jeans spread over his thighs when he sat down, the denim stretching over his bulge at times too, and that image alone made Oscar feel even more unsteady on his feet.

He could see that his eyes looked tired, starting to curl around and droop at the corners. The wrinkles around his eyes pleated even more, and Oscar just wanted to run his fingers over each and every single one of them because he loved them. He loved the way they creased when he made Mark smile, when he grinned a congratulations in Oscar's direction, and most importantly, he loved the way they bunched together when Mark squeezed his eyes shut when he was close to cuming with his cock in Oscar’s mouth. 

And Oscar was almost lost just staring at the man he believed he owed so much to... Not just for the help with his racing but for everything else that entailed too. The looking after him when he was younger; the making sure he was doing his homework; the making sure he was eating; checking his flights so he wouldn’t miss them, knocking on his hotel door when he knew Oscar would’ve slept through his alarm; taking him home with him so he could eat one of Ann’s home-cooked meals because he knew how badly the homesickness sucked at times; and just being there when no one else was.

Then that had all evolved into what they had now— not that they could label what they had now. 

They had never really talked about what it was; it had just happened. It was sex, and it was also a whole lot more than just that too, but maybe because they knew it was wrong and it could never be anything more than a dirty little secret they both kept hidden in the depths of their pockets, that was why they were content with what they had and why they never questioned it. Oscar didn’t care that it was wrong; Mark cared for him, looked after him, maybe even loved him, and he could also set ablaze every single nerve in Oscar’s body when he ripped orgasm after orgasm from him. He was fine with it being condemned to hotel rooms and having to steal secret glances and touches in public because no one had ever made Oscar feel the way Mark did. 

Mark, on the other hand, had been quite vocal about how wrong it was, with mumbles coming from Mark about how they shouldn’t be doing this, but then Oscar was sucking his cock into his mouth, and all those thoughts seemed to be forgotten.

Oscar wanted that now… he had gone out like Mark had told him too. He had been nearly carried into some swanky club in Melbourne and then preceded to get drunk… very drunk as he had been handed drink after drink and was even hoisted into the air on numerous occasions because they had a lot to celebrate: the boy from Melbourne had scored points in his first home grand prix. 

But then later into the evening that familiar feeling of lust and inebriety started to mix in his stomach and then all he wanted was to be in Mark’s bed with Mark’s hands and mouth all over him.

That’s how he ended up stood before Mark with his hand reaching out to touch his cheek. To rub his thumb over that outgrown stubble, feeling the prickle against the palm of his hand. Wanting to feel it rub against his own cheek, to brush against his neck as Mark trailed kisses down his check. He wanted to feel it caress against the insides of his thighs as Mark bit kisses into his skin, drawing out bruises and yelps from Oscar as he did. 

Then he was pushing onto his tiptoes so he could reach Mark’s lips with his, merely brushing a touch before Mark spoke. 

“What are you doing here?” Mark asked as if it wasn’t obvious.

Oscar just grinned smugly as he reached to press his lips to Mark’s again before settling back on the heels of his feet as it seemed Mark was far more interested in talking then anything else.

“Couldn’t find someone to take you home and fuck you, is that it?” He teased as his lips curled into a grin as he looked to Oscar. 

“They don’t fuck me like you do.” 

Mark spluttered out a cough at that having to take a step back from the kid. 

[harrowscore]

best books read in 2022 by yours truly, in no particular order:

the seven deaths of evelyn hardcastle by stuart turton (technically started in 2021 but finished in early january 2022, so it counts). murder mystery + time loop + redemption themes = perfect mix, 10/10 recommend

this is how you lose the time war by amal el-mohtar & max gladstone: space lesbians but what if they were enemies? lovely, lovely prose. one flaw tho: more of a ~i'm being poetic for the sake of being poetic~ than a character story. still, interesting read.

the plague by albert camus: i couldn't not include him. 5/5 stars, he's easily becoming one of my favorite authors.

hygiène de l'assassin by amélie nothomb: a female journalist succeeds where everyone else fails and interviews an old misanthropic and cynical nobel-winner author. but not everything is as it seems... insane little book, great characterization for the female protagonist. perfect ending. i couldn't put it down, thankfully it's quite short.

carmilla by j. sheridan le fanu: this doesn't need introductions, does it? :)

hedda gabler by henrik ibsen: a play revolving around a woman - daughter of a general, unsatisfied by her current circumstances and marriage. a fascinating female protagonist, especially for the time; the kind of writing you usually get for male characters, and a role every actress would give everything to play at least once.

salomé by oscar wilde: one act only, but it stays with you. particularly incisive adaptation of the biblical story; wilde's writing as usual is stunning.

an oresteia (agamemnon by aeschylus, elektra by sophokles, orestes by euripides) by anne carson: another read that doesn't need introductions.

the hours by michael cunningham: somehow based on mrs dalloway, it is about one day (and the life) of three women in three different time periods; among them, virginia woolf herself. lovely prose.

the cycle of earthsea by ursula k. le guin: series of 5 books (including one of short stories) masterfully written by ms le guin. the first book is a sort of fantasy buldingsroman about a young wizard named ged who, because of his hubris, makes a peculiar sort of enemy... the next books follow ged as he becomes an adult, a middle-aged, and an old man + a varied cast of characters (most importantly tenar, introduced in book 2). original worldbuilding and story (especially for the time - the first novel was published in the 60s), lovely prose and themes (light/dark as yin/yang, necessary to each other's existence - sw wishes it had what earthsea has) + beautiful love story in the last volumes. bonus: most characters in earthsea are very much not white. again, very avant-garde for the 60s, and something all adaptations deliberately ignored.

grendel by john gardner: based on the beowulf poem - the story told by the antagonist's point of view. just striking, and oh my god the themes. couldn't stop thinking about it for days.

in the night garden by catherynne m. valente: a girl trapped in a garden spins a labyrinth of fairy tales for a boy - the only person willing to listen to her - a la scheherazade. told in the usual beautiful prose made in valente, amazing settings and atmospheres.

the sundering duology by jacqueline carey. (thanks for the rec, @queen-zimraphel ❤️) basically a lotr retelling told by the Bad Guys' povs. the inspiration is clear but also it's meant to be a mirror and say 'what if?'. grey morality everywhere, elegant but simple prose + death and the maiden vibes from the local tormented dark lord/the beautiful elf lady. (tho the main love story is not about them specifically... but still.) a great tragedy, but masterfully told - this is how characters who were dead from the beginning and given a role to play in the narrative by a fate larger than them should be written.

honorary mentions to áqua viva by clarice lispector, waiting for godot by samuel beckett, enrico iv by luigi pirandello, and then there were none by agatha christie, sharp objects and gone girl by gillian flynn, in the margins by elena ferrante, ficciones by jorge luis borges, and obviously demons by fyodor dostoeveskij <3

[giddlywinks]

Giddy Mag #6: Mediumship and I-Part 1

This issue of the Giddy Mag is more personal than usual.

Also, all of the linked songs come from my meditation playlist. I use Apple Music as my personal platform. I understand why many people do not. But, they pay significantly better royalties to artists than Spotify, and that is a dealbreaker for me.

I found out I had wildly unmanaged gifts for mediumship in March of 20-. A lot of really challenging things were happening in my mind, body, and spirit at that time. I found out at 12:01am exactly. I was watching a YouTube video of Mary-Anne Kennedy (a well-respected Canadian medium) talking about the basics of her work and experiences in mediumship.

"Let me whisper to you profound secrets. You, man of the hour, and then you will know where the water meets the road to God."

She said everything that was already happening to me that I couldn't explain. I wept, called my Pentecostal mom, and told her everything. She said, "Well, yeah, we knew that." No, I did not know that. But the irony is not lost on me in the more private narratives of my life.

I have had an intuitive art practice, where I make photo grid collages (every day that I can) for over a year now. These collages sometimes involve my experiences with mediumship in different ways. Although, I do not understand that until afterward. Usually, months later.

"My bones erupting with power and the wind being it's most sensual, I couldn't help but wonder, truly, in the best way possible, if this is why I am where I am."

My collages act as a kind of subconscious weather forecast, prophecy, assessment, and receptor for information for me. Usually, as the months progress, each corresponding day (the 1st day, the 22nd day, etc.) of the month exhibits the collage in my real life more intensely. It ends at five months. At four months, any issues within the collage specifics are usually resolved. I make up the titles as I go along, and I re-title them as I see fit. All titles and interpretations always apply. They do not narrow. They widen each month.

Sensualism (n.)

persistent or excessive pursuit of sensual pleasures and interests

Sometimes, the images are just facts about the astrological weather. Transits or aspects. But most importantly, they are also an energetic vibe, a complex feeling words don't provide. They are my processing tool as much as my higher wisdom floating down and up into my subconscious waters. Translation is never accurate to 100%. Can you or anyone interpret dreams perfectly?

"Deluxe Version 69 zoomed up full hey baby coochie/cunt I'm thinking about grass mama I'm thinking actual motion my joy sex appeal heat"

Spirits talk in symbology. That's why I've been obsessed with film since I was a child. It is like a 4D theater experience that no one else knows but you. You have all your senses firing to say something mythic, something absurd, something montaged far past the Avant Garde, something true to living.

"In the Theater of Form, there are two players, the intellect played by the angels and the feelings played by the moon. When you put it all together, you realize how ice is a prism of light. I would guess so."

A lot of the spirits who seek my help do so because we have relatable life experiences somehow. Usually, it's something that would make a person empathize, so it's often shared grief and pain. They see me as able to see them, in all the ways a supporter should, and that draws them close to me.

"I hear your echo for generations."

I have a Letterboxd list of films that I feel teach aspects, express ideas, or involve mediumship. You may be surprised to see what is on there. Or not! Maybe you're also dealing with knowing everyone is still around. I'd love recommendations for the list. It grows all the time as I think of the films.

I was raised Evangelical, and I do not support hierarchical organized religion, but I love going to churches alone because there's never any spirits in there. They don't need it like we do. It's their whole being now. So, in the pew, my brain is silent.

"Now, I've brought my Sunday best. Please let me be with you. Just for a moment. I want to be being. Why do I always have to be myself? Can I have the peace? Can I have a moment where I feel the rest? Or, will you kiss me? I need to understand what the hell has ever been going on."

Not all spirits are happy or healed, but even the most malevolent spirits deep down are perfectly good, and they reach that highest good in time.

(The efficacy of YouTube sound healing is shaky and inconsistent at best, but sometimes things work for a moment for unexplainable reasons. So, I share them anyway, hoping they'll do for someone else what, at least once, they did for me.)

My work is easy. I just love the spirits (who were once like us), and on occasion, the people they send me. My life is hard because knowledge is power and exhaustion. And, I often know too much, which usually consists of the difficult feelings of others. Most of my days, I'm doing two things at once. I'm helping the beings we don't usually see, and I'm living my LIVING life. Would you want to be harassed by strangers in your home all the time, even if they meant you no harm?

"Gorg, brilliant, a threat."

Consider that they may also look scary and that night time is when it's most common to see them. Nothing scares me anymore except jump scares. Those aren't fear based. They're reflex based. They trigger the point of fear underneath the consciousness. The animal. I've started feeling the jump less and less in time.

"Oh, my haunted house. Yes, isn't it lovely."

When I'm tired, I'm more frightened.

Please, allow yourself rest.

"Form and gestation for the continual generation of life's miracles. For myself, rest and a kind beauty."

Anyway, I loved these so much as a kid. I blame my cusped Sun.

the oyster the whale

P.S. My experiences with mediumship are why I am so drawn to (and love) hauntology, ambient, experimental, dream and hypnagogic pop, etc. I love music that sounds like it is from a liminal space. Sometimes, I wonder if it really is. A feather dropped on someone's brain from another world. Also, Paige Lewis' Space Struck is an incredible collection of poetry, and I highly recommend it. The poem "God's Secretary Overworked" comes from there.

[benefits1986]

Dead-ends

That hyphen on the word "dead-end" makes more sense and no sense, at once. Or it is just me and my dyslexic moody nothingness, yet again? This morning, dad was supposed to go on a long ride in ode of the long weekend. In an hour or so, we heard a loud sound that seemed like a firecracker, a loud one to be exact. Since I am still recovering, I asked him to check it out. He opened the door of our tiny house and looked around. Lo and behold, his three-year old bike tire exploded. We were talking about how mother dragon must have been breathing down my neck and today, my dad's neck, too. LOL. I asked him to thank mom because he could have gone wild on the roads especially during lusongs na malala. He stopped and looked at me. I knew he misses mom more and more.

I nebulized today because I can feel my breath shorten a bit which is not usual for me. Asthmatic era na ba talaga ako as an old lady with pets who shed their furs a whole lot this time of the year? LOL. I said sorry to Vici as he had to sleep on his own because mhie, I am literally and figuratively breathless-ish. Damn this bug. Ang lala but we are not stopping. Dad asked me saan ba ako pupunta this long weekend. LOL. I said that he should stop irking me because I can't afford a binat. A number of close friends are recovering from the flu for two weeks and counting; and I CANNOT imagine me in that scenario. Anyhow, I am supposed to backpack in no less than Bicolandia. However, I need to prioritize my health not only in time for the mega mad dash to the end of Q4, 2023. More importantly, the past days and weeks taught me that I am not getting any younger. Yes, I am not taking any maintenance drugs, thankfully; but it does not mean that I can go all out non-stop. LOLOLLOLLOLL. FML. I went easy on OD-ing vitamins and meds because my liver maybe crying out loud. I remember LA Tenorio's post which talks about his bout with CA. It's not just about the game but most importantly, the one who drives the ball and is part of the team. It begins and end with the self... always. This is easier said than done especially when I along with countless millennials are experiencing the pull of gravity; regardless of BMI, insulin resistance, number of zeroes in our bank accounts or the emoji reacts that our feed grants us. :D LELS.

We're all racing toward our own versions of dead-ends. We're all bound by our breath and nothing else, really. We're all but a speck of dust in the wind. It's funny how we often say that dogs' dead-ends are shorter than ours; however, I'd like to believe that all dogs have a life well-lived. They know what true love, compassion, loyalty and pure intention are. Enough said. I might be too dramatic for tonight's thought fart. I guess this is my way of resisting the AI boss bitch streak which is where I'm swimming in and will be in for the next X number of years. I guess I'd want to believe that there is a better version of Her (the movie starring Joaquin Phoenix) in this lifetime. I guess, humanity will prevail if and only if there'd be people who'll choose to make their versions of dead-ends worthwhile. Can I just say that I kinda feel like Anne Frank right now? So many social unrest, injustice towards the women and the disadvantaged. So many unnecessary factions that can actually be tackled if and only if people come together to over-communicate and negotiate. If only we work toward our dead-ends to heal the world instead of lambasting it more and more, maybe, just maybe, we'd be in a better ground. Let's see. For the meantime, I shall rest my case. Catch you in the next one!

[tasmiq]

Jumu'ah Sohbet: 27 October 2023

This week presented two very deep portals into the soul through Australia to the martial art of Silat. Two blessed individuals that are purposefully Shaykh Taner's older mureeds (followers). With Shukran Ya Allah (Divine gratitude) and bismillah ...

#1. A spritely soul first appeared at 1 am from Sydney, Australia. Here, Shaykh Ibrahim described how similar to South Africa, the climate was getting into the warmth of Summer. He began by conveying love to everyone, especially Murshid (Guide or Teacher) Taner Ansari in the next life and to a smiling Anne (our spiritual mother in this life) who was with us fellow multinational mureeds (followers). In a time of political chaos of the Muslim world that is potentially at the brink of World War III - I read last night, he spoke about taking charge of our brains.

How do we take charge of feeling worried, stressed, or concerned about the things happening in the world ... how do we find peace? The idea of the matter around us tends to make us feel small and distracted, especially with regard to the news projected in social media. They take us away from what's real, and most of what we see is not true anyway, as the Muslim world being at the brink of WWIII. We don't have enough evidence or facts to have an idea of the reality. So the first thing that we have to do is find truth within ourselves in a way that we understand it and see it as a process to gain certainty. The only certainty that we have is that there is Allah, and that's that! Everything else is manifestations of Allah.

When we start looking at what's the reality, what's the truth with self inquiry about our purpose. We begin with an understanding that there is Allah and our understanding is limited, but our hearts are not limited, and most importantly, Allah's love is unlimited and unconditional! So looking for where that takes us and where we are now, and then there is family and work, and people that we have to deal with ... So we come into this part of life with a lot of habits, worries, and expectations. And then there is our heart and how we deal with that, how do we bring them together? Fortunately, Sufism is one of the best ways Shaylh Ibrahim affirmes take us through the tricky parts of life. The tricky parts are when we start to worry and stress about the future.

#2. Shaykh Ibrahim continued where we ought to listen to our spiritual hearts, which means:

i. To have no expectations for a specific answer.

ii. That we're open and trust that our hearts will not hurt us.

iii. This is how we connect to Allah and everything around us. This sometimes takes time and space, where we are busy with things to do. Setting this time apart to recentre is really important. We can quietly lie in bed and be with our hearts. The more time we spend being with our hearts, the more we will hear what it has to say.

It doesn't mean it will say anything life-threatening or -changing, but it will give us clues about its preferences. The fact that it will be a quiet type of dialog is important, we ought to set aside an hour in a month, after Salat (prayer) or after Zikr, not doing anything and with no expectations. We must just see where our hearts take us, which may actually surprise us!

#3. Then Anne beautifully mirrored Shaykh Ibrahim's expansive soul. She reaffirmed the importance of making time for our spiritual hearts, and nurturing our connection to Allah. if we spend more time nurturing our connection to the world, Shaykh Taner and her were in a Sufi symposium in California many years back, when the world was suffering with wars and this and that. He interjected at a point, "Wait a minute, does anyone know a time that was nice, peaceful, and quiet?" All the Sufi teachers gave a chuckle in the first row after reflecting on what a true point that was. We must remember that what we spend time with, is what nurtures us!

So, waking up and making the intention to stay connected to our spiritual hearts, and going to sleep making the intention to stay close to our Rabita (heartfelt connection) and our hearts, is really why we're Sufi. We are about learning to stay positively connected with Allah, becoming a devotee of Allah, and living in love and gratefulness with Him. Does this mean that we ignore what is going on around us, and we stay unaffected? No, we must remember the Hadith about when we fully connect to Allah, we become Allah's Khalifa (vicegerant), and our hands become the hands that Allah does things through. Our hearts become the heart that Allah feels through, and there are many distractions out there, so we have to hold onto Allah's rope tightly

We have our Rabita (heartfelt connection), and whatever will be a touchstone as a tasbih, crystal, or nature itself. When we fall off our connection, our touchstone will help us reconnect with our teachers and Pirs. Our brains could be our biggest enemy or helper to our hearts. How will we keep this connection between our spiritual hearts and our brains solid? Intention is our way of staying connected to Allah. We have to see what Allah does through us. We should pray for humans, nature, and animals, and for Allah’s love to be established in people's hearts. Many things divide people's hearts, even down to religion, but love unifies us! We can walk into any Church, Mosque, or Synagogue, and if we talk of the love of God, no one will have an objection to that! When we say staying positive, we are really saying staying connected because that's where love exists!

We must not fall off the path by only watching the horrific news, but our Shaykh Taner watched the news where he knew everything that was going on during the day time, so that he could pray in the night time. This is staying positive, and it doesn't mean that we are happy, but it does mean that we are connected. Because that's the most positive action that we can take. Positivity for a Sufi is not a state of mind but a state of action that says, "I am choosing Allah, and it is not me but Allah who can do something about this. I don't have any power!"

#4. Thereafter, Shaykh Ibrahim mirrored Anne's soul when he reflected that spirituality is a process, and there is no quick answer, the intention will set into motion the process which will take some time to understand how we work as everyone works in a specific way. Our job is to see how we learn with our weaknesses and strengths. We can look at these as a combination of intelligences as how we approach and view the world. Part of our job is to learn what our inventory of strengths and weaknesses are, and as we do that, we can learn the processes that interfere with our ability to be with Allah. Hazrat Abdul Qadir Geylani identified this as polishing the heart and removing the obstacles that interfere with our connection to Allah. We need to understand that this is a long process, but as a Tariqa, we are blessed to have each other where we are not alone. The sulook (path) that we have is our own, but we are doing this together where somebody has our backs.

The courage and bravery that it takes to face oneself is the highest order. If we take it on, we must give ourselves some slack and keep a sense of humour through it as it is the most serious job one takes on. We must be sure to laugh at ourselves and our nafs because that takes away its energy! When we can shine a light on one of our problems, it doesn't have as much power over us! Its energy dissipates and begins to dissolve, and it gives us the energy to work on our next nafs factor 😅 Here, Khalifa Rubina joked that it's beautiful that we can be gentle with our nafs, yes it is a serious job, yet we can laugh and relax about it. It makes it more exciting, actually! Jihad usually has a strong connotation to it, but it's a jihad. May Allah make us successful with the most beautiful jihad 😆

#5. As a former senior martial arts student pre-accident, it took an accident to make me realise that I was missing spirituality in my former study of its physicality! Our Guru Rennie spelt out that we begin with intention - thereby activation of it by its repetition, which transforms into energy. In Sufism, our strength is gained from our spiritual mentors because our egos crave stillness and ease. Our transformation comes from our connection, which we feel in our hearts. Repetition as Zikr (Divine remembrance) is enabling us to protect ourselves and our communities. Silat gives us our shield of Allah! By connecting to our proprioception, we are reminding our bodies as Zikr itself.

"This is where Tasmi has a little advantage. She used to do martial arts, and now she's confined to a wheelchair so she's imagining each of these moves with her mind. We, after all, know where our body functions are," is where Guru Rennie graciously pointed to my truth.

At one point he powerfully said,

... I breathe out, and as I do, I say, "Oh Allah, let us be the peace makers." There is no holding onto the bad news on the Middle East ...

... I have been working on a lesson plan based on the shahadah, which has to do with certainty, in being certain where you are in space. It gets deep Sufism and Silat ...

... These are all blueprints to learn things, hand and foot patterns. We learn step by step. I am trying to set up the lesson structure of the website, so this has been incredibly helpful! ...

... We're getting close to setting up the website, Insha'Allah, what do I know? I'm just teaching!

😅😇🥹

This ends my spellbinding spiritual inspirations from the week, leaving me swimming in an ocean of gratitude:

Shukran Ya Allah × infinity

[kellyssimsstories]

Generated Life Challenge

Rules

You must complete the career and aspiration unless specified 

You can live in any neighborhood unless specified 

Do not use any cheats unless specified 

The next heir will be the first child regardless of gender (for twins or triplets heir will need to be decided by teenhood)

Take a photo of each heir and pass down the photos

Keep lifespan on normal (only Elder sims can have life span extended) 

If playing with an extended elderly life span and you need to complete all the objectives by the 12th day 

You cannot marry a sim who likes something the heir dislikes.

Generation 1

You have always loved animals. Why can’t sims understand you like the animals do? Well, you do need some source of income to sustain your life and more importantly your animal friends. So you’ll complete a freelance task now and then, but you would prefer to upgrade all the appliances in your house and take a million photos of your furry friends. Hey, why work hard when you can enjoy life?

Traits: Perfectionist,  Animal Enthusiast, Lazy.

Aspiration: Friend of the Animals

Career: Freelance-Crafter Branch 

Likes: Photography, Brown, Storybook, Singer-Songwriter, Stories, Hard-Working Sims

Dislikes: Gardening, Pink, Queen Anne, New Age, Compliments, Cerebral sims

Complete the Friend of the Animals Aspiration

Max the Juice fizzing, Photography and Handiness Skills

Start on an empty on lot at least 40 X 30 lot size

Only complete one job per week (at most)

Have at least 3 pets at all time through your life

Take a photo of each pet you have and a wall with all the photos

Marry a sim who has at least one pet

Generation 2

People have always told you that you are the PERFECT homemaker. You decided as an adult to completely redo your parents’ shed of a home into the perfect piece of rustic bliss. You love spending hours in your garden, tidying up, and cooking grand meals for all of your friends and family. Yet, you have a secret that many do not expect. You HATE children. Seriously, how does anyone stand those short, not fully developed sims? Even with your own child, you just don’t seem to connect. You may not be a nurturer but at least there is always fresh food on the table.

Traits: Hates Children, Romantic, Good

Aspiration: Country Caretaker

Career: Gardner- Botanist Branch

Likes: Gardening, Pink, Garden, Romance, Arguments, Pessimistic Sims 

Dislikes: Guitar, White, Boho, Tween Pop, Pranks, Egotistical Sims

Complete the  County Caretaker Aspiration

Max the Gardening,  Knitting, and Fabrication skills

Transform the lot you parent started into a proper farm

Receive the "Go, Green Thumbs!" plaque.

Only have one child (you can use a cheat if needed)

Unlock the Technophobe lifestyle

Reach the top of the Gardner Botanist Branch Career

Generation 3

You grew up eating the best fruits and vegetables fresh from your parents’ farm. While you've always been close with one of your parents, you felt that your other parent never was proud of you. You tried all your life for the best grades and to be the best at everything. Maybe that will bring the two of you closer? As an adult you yearn for knowledge and the connection you never had as a child. You push yourself in your career, vacations,  hobbies, and with making friends. But has this turned you into a people pleaser and are you too soft with your own children?

Traits:Genius, Self-Assured, Vegetarian

Aspiration: Archaeology Scholar 

Career: Engineer- Mechanical Engineer

Likes:Bowling, Blue, Contemporary, Electronica, Discussion Hobbies, Idealist Sims 

Dislikes: Baking, Black, Cosmolux, Jazz,  Arguments, Ambitionless Sims

Complete the Archaeology Scholar Aspiration

Max the Bowling, Robotics, and Archaeology skills

Reach the top of the Engineer Mechanical Engineer Branch Career

Be good friends with one parent and disliked by the previous heir parent

Start a bowling club and go bowling every Tuesday

Be friends with all bowling club members 

Never discipline your child for bad behaviors 

Generation 4

You had a BLAST growing up. There was always laughter and chaos and your parents were like really cool (not ironically). No seriously, they let your significant other move into their house right after high school. And they totally understand that it will take some time for them to figure out what they want to do with their life. But you got your life figured out. You have always loved clubs, loud music, and most of all mixology. You just want to enjoy the party called life with your partner and your horde of kids! 

Traits: Dance Machine,  Childish, Family-oriented

Aspiration: Soulmate

Career: Cooking-Mixologist Branch

Likes: Mischief, Black, Boho, NuDisco, Discuss Interests, Homebody Sims

Dislikes: Research & Debate, Yellow, Patio, Winter Holiday, Small Talk, High Energy Sims

Complete the Soulmates Aspiration 

Max the Dancing, Mixology, Mischief, and Parenting skill

Have a partner as a teen who will move into your house as a young adult

Complete the voidcritter card collection

Your partner will never get a job

Move out of your parent’s house when your youngest sibling becomes a young adult (or if no younger siblings, when you and your partner both become adults) 

You must have triplets (you may use a cheat) and more children if you'd like! 

Generation 5

Your parents were the life of the party and there were a lot of parties. But you have always enjoyed the fresh outdoors instead. Nothing is more relaxing than taking a vacation to the great outdoors with your faithful 4-legged companion or your close group of childhood besties. You honestly don’t know how you would have survived without your close knit group of friends. The one thing missing in your life has been a significant other. Maybe you’ll be able to find someone special on the slopes, or the beach, or hiking in the woods.

Traits: Insider, Dog Lover, Gloomy

Aspiration: Outdoor Enthusiast

Career: Lifeguard (as Teen), Military- Covert Operator Branch 

Likes: Fitness, White, Island, Japanese Folk, Gossip, Optimistic Sims

Dislikes: Media Production, Orange, Modern, Cottagecore, Deception, Funny Sims

Complete the Outdoor Enthusiast Aspiration 

Max the Pet training, Herbalism and Skiing skills

Reach the top of the Military Covert Operator Branch Career

Have a group of four friends from childhood to adulthood

Be companions with your dog

Plan a vacation to Mt. Komorebi, Granite Falls, and Sulani

Locate the Hermit’s House in Granite Falls

Meet your spouse when you are on vacation

Generation 6

With a military parent, you were always expected to be on your best behavior. Your life was structured and scheduled with your parents expecting you to be well rounded and to excel at everything. Well that kind of worked, but you choose to find a more calming path as an adult. You did grow up to have a variety of interests and you seem to have a knack at everything you pick up, except for your love life. You just feel shy in any romantic situation. You would be more comfortable in your library or going to the spa. 

Traits: Cheerful, Proper, Geek

Aspiration:  Inner Peace

Career:  Scout (child), Education- Professor Branch

Likes: Programming, Green, Mid Century, Classical, Deep Thoughts, Cerebral Sims

Dislikes: Violin, Blue, Storybook, Summer Strut, Physical Intimacy, Pet Enthusiasts

Complete the Inner Peace Aspiration

Max the Piano, Baking, and Programming skills

Become a Llamacorn Scout

Reach the top of the Education- Professor Branch

Play the violin as a child

Live in Britechester when you become an educator

Compose piano music on the side

Do not woohoo with any sim until/ unless you are married

Generation 7

You've always loved spy movies and you’ve yearn to be like James Bond. Well maybe not Bond…maybe more like Goldfinger! Your narrow focus has paid off, superspy by day and player by night. But by the time you clawed and cheated to the top, something is still missing in your life. Maybe there was something to your parent’s wellness crap-thing? Maybe this will bring more meaning to your life?

Traits: Unflirty, Mean, Outgoing.

Aspiration:  Villainous Valentine & Zen Guru

Career: Secret Agent- Villain Branch, then retire and become a yoga instructor 

Likes: Media Production, Red, Cosmolux, Baroque, Physical Intimacy, High Energy Sims

Dislikes: Knitting, Gray, Suburban Contemporary, Spooky, Complaints, Family-Motivated Sims

Complete the Villainous Valentine and the Zen Guru aspiration

Max the Singing, Media production, DJ mixing, and Wellness skill

Reach the top of the Secret Agent Villain Branch

Retire from being a secret agent and teach yoga

Do not start the Wellness skill until after completing villainous valentine aspiration  

Receive the Speed Dating Achievement 

Never Marry 

Generation 8

Poised, distinguished, and class are the best words used to describe you. Of course this transatlantic accent is the way you’ve ALWAYS talked. You put in the hard work to achieve this lifestyle, but no one has to know about the tireless work that goes into your facade. You’ve even managed to get the perfect 2.5 children. You just ignore the gossip of those who are jealous. You’re not an evil stepparent, you don’t favour your only biological child, and you don’t have a secret to your wealth. The nerve of people trying to tarnish your honour. 

Traits: Creative, Snob, and Kleptomaniac 

Aspiration: Mansion Baron              

Career: Drama Club (Child), Salaryperson - Supervisor Branch      

Likes: Acting, Purple, Queen Anne, World, Flirtation, Rascals                                             

Dislikes: Handiness, Brown, Island, Kids, Silly Behavior, Emotional Decision-Makers   

Complete the Mansion Baron Aspiration 

Max the Violin, Research & debate, Gourmet cooking,and Flower arranging skills

Reach to top of the Salaryperson Supervisor Branch 

Plant a Money Tree as an Adult 

Marry a sim who at least has 2 children from another relationship.

Never be friends with your stepchildren

Only have one biological child

Generation 9

Duuuuuuuude your parents had no chill. Life’s supposed to be fun and everything is a game! Your parents provided great opportunities to you and your siblings, but some video games and  whoppie cushions never hurt no one.  You had a blast at college with your crew and guitar, even if your grades weren’t the best. And as an adult your job is a big game as well. Who cares where you live as long as you are close to the action. To the moon!!!!

Traits: Music Lover, Bro, Goofball. 

Aspiration:  Leader of the Pack

Career: Fast Food Employee (teen/young Adult), E-Sports Competitor (college), Business - Investor Branch

Likes: Guitar, Yellow, Farmhouse, Backyard, Potty Humor, Nature Enthusiasts 

Dislikes: Fishing, Green, Garden, Easy Listening, Deep Thoughts, Romance Enthusiasts 

Complete the leader of the pack aspiration.

Max the  Video Gaming, Fitness, and Guitar Skills

Reach the top of the Business  Investor Branch

Be good friends with your siblings

 Join a secret society while in college

Master the spice challenge from the spice festival 

Live an apartment as an adult with the cursed and filthy lot challenges

Marry a cheerful sim

Generation 10

You’ve always been a bit eccentric. As a child you loved to sneak away from the multiple festivals to go to the art museum. You find art and beautiful treasures everywhere you look and you’ve scoured the world for them. But that doesn’t leave too much time for sleep. Well, who needs sleep when you’ve got coffee.  Most sims love your design aesthetic, although a few boring naysayers think you’re a bit of a hoarder. You want to share your love of the world and its things with your clients. Which is also why you’ve chosen to adopt and spread your love of life to others. Should you have a biological child or are you happy with your created family?

Traits: Noncommittal, Materialistic, Art Lover. 

Aspiration: Painter Extraordinaire; 

Career: Interior Decorator

Likes: Cross-stitch, Orange, Mission, Jazz, Affection, Spirited Sims 

Dislikes: Mischief, Red, Contemporary, Strange Tunes, Malicious Interactions, Argumentative Sims  

Complete the painter extraordinaire aspiration 

Max the Selvadoradian culture, Painting, Medium and Charisma skills

Complete the sugar skull collection

Complete the snow globe collection 

Live in a tiny house brimming with artwork and your treasures 

Unlock the Coffee Fanatic lifestyle

Adopt at least one child

[randomfoggytiger]

X-Files Collector’s Edition:  Time Travel, Time Loops, and Just Wrong Timing

Time travel and loops were explored sparingly in the X Files universe; but what is a fandom without a handy dandy dump truck filled with more AUs to add to the fic landfill? These are just the few that passed my litmus test, either by earned merit or because there was at least something in them that was worth reading. Which ones are which is up to you, though I recommend ChaneenW’s, FridayAt9′s, somanycandle’s, Jo-Ann Lassiter’s, Donna’s, and Lolabeegood’s works (maybe because they have the happiest outlooks by the end.)  

(**Edited: included @anders-hawke’s Nine Minutes? short**)

Loose chronological order below~

Here we go! 

Timeline (mostly) Intact 

vessel (saved at orphan_account on Ao3)

““The scientific explanation for all this is overwhelmingly simple: salt blocks hydration, dehydration rots the cells composing the human body. In spite of this, I am struck once again with the improbability that the laws of nature would mutate to allow such a phenomenon, to make a human being age fifty years in a matter of hours.””

Dod Kalm old Scully waits for death, pondering science and impending death. 

Sheryl Nantus/Sheryl Martin’s (FFN) Nine Minutes

““It was a long time, when you sat and timed it. 

Watching the digital figures spin up through the cycle; headed for the top figure of 9:00. Or 540 seconds. Or whatever you measured it by. 

It was still nine minutes. Nine minutes that she could never have back again.””

Cancer Arc Scully has lived her life in her own self-imposed time loop: continually obsessing over the 9 minutes she lost in the Pilot, trying vainly to regain them back by resetting her watch every few minutes. 

It’s not quite a time loop; but Scully is locked mentally in one, so it counts. 

((BONUS! Works well with-- 

@lyndsaybones’s (Ao3) Incremental 

““The watch fit her perfectly when she got it. He remembers thinking that it seemed child sized then. Do they make Omega watches for kids?

But the weight started sloughing off of her like autumn leaves and he started to feel more fear than hope. The watch starts telling more than time.””

Mulder observes the measure of Scully’s decay with her expensive new watch.))

ChaneenW’s

The Birds and the Bees 

““We’re in this together,” he insisted, turning to look at her face.

“We’re in this together,” she repeated, squeezing her arms more tightly around him.

“We just need to find a way to remind ourselves,” he said, starting to slur a little as his face froze. “Some small thing that we do or say could change the whole sequence of events and maybe knock ourselves out of the loop before it gets this far.””

FTF albatrosses of Antarctica keep resetting Mulder and Scully’s journey from the hallway and escape from the alien spaceship (with varying results) until those two right the wrongs the bee made. It quickly devolves from any possible angst into humor and heart while getting subtly funnier the longer the loop goes. 

Twice Upon a Time

““The more time he spent here, though, the more it became uncomfortably clear that Eddie hadn’t been wrong about him. He had been a loser back then: too focused on searching for the big answers to see what was right in front of him. And although he’d been immediately attracted to Scully when they first met, had instantly respected her knowledge and expertise, and had come to quickly trust her with his life, he had to acknowledge that it had taken him longer than it should have to realize how much he loved her.””

S9 Mulder wakes in his old apartment, confused to learn he has traveled back to the Eddie van Blundht case. At first he has fun breezily solving it and looking anew at his life; but soon S4 Scully notices how differently he’s acting as the glitz and glamor of time-travel fades and homesickness sets in. 

@fridaysat9​′s (Ao3) A Second’s Fraction 

““Why, and more importantly, how, was she standing in her apartment? She had just been in the hospital with injuries and broken bones. She had been talking to Mulder, wishing for pain meds and sleep.

She lifted her arm, surprised to find that it was no longer in a sling. She moved to touch her face, which was completely free of injuries. She patted her hands down the front of her clothes, realizing she was wearing the shirt she had put on that morning. It was clean, and free of spilled coffee.””

Post Drive-- Scully is reset from a horrific car accident, having to live the same day over and over. She, by turns: deals with it alone, tries breaking routine, tries following Diana, tries reaching out to Mulder... all for them to fail. Soon, she is losing hope. 

This is engaging, and never gets old. 

Jo-Ann Lassiter’s Many Happy Returns

““Why are you making me come here?" 

It sounded so like a mortally-wounded Mulder that any fear she may have harbored toward the--whatever it was--evaporated. She stepped from behind Mulder, closer to the doppleganger. "I'm sorry. It was an accident. But where did you come *from?* And what are you?" 

The doppleganger gave a bitter laugh. "I'm him," it said, pointing at Mulder, "five years ago. When you died in that operating room in Alaska," it addressed her partner.””

S6/7 Scully accidentally summons an alternate universe Mulder, who is distraught to be brought back from the dead. Normal-Mulder is fascinated, then empathetic at his alternate’s pleas and answers to their questions. Both fix the problem in between comedic quips, heart-string tugs, and ~romance~.  

Donna’s One More Time  

““She was burned, he'd heard them, they didn't know why she was still alive.  90% of her body, her hair was gone and her skin was blackened or raw.  She was unconscious, thank goodness.  What would the pain have been . . . he didn't finish that thought.  They were talking about amputating her fingers to cut down on infection.  They'd already said if she lived, if, that they would have to look for donor skin because she didn't have enough left to graft.  He'd heard them; they were using cadaver skin on her now.””

S6/7 Mulder is shot back in time to save Scully from being burned alive by an arsonist... only for all his efforts to almost be in vain. Also, ~romance~. 

@somanycandles/FootlessData507’s The Disappearance of Bruce Speta 

““A very Mulder-type explanation was beginning to hatch in her brain. “No,” she murmured to herself. “That’s not possible.” She shook her head, as if that would shake the theory away. But it wouldn’t go away. What if they were both the real Mulder? What if everything that everyone had told her was true?””

S6/7 Mulder and Scully place bets on finding out the cause of Tena’s friend’s problem: he suspects it’s the ghost of her missing husband while Scully thinks it’s a hoax. She, however, finds it’s all too real when she is shot into a mirror universe, where she needs the help of the “ghost” husband and her alternate self to get home. 

Wonderfully fun, insightful, and leads to ~romance~.  

Lolabeegood’s Five Months Lost (Gossamer) 

““Sir, I need you to come over to my apartment right away.   Mulder was here when I woke up." 

"He was what?!" Skinner yelled. 

"He's here, right now and...and he thinks he has been all along," she whispered as she looked toward the washroom.””

S8 Scully is shocked to find Mulder in her bed with false memories of the past five months. Skinner and TLG back her up to an increasingly terrified Mulder. 

Such an underrated canon-divergent from S8-- so well-written, and it has the whole gang in character. 

Gillian Leigh’s Visitor in the Desert 

“Perplexed, Mulder opened his palm and lifted the dog tags out of his hand and examined them. He reached up behind him and turned on a light. The writing on the tags said,

Civilian Number: 11211013

Name: Rhiannon Mulder

DOB: December 22, 2002

His eyes widened. She was... his daughter?”” 

S9 Mulder is visited in the desert by his future daughter, who sends warnings from a bleak future. He high-tails it back to Scully, stops the adoption, and drags her, their family, and friends to an underground civilization built in advance of Colonization. Bill, Charlie, and Samantha already live there; and it’s a bit slice-of-lifey until Mulder decides to go on a vengeance mission that his future daughter has to come back, again, and warn him about.  

prufrock’s love/plenilune’s (Ao3, Gossamer, WBM, colonizationhq)  

Belphegor’s Prime (Ao3) 

““Oh.” She seemed to wear the holster to appease him rather than herself, and she gave no sign she intended to return inside to call anyone. “Did you disable my car?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “That’s my thing. I leave my kids and drive 90 minutes, claiming I’m trying to solve a crime but really to chauffeur you around for the next few hours. Also, I’m from the future.””

Post IWTB-Colonization Scully is gone. Mulder time-travels to med student Scully, using his intelligence, desperation, and dedication to try to get her to answer the only clue Scully left. The answer eludes them both; and they spend the rest of his vanishing evening looking at pics of their kids, the future world, and healing each other’s wounds. As time begins to refigure and resettle, Mulder realizes where Scully is, and rushes on diminishing time to get her back. 

I have heard this recced forever and ever, Amen; but finally got around to it while blitzing through prufrock’s fics. I think this is the only one of hers that gripped me, kept me engaged, and satisfied me by the end. Prufrock’s love writes stunning levels of intelligence with such seeming ease that it boggle the mind, and is even more impressive because it’s based in such meticulous care and research in every word she chose that it almost exhausts with its depth. This is absolutely a must- read (except for the part where med student Scully cheats on her bf with future Mulder, even if she will forget those actions. But that’s easily skipped and ignored.)  

@lotsoforangesoutside’s Unnamed and Its Sequel 

““Now, you two knuckleheads,” Bill turns toward the couple, “don’t tell me what Andy said has never crossed your mind. Will doesn’t look 15 and I bet a medical doctor and an Oxford graduate can come up with better cover stories than what you two have cooked up for us. I think you guys should run the new version by me before Dinner, yeah?”

The couple looks at each other as if they were in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Bill gives a light chuckle and shakes his head as he moseys his way out of the living room.”” 

Post IWTB-- Mulder and Scully have acquired a mysterious Jr. in addition to their younger son, William. Bill, for once, covers for them with timelines to other family members. The truth? Fox Jr. is William from the future, who traveled back, found his past self, and brought them both to their parents’ house. 

Itero (formerly Humphreywrites’s fic) 

““It is a remarkably small price to pay for a life that is full. A life that is so much happier than her lonely one with nothing but an empty apartment and lonely weekends. She was okay with that, but she hadn’t known what she was missing. She hadn’t known how dead she felt until every morning she woke up alive.””

FTF Scully wakes in a hospital in an alternate universe, the mother of three kids and happily married to Mulder. She quickly finds her footing, bonding with the kids and finding her new normal amidst failing grades, baby tears, and teenage angst. She wakes in a new timeline: 1993. And decides not to waste time. 

It’s more Scully-contemplation than slice-of-life; and its maturity in tone sings. 

allthistime’s i think i know you from somewhere 

““So, when are you from? Tell me about the future!” Mulder said enthusiastically, practically bouncing up and down. Of course he’d barely be phased by a 54-year-old Scully waltzing into his office one Monday morning in 1993.

“Oh, I don’t think I should do that, Mulder. I do believe this is a dream or hallucination, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

He looked dejected for a moment before lighting up again.””

Revival Scully and ‘93 Scully swap places momentarily. Both Mulders are intrigued; and all parties have fun sharing POVs and fishing for details. 

mrsagentspooky/agcntspooky‘s (also on dubitavero) 

““Keeping his thoughts to himself and trying hard not to stare at the man who would have been - had been? would be? - his father, William nodded. 

“I need to talk to you about an X-file, and… can you tell me the date?” 

Although the last bit was told in a more sheepish tone (after all, who barges in in the middle of the night and asks for the date?), the whole sentence was scripted. Get his attention by mentioning the X-files straight away. Know where you stand by asking the date. He and Dana had been over it an thousand times.””

Time travel from Will’s POV. Will drops in on Mulder, asking for the date and camping out. Mulder is shocked and calls Scully over, who skeptically listens to Will’s explanation: Future Scully built a time machine to send him back for FBI files to prevent the destruction of the future. 

These are EXCELLENTLY written in roleplay-format between two authors: they use little words to say a lot. Also, I love soaking in the atmosphere of this fic. 

These stories are a bit scattered, so I’ll just leave the links below in order(?): 

1    2   3   4   5

6   7   8   9   10

11   12   13   14   15 

@ellivia’s Unnamed 

““Whenever Mulder and Scully are in different time zones, he only refers to her as Past Scully or Future Scully.

“Oh that is so you. That is so Past Scully.””

IWTB-Revival Mulder likes to tease past-present-future Scully when she’s away on conferences. She finally kills him with sweetness overload.

This doesn’t exactly fit in the above criteria, but time-zones count... right?

Non-specific timeline AUs 

@anders-hawke/@iwtbscully‘s Nine Minutes? 

““He shook his head and let Scully buckle herself in as he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side. “Scully, do you remember anything from those nine minutes? Anything real?”

Her giddy smile slipped from her face and she looked away from him into the unlit stretch of road ahead of them, marred only by Mulder’s X in the distance. “No. But I can prove to you that what I’m saying is true. The person who’s taking those people is Billy Miles. I saw a whole life in those nine minutes, Mulder. I lived a whole life. I made decisions and had thoughts and—and fell in love, had children… People died, too. People that I want to save. People that I have to save, knowing what I know.””

Revival Scully wakes from her death... to find herself losing nine minutes in the Pilot. She immediately gives Mulder the rundown, and watches as he processes all emotions at her revelations. 

Julie Fortune’s The Ghost of You

““Mulder." Scully gloved up and reached out to take hold of the woman’s hand, lifting it by the thumb.

Hands did not move that way. Not like – empty sacks, the fingers bending like rubber, no stiffness to it at all.

Boneless. Scully lifted higher. The arm followed the hand, a piece of dead spaghetti.””

Mulder and Scully are unwittingly caught in a time loop: autopsying Future Scully’s pulverized body, zipping around to random moments in that day, and resetting the day completely. Some timelines are more successful than others, but all lead to their mutual abduction and her fatal fall. 

I found this one courtesy of @mondfuchs-- so thank you! 

Hestia01′s (Ao3) Time Lag 

““It’s fine, what could happen?”

“I have a bad feeling about this, I don’t think you should.”

Scully wrests herself from her partner. “I just want a better look. It’s probably nothing.” She cleans her hands with a moist towelette, reaches in and picks up the stone.””

A magical museum stone shoots Scully into continual lifetimes-- forcing her to live them fully, die, and reset. When Mulder finally gets her back to the original, she has become depressed and suicidal. 

Kristy Anderson’s The Fate of Time (2/2) 

““When I woke up last night, all I could remember was our lives together on the X-Files, and I started aching for what I knew was lost from that. The companionship, the hard earned and well tested trust, the love built upon mutual respect and shared heartache. I ended up sitting down on the corner of 42nd and Broadway, just crying and missing us until the sun started rising. As the first rays of light began to shine, to bring life to the streets again, I finally allowed myself to remember the past three, almost four years together. It was as if the beginning of the new day was my new beginning. 

"That's when I realized that if I gave this up, what we have now, I would miss this us even more.””

Mulder and Scully are sent to a reset timeline and live the ups and downs of kidnappings, promotions, opening their own X-Files division, and having Will earlier. It all crumbles when Scully dies from cancer, and they are sent back to their normal lives once again. 

Rachel Anton’s Eleventh Hour

““I knew I had let her down. Again. And I vowed to make it up to her. Someday, somehow. One day I would have enough courage to let this thing happen, to let her give herself to me. One day I would have enough faith in myself, be a good enough person to trust myself with her.

I didn't even sense that something was wrong. I didn't even know.””

Mulder tracks down and brutally murders Scully’s killer. Due to insanity, he is placed in a mental hospital where a fellow patient asks him to volunteer as lab rat in a time-travel experiment. He’s shot back to the 80s and begins to track Scully down. ~Romance~ blooms somewhere down the line. 

Gotta be honest, I DNF-ed this after Mulder agrees to the experiment; but will probably finish it later. 

Honorable Mention: The Boy on the Beach by @cecilysass’s (Ao3, Gossamer). (I included her in one of the Mulder family compilations, so it felt like cheating to include her here, too.) 

Enjoy!